Chapter 9 second quarter

Inspector Nash came to my house the next morning to see me.When I first saw him, I liked him very much. He is the most standard county inspector of the "Criminal Investigation Division". He is tall, with the heroic spirit of a soldier, with serene and contemplative eyes, and a straightforward and non-hypocritical attitude. "Morning, Mr. Burton," said he, "I believe you can guess the reason for my visit." "Well, I think it's about the anonymous letter." He nodded. "I heard that you have received an anonymous letter?" "Yes, I received it not long after I moved in."

"What did the letter say?" I thought about it, and then read as best I could the words in the original letter. The Inspector listened intently, with no expression on his face. When I had finished reading, he said, "I see. You didn't keep the letter, Mr. Burton." "I'm sorry, no, because I thought it was just a special case of dislike for those of us from out of town." The inspector nodded knowingly. "Unfortunately," he said simply. "However," I said, "my sister also received one yesterday. She wanted to throw it into the stove, but luckily I stopped her in time."

"Thank you, Mr. Burton, for your thoughtfulness." I went to the desk, opened the locked drawer and took out the letter.I locked it up because I didn't think it was fit for Patridge to see it. I handed the letter to Nash. After he read the letter, he raised his head and asked me, "Is this letter the same as the last one?" "I think so—I remember about the same." "Is the envelope the same as the body?" "Yes," I said, "the envelope was typed, and the text was cut and pasted from the printed lettering." Nash nodded, put the letter in his pocket, and said, "Mr. Burton, would you like to come with me to the bureau? We can hold a meeting so as not to waste time."

"Of course I would," I said, "shall I go now?" "if you are free." There was a police car at the gate, and we got in and drove forward. I said, "Do you think you'll find out?" Nash nodded confidently, and said, "Oh, of course, we will definitely find out the truth, it's just a matter of time, the progress of this kind of case is usually very slow, but the police are quite sure, as long as the matter is summed up, the reason Get a clue and gradually narrow the scope of the investigation." "Eliminate the excess?" "Well, generally speaking, yes."

"Watch mailboxes, check typewriters, fingerprints, etc.?" He smiled and said, "Exactly right." When I arrived at the police station, I found both Symington and Griffey were there.Nash introduced me to a tall, thin-jawed man in civilian clothes—Inspector Graves. "Inspector Graves came to help us from London," Nash explained. "He's an expert on anonymous letters." Inspector Graves smiled helplessly and sadly.I thought to myself that a man who spends his life searching for the writer of an anonymous letter must be met with constant frustration and disappointment.But Inspector Graves showed only a mournful devotion.

"It's the same in all cases of this kind," he said in a low, melancholy manner, like a dejected hound. "You will be amazed when you read the words and things in the letters." "We had an anonymous letter case two years ago," Nash said. "Inspector Graves helped us." I found some anonymous letters scattered on the table in front of Greve, which he had obviously read. "The hardest thing about doing this kind of case," he said, "is collecting these anonymous letters, and the people who get them either throw them in the fire or deny having received them. You know, some people are really stupid and afraid Getting involved with the police, a lot of people here are like that."

He went on to say: "But we have enough fear to start investigating." Nash took out my letter from his pocket and handed it to Graves. The latter read the letter, put the letter on the table, and said in an appreciative voice: "Very good, very good—really very good." If it were me, I would not describe the anonymous letter in this way, but I think experts may have their own opinions.I am glad that this kind of casual scolding can also amuse "some people". "I think we have enough information to start an investigation," said Inspector Graves. "Please, if you receive another anonymous letter, please send it to the Bureau immediately. Also, if you hear that someone else has received an anonymous letter (especially It is you, doctor, who wish you to pay special attention to the conversations of the patients, and to ask them to bring their letters as well. At present I have—” He counted the letters on the table—“a letter to Mr Symington , received two months ago, and Dr. Griffey, Miss King, Mrs. Magee, Jennifer Clark, the maid at Triple Crowns, and Mrs. Symmington, Miss Burton, and the bank manager, all Received the letter."

"It's quite representative," I said. "It compares favorably with other cases. It's as good a letter as the milliner's woman wrote, and it's as good a letter as we found in the Northumberland case. Honestly, gentlemen, Sometimes I wish I had seen something 'new' instead of the cliché." "There's nothing new under the sun," I murmured. "Exactly, sir, if you're in our line of business you'll know it's all true." Simmington asked: "Are you sure about the person who wrote the anonymous letter?" Graves cleared his throat and delivered a short speech:

"These anonymous letters all have several things in common. I might as well list them all; the words used in the text of these letters are all cut out of a book. This book is very old. I think it should be Book printed around 1830. The letter writer apparently intended to avoid recognition of his handwriting, but this disguise is nothing in the eyes of experts. Neither the envelope nor the letter paper are clearly marked, in other words, except for the post office In addition to the personnel and recipients, there are some scattered fingerprints, but there are no common special fingerprints, which shows that the writers are very careful and wear gloves to work."

"The envelopes were typed on a Windsor No. 7 typewriter. The machine was very old. The 'a' and the 't' were a little malfunctioning and couldn't line up. Most of the letters were posted locally. It can be seen that the person who wrote the letter lives in the local area. The letter writer is a woman, I think it is a woman above middle age, and she is probably unmarried.” We were silent for a minute or two with great respect. Then I asked, "The typewriter is your best clue, isn't it? It's not hard to find that in a small place like this." Inspector Graves shook his head mournfully, and said: "You are mistaken, sir."

"Unfortunately," said Inspector Nash, "that typewriter is so easy to come by. It was for Mr. Symmington's office, and then he gave it to a girls' school, so it's easy for anyone to use, Ladies here often go to girls' schools." "Can't you tell by—um—by how hard you type?" Graves nodded again, and said, "Yes, that can be done—but the envelope typer only uses one finger." "Is that written by someone who doesn't know how to use a typewriter?" "No, I don't think so. It's possible that the letter writer can type and doesn't want us to know." "Whoever wrote the letter is too crafty," I said slowly. "Yes, sir, quite right," said Graves. "I don't think the village women here are that smart," I said. Greve coughed and replied, "I guess I didn't make my point clear. The letter was written by an educated woman." "What? A lady?" I hadn't used the word "lady" in years, and I blurted it inadvertently. Nash immediately understood what I meant, and the term still meant something to him. "It's not necessarily a lady," he said, "but it's never a village woman. Most of the village women here are illiterate, can't spell, and certainly can't express themselves fluently in letters." I was silent, I was rather shocked.The scope of this community is so small, I almost subconsciously have a general impression of the person who wrote the anonymous letter, he may be a despicable, cunning, and weak person. Symmington's words spoke out what was in my heart. He said sharply, "In this way, there are only a dozen or so suspicious characters left? I really can't believe it." Then he seemed to be trying to suppress himself, as if even his own voice would be repulsive to him.Then he said: "Everyone heard what I said during the police interrogation. You may think that I just said that to protect the reputation of Zhuojing. I would like to repeat it now. I absolutely believe that she received the anonymous letter. There was no basis for what was being said, and I 'knew' that it was all fiction. Jenkins is a very sensitive woman, and -- well -- the letter might think she was too cautious in some ways. The letter made her She was greatly stimulated, and her health was very poor." Graves immediately interjected: "This is likely to be true, sir. From these anonymous letters, it cannot be seen that the writers know some private matters. They are just blind accusations, neither blackmailing nor religious. Prejudice, it's just about sex and prejudice! So we're going in a good direction to track it down." Simmington stood up, his lips trembling even though he was usually cold and calm. "I hope you can find out the devil who wrote these letters as soon as possible. She is the murderer who killed my wife." He paused, and then said, "I really don't know how she feels now?" He walks out, leaving this question that no one can answer. "How would she feel, Griffey?" I asked the doctor, as if I thought he could answer that question. "God knows, maybe a little bit of regret? But on the other hand, maybe she was complacent, and Mrs. Simmington's death just satisfied her madness." "I hope not," I said, with a slight trembling involuntarily, "if so, she'd—" I hesitated, and Nash finished the sentence for me: "She will do it again? Mr. Burton, that's just right for us!" "She's crazy to do it again!" I said aloud. "She's not going to let it go," Graves said. "That's what it is. You know, it's a vice, and once you get it, you can't get it." Shaking my head tremblingly, I asked them if there was anything else they could do for me. I really longed to get out and get some fresh air. The whole room seemed to be filled with an evil atmosphere. "Nothing else, Mr. Burton," Nash said, "just keep your eyes open and try to spread the word about us—that is, persuade anyone who receives the letter to contact us immediately." I nod. "I figured by now, everyone in this place should have gotten a letter from this ridiculous thing," I said. Graves tilted his head slightly and said, "Do you know anyone who actually 'didn't' get an anonymous letter?" "What a strange question! It's impossible for most people in this place to consider me a confidant." "No, no, Mr. Burton, I didn't mean that. I just asked if you know that some people have never received anonymous letters." "Oh, to be honest," I hesitated, "I sort of know." So I repeated what Emily Barton had said to me. Grave listened to my words with a blank face, and then said: "Well, this news may be useful, I will write it down." I stepped outside with Owen Griffey in the afternoon sun. When I got out into the street, I cursed loudly: "Can people come to recuperate in such a ghostly place? There are rotting poisons everywhere, but the appearance looks peaceful and innocent like the Garden of Eden." "Even Eden had a poisonous snake," Owen said coldly. "Listen, Griffey, do they know something? Or have an idea?" "I don't know, but the police are really clever and they seem to be very frank. In fact, they haven't disclosed any information." "Well, Nash is a nice guy." "Very competent, too." "If anyone in this place is out of their minds, you should know best," I said accusingly. Griffey shook his head, looking depressed, not only that, but also worried, wondering if he had already figured it out.