Chapter 8 Chapter VII

(one) "There you are! We were guessing where you were." Roda came through the door, and the others followed her.She looked around and said, "This is where you held your seance, isn't it?" "You're well-informed," said Sesha Gray, with a light smile. "It's the way it is in the country, where everyone knows more about you than you do yourself. I've heard we have a bad reputation out there, a hundred Years ago, I feared being drowned in water, or burned on a pyre. My great aunt—or maybe a generation or two older—was burned as a witch in Ireland. That was then! "

"I always thought you were Scotch?" "Father was—that's why I have prescience, and mother was Irish. Sybil was our witch, she was originally Greek. Bella represents the old English tradition." "Terrible human mixed drink," said Colonel Despers. "Whatever you say." "It's just fun!" Jin Qiao said. Sesha Gray took a quick look at her, "Yes, it's really interesting in a way." She turned to Mrs. Oliver and said, "You should write a novel about murder by witchcraft. I can provide you with a lot of information."

Mrs. Oliver blinked and seemed embarrassed. "I only write about simple murders," she said apologetically, in the tone of a person saying, "I only cook simple home-cooked meals." She added: "It's just that some people want to get rid of other people without leaving a trace." "Those things are too taxing for me," said Colonel Despers, looking at his watch. "Rhoda, I think—" "Oh, yes, we should go. I didn't realize it was so late." After we thanked our host and said goodbye, instead of going out directly from the house, we went around to the side door.

"You keep a lot of poultry," said Colonel Despers, looking at the wire pens. "I hate chickens the most," Jin Qiao said, "It's so annoying." "Mostly cocks." It was Bella who had just come out the back door. "White rooster," I said. "To be used as a dish?" Desper asked. "They're very useful to us," Bella said. Her mouth formed a long arc on her fat, lineless face, and her eyes showed a strange, knowing look. "Bella's an expert at this," Sesha Gray said softly. We were about to say good-bye to our hosts when Sybil Stamforddis came through the front door and urged our guests to leave.

"I don't like that woman, not 'at all'," said Mrs. Oliver, as the car moved off. "Don't take old Sesha's words too seriously," said Colonel Despers in a indulgent tone. "She likes to brag about that, and see how others react." "I'm not talking about her. She's an arrogant woman who grabs at every chance she gets, but she's not as dangerous as the other one." "Bella? I admit she's a little weird." "I'm not talking about her, I'm talking about Sibyl. She 'looks' stupid, with all the beads and charms and voodoo and reincarnation stories (strange why all the reincarnations are Egyptian A princess or a beautiful Babylonian slave instead of a maid or an ugly old peasant?) seems ridiculous. But despite her lack of intelligence, it seems to me that she actually has something--making strange things happen. I Always thinks badly about things—but I think she might be used for something because she's stupid. I don't think any of you know what I mean,' she said in a miserable voice.

"I understand," Jin Qiao said, "and I believe you are right." "We ought to attend one of their seances," said Rhoda eagerly. "It might be interesting." "No, you can't participate." Colonel Desper said firmly, "I won't allow you to get involved with that kind of thing." They laughed and argued for a while, and it was not until Mrs. Oliver asked about the train time next morning that I woke up from my contemplation. "You can come with me in my car," I said. Mrs. Oliver said incredulously: "I think I'd better take the train."

"Oh, forget it, you haven't been in my car before! My driving skills are the most reliable." "That's not what I mean, Mark. I'm going back to attend a funeral tomorrow. I must not be late." She sighed and said, "I 'hate' going to a funeral the most." "Do you have to go?" "I don't think I can run away this time. Marie de La Fontaine is an old friend of mine, and I think she would like me to go. That's the kind of person she is." "Of course!" I cried, "De La Fontaine—of course." Others looked at me in surprise.

"I'm sorry," I said, "it's just—it's—I was just wondering where I've heard the name De La Fontaine lately. You mentioned it, didn't you?" I looked at Mrs. Oliver and said, "You talk about going to see her in the nursing home or something." "Really? Probably." "How did she die?" Mrs. Oliver frowned, and said: "Nervous poisoning or something." Jin Qiao looked at me curiously, her eyes were sharp and intelligent. When we got out of the car, I suddenly said, "I want to take a walk. I ate too much just now, and I have to digest it."

Before anyone had a chance to speak, I walked away quickly.I need to calm down and collect my thoughts. What exactly is going on?At least I have to figure it out myself.At first, it was Barbie's off-the-cuff startling remark that if you want to "get rid of a man," you'd better go to "White Horse." Later, I met Jim Corrigan, and his strange list--the list connected with Father Gorman's death-had Hedges-Dubeau, and Tuckerton--reminds me of the That night at Lucky's Cafe.By the way, there is also the surname De La Fontaine.Mrs. Oliver also mentioned that a sick friend of hers was named de la Fontaine.Now, this sick friend died.

Next, for reasons I didn't understand, I approached Barbie at the florist where she worked, but she vehemently denied knowing anything about "white horses."What was even more strange was that she was actually afraid. Today, I finally ran into people like Sesha Gray at White Horse.But obviously, the "White Horse" and the people who live in it are one thing, and the list is another thing, and the two have nothing to do with each other.Why do I keep connecting them in my head?Why do I think there is a relationship between them? Mrs. de la Fontaine lived in London, and Don Marcina Tuckerton lived in Surrey, and there was no one on that list who had anything to do with the little village of March Deeping, unless—

I walked up to the "Royal Arms Hotel", an unremarkable hotel with the words "Lunch, Dinner, Tea Served" newly added to the sign. I opened the door and walked in. The bar on the left was not open yet, and on the right was a small smoking room with a strong smell of smoke.There is a sign "office" at the top of the stairs.Outside the office is a large glass window, which is tightly closed.There is also a sign that says "Please ring the bell".At this moment, the whole room smelled of a deserted bar.There was a visitor register on the shelf outside the office window. I opened it casually to check. There were not many guests, only about five or six a week, and most of them only came for one night. After a while, I closed the register.It was still quiet, and I didn't want to ask any questions at the moment anyway, so I was outside again in the mellow, humid afternoon air. Was it just a coincidence that a man named Sandford and a man named Barkinson had been to the "Royal Arms Hotel" last year?Both surnames were on Corrigan's list.True, these two surnames are not uncommon, but I have also discovered another name-Martin Digby.If this Martin Digby is the one I know, he's the great-nephew of Mrs. Hedges-Dubeau, whom I've always called Aunt Min. I wandered on, eager to talk to someone, Jim Corrigan, or David Ardenly, or the ever-calm Hermia.All in all, I'm looking for someone who can unravel the mysteries in my head. After walking for about half an hour through the muddy alleys, I finally reached the vicarage door and pressed the rusty bell on the front door. (two) "The bell is out of order." Mrs. Cassop came out from behind the door like a monster that had suddenly appeared. In fact, I have long thought of this possibility. "Twice had it fixed," said Mrs. Cathorpe, "but it broke in one shot, so I had to keep an eye on the gate myself lest something important happen and I'd think we weren't home. You have something important to do, yes." wrong?" "It's—it's—yes, it's important—I mean, it's important to me." "That's what I mean too," she looked at me thoughtfully. "Yes, I can see it badly—who are you looking for? The priest?" "I—I don't know either." I was going to see the vicar--but now, I felt a sudden hesitation, and I didn't know why, but Mrs. Cassop gave me the answer at once. "My husband is a good man," she said. "I mean, he's a good man as well as a preacher, but sometimes he just doesn't get things done. You know, good men don't understand evil," she paused, and then Said briskly and quickly: "I think it's better to find me." I smiled slightly and asked, "Is evil your specialty?" "Yes, that's right. To govern a parish is to know the evils in it." "But isn't that your husband's business?" "No, it's his business to forgive sins," she corrected; "he can accept confessions, I can't, but," said Mrs. Cassop with great pleasure, "I can arrange for him, Classification, after understanding this, you can prevent other people from being hurt in the same way. People can't help others-I mean myself. You know, only God can make people repent-maybe you don't understand, many people now Nobody understands." "I don't have your expertise," I said, "but I want to keep people from getting hurt." She gave me a quick look. "Oh, that's it! You'd better come in, and we'll be comfortable." The living room of the pastor's house is large and simple, and most of it is covered in the shadow of a huge Victorian shrub, but the room does not appear gloomy because of this, on the contrary, it has a comfortable feeling.On the big and old chair, there are traces of many people resting on it.A large clock on the fireplace made a pleasant swinging sound with heavy regularity.As soon as I entered this room, I felt that I could relax my mind, speak freely and freely, and forget the troubles brought about by the dazzling world outside. I can imagine that the round-eyed young girl once cried to Mrs. Cassop annoyedly because she was about to become an unwed mother, and the advice Mrs. Cassop gave them was not necessarily traditional, but quite sound; angry relatives , and once expressed her dissatisfaction with marriage here; as a mother, here she told Mrs. Cassop that her little Bob was not a bad boy, but was too energetic, and it was too much to send him to the correctional center. It's ridiculous; at the same time, husbands or wives have also poured out their marital difficulties here. At this moment, I, Mark Easterbrook, a scholar, a writer, and a worldly person, am also here to express my troubles to a woman with gray hair, a weathered face, and kind eyes.Why?I have no idea.I just have a strange feeling that talking to her can't be wrong. "We've just had afternoon tea at Sesha Gray's," I said. It's very easy to explain things to Mrs. Cassop, and she'll take over for you right away. "Oh, I see, because of this, you feel very disturbed, don't you? Those three are a bit overwhelming. I also suspected that they like to brag so much. According to my past experience, the really evil people They don't like to brag, they hide everything in their hearts. Only those who are not guilty of deep crimes want to say it. Sin is an evil, despicable, and lowly thing, so it must make it look very important and important Country witches are mean old silly old crones who like to make trouble and scare people, and that's easy to do, of course. If Mrs. Brown's hen dies, the witch just nods and says grimly, 'Well, come on. On Tuesday, her Billy bullied my kitten.' Bella Webb might be that kind of witch, but she might—just might—be more than that, because her childhood experiences sprouted now, and she wasn't just Trying to scare people, but actually harboring malicious thoughts. Sybil Stamforddis is one of the dumbest women I've ever met--but she's a medium--whatever a medium is Shit. Sesha I don't know. What the hell did she tell you? I think it's what she said that made you feel uneasy, didn't I?" "You are very experienced, Mrs. Cassop. In your opinion, is it possible for a man to destroy another man from afar without any visible medium?" Mrs. Cassop's eyes widened a little. "I think the destruction you mentioned is actually 'killing'?" "yes," "I think it's ridiculous," said Mrs. Cassop emphatically. "Oh!" I felt relieved. "But of course I could be quite wrong," said Mrs. Cathop. In their time, that was indeed impossible, but now it has all come true. What will Sesha show you? The death ray gun or something? It was the three of them who drew the ghost exorcism." I smiled and replied: "You hit the point. I must have been hypnotized by that woman." "No," said Mrs. Cassop, "impossible. You are not a man for suggestion. There must be something else that happened before this." " "You're right." So I briefly explained to her about Father Gorman's death, hearing "The White Horse" for the first time that night, etc., and took out of my pocket the copy I had copied from Corrigan. list. Mrs. Cassop frowned as she read the list. "I see," she said. "What do these people do? Are there any similarities?" "Don't know yet, maybe blackmail—or smuggling—" "Nonsense," said Mrs. Cassop, "that's not what you're worried about, but what you think—'They're all dead'?" I take a deep breath. "Yes," I said, "that's what I guess, but I don't know if I'm right. At least I know three of them—Hedges-Dubeau, Don Masina Tuckerton, Marie de La Fontaine—are dead." Died, and died naturally in bed, as Sesha Gray said." "You mean, she said 'she' did it?" "No, no, she didn't actually mention anyone, she just told me the facts as she thought it might have happened." "It seems absurd on the surface," said Mrs. Cassop thoughtfully. "I know, if that girl didn't have a strange attitude when she mentioned 'White Horse', I would just take this as a joke and smile secretly in my heart." "Yes," mused Mrs. Cassop, "'white horse' is indeed suggestive." She was silent for a while, then raised her head and said: "It's bad, it's bad, you know, whatever's going on behind the scenes, we've got to find a way to stop it." "Well, yes...but what can we do?" "Then we have to investigate, but time is too precious to waste." Mrs. Cassop stood up quickly like a gust of wind, "You must investigate immediately." She thought for a while, and then said, "Do you have any friends to help you?" I thought: Jim Corrigan?The busy man must have no time, and he probably did the best he could.David Adenli? —But would he believe such a thing?Hermia?That's right, it's Hermia.She is clear-headed and calm, and if I can convince her, it will help me a lot.Besides, she and I - Hermia is my regular girlfriend - is her. "You figured it out? Good." Mrs. Cassop said briskly: "I'll keep an eye out for those three witches. I still think they're—not the point. That woman named Stamforddis spoke a whole bunch of Egyptian prophecies and ancient texts about the pyramids, although it was nonsense, but the pyramids and those The ancient temple is indeed somewhat mysterious. I have always thought that Sesha Gray must know something. On the one hand, it is used to show her importance, and on the other hand, it means that she can control the power of the gods. Evil people are so proud; but kind people are Never feeling complacent, weird, isn't it? That's what Christianity teaches about humility! Good people don't even know how good they are!" She was silent for a while, then said: "What we need now is some kind of connection - a relationship between anyone on the list and the 'White Horse,' a real relationship."