Chapter 13 Chapter Twelve

Three days later, Jin Qiao called me. "I have something to tell you," she said. "It's a name and an address. Write it down." I take out my notebook. "Say it." "Bradley, 78, Civic Square Building, Birmingham." "God, what is this for?" "God knows! I'm afraid Barbie may not really know either." "Barbie? This is—" "Yes, I have put a lot of effort into Barbie. As I said, I can get some information from her just by trying. As long as she softens her attitude, things will be easy." "How did you find out?" I asked curiously.

Jin Qiao smiled. "Anyway, it's girls whispering, you won't understand. The problem is, girls often don't take each other's whispers seriously, and she doesn't think it's important." "Like union organizing." "So, anyway, we had lunch together, and I blew a little bit about my love life—that I was with a married man whose wife was Catholic and wouldn't get a divorce anyway, so he It hurts like hell. She's a cripple, and although she's in pain all day long, she'll have at least a few more years to live. It'd be better if she died now. I said I'd love to try 'White Horse', but Not sure what to do, and not sure if it's going to be expensive. Barbie says it must be because she's heard they charge a lot. I say:

'Oh, I have the potential to inherit a large inheritance. '—You know, I had a rich uncle, and though I didn't want him dead, it's always true.Maybe they would like to use the accounting method?But how to start?So Barbie gave me the name and address.She said she had to talk to that person first. " "It's incredible," I said. "yes." We were silent for a while. I asked in disbelief again: "She told you so much frankly? Wasn't she scared at all?" Jin Qiao said impatiently: "You don't understand, a girl's whisper is nothing, and Mark, if what we think is true, this matter should be more or less public, right? I mean, they have to keep getting new 'customers'."

"We're crazy to believe such a thing." "Well, we're mad, and you don't want to go to Birmingham and see Mr Bradley?" "Well," said I, "I'll go to Birmingham and look for him—if there is such a man." The Municipal Plaza Building is a huge honeycomb office building.No. 78 was on the third floor, neatly printed on the glass door in black letters: C, R, Bradley, Commission Agent, and below that in smaller letters: PLEASE ENTER. I walked in. The smaller office outside was vacant, and inside a door that was ajar was marked "Unless You Do Not Enter."A voice behind the door said, "Come in, please."

The office inside is relatively large, with a desk, two chairs, a telephone, and a file rack.Mr. Bradley sat behind the desk. He was a thin, dark-skinned man with shrewd black eyes, and he wore a black suit, looking very dignified and respectable. "Please close the door, please?" he said cheerfully, "Please sit down, that chair is very comfortable. Do you smoke? No? Well, is there anything I can do for you?" I looked at him, not knowing where to start or what to say. In the end, I thought I was desperate to say something: "How much?" I was delighted to find that he was taken aback, because I think he hadn't expected such a person to come into his office.

He raised his eyebrows. "Ha, ha," he said, "you don't like wasting time, do you?" I still stand my ground. "what do you say?" He shook his head slightly reproachfully. "That's not the way to do things, we should do it step by step." I shrugged. "As you like, how to do it step by step?" "We haven't introduced ourselves yet, have we? I don't know your last name yet." "At the moment," I said, "I don't want to tell you." "Very cautious." "yes." "Then who sent you here? Do we have friends who both know each other?"

"I can't tell you that, anyway, I have a friend of a friend who knows a friend of yours." Mr. Bradley nodded. "A lot of my clients come in like that," he said. "Some of them have pretty—complicated questions. You know what I do, I guess?" He didn't want to wait for my answer, so he answered it himself. "Racing commission agent," he said, "maybe you're interested in racing, aren't you?" There seemed to be some hesitation in his tone. "I'm not a fan of horse racing." I said warmly. "There are many ways to enjoy horses: horse racing, hunting, and driving in a carriage. What I am most interested in is sports. Betting on horses," he paused, and then asked seemingly casually: "Is there any horse you are particularly interested in?" Interested?"

I shrugged my shoulders, and finally broke the boat and said: "White horse..." "Oh, good, very good. Excuse me, you look like a dark horse yourself. Haha! Take it easy, don't be nervous." "That's your word." I say it a little rashly. Mr. Bradley became softer. "I know how you feel, but I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about. I am a lawyer myself--of course I have been disqualified." He added in a moving voice: "Otherwise I would not be here But trust me, I know the law very well and everything I do is absolutely legal. It's just a matter of betting on anything, whether it won't rain tomorrow, whether Russia will send people to You can bet on the moon, or whether your wife will have twins. You can also bet on whether Mr. B will die before Christmas, whether Mr. C will live a long life, etc. Anyway, you support your judgment and intuition , or whatever you want to call it."

I felt like taking reassurance from the doctor over and over before surgery.Mr. Bradley's attitude is really like a doctor's attitude in the consulting room. I said slowly: "I don't know much about 'White Horse'." "So you're worried? Yes, a lot of people worry about it. To be honest, I don't know much about it myself, but it works, and it works amazingly." "If you could explain that—" I had already identified the personality of my new character—cautious, urgent, but terrified.Mr. Bradley evidently had frequent encounters with clients of this character.

"Do you know that place?" I immediately made a decision, I think lying is not a good idea. "I - know - I went with some friends and they took me there." "It's a lovely old hotel, lots of historical interest, and they've restored it very well. You must have seen my friend Miss Gray, then?" "Yes—yes, of course, she's a very unusual woman." "Yes, yes, you are absolutely right, she is not only an unusual woman, but also has very special magic power." "What she said is—well—impossible, isn't it?" "Exactly, that's the problem, the things she says she can do are really impossible! Everyone says that. Like in court—"

The black bead-like eyes stared straight into my eyes.Mr. Bradley went out of his way to emphasize once again: "In court, for example, this whole thing would look ridiculous! If that woman stood up and confessed to the murder, saying she killed it by remote control, willpower, or whatever, there's no way the court would accept her confession. Even if she said It is true, but it has no effect in law. There is no such thing as killing people by remote control in law, and I think it is too ridiculous. The most beautiful part of this matter is here-if you calm down and think about it, you must also Will appreciate that." I knew he was reassuring me because there was no law in England against divine murder.If I hire someone to kill with a knife or a stick, I am an accomplice.But if I ask Sesha Gray to use witchcraft to kill people, there will be no witchcraft in the courts.According to Mr. Bradley, this is the best part of the business. My involuntary suspicion burst forth at once, and I exclaimed: "Damn it! It's so impossible. I can't believe it! It can't happen!" "I agree with you, really. Setha Gray is a very unusual woman, and of course she has some very unusual abilities, but we can never fully believe her. You are right, this kind of thing is incredible In this day and age, no one believes that someone can sit in a bungalow in England and send out brain waves or something, and make people sick and die for no reason." "But she said she could do it?" "Oh, of course, she has powers—she's Scots, and they have prescience. It's true! I believe—I firmly believe," he said, leaning forward and wagging his forefinger vigorously. Sue Gray does know when someone is going to die in advance. It's a gift, she really has it." He leaned back in his chair and looked at me again, and I waited for him to speak. "Let's say, if anyone wants to know--when, say, Aunt Eliza will die, you must admit that it is often useful to know such things. There is nothing unkind, nothing wrong--just for convenience, knowing What plans should be made. For example, will there be a large income in November? If you can determine this, you can make some useful choices. Death is a difficult thing to say. If there is a doctor Encouragement, Aunt Eliza may live another ten years. You like the old lady very much, of course, but how useful it would be to 'know' sooner when she is going to die!" He paused, then leaned forward slightly. "That's where I come in. I'm a gambler, and I'll bet on anything—but on my terms, of course. You come to me, of course, and you don't want to bet on an old lady's death, then. It will be a great psychological burden on you. So let's say, after we agree on the bet, you bet that Aunt Eliza will still be alive and talking and laughing by Christmas, and I bet she won't." The black bead-like eyes rolled on my face again... "It wouldn't violate anything, would it? It's a simple matter. We disagreed on the matter. I said Aunt Eliza was going to die. You said no, so we made a contract. You won't believe me when I say Aunt Eliza's obituary will be in the papers in a fortnight. If you're right, I'll pay you. If you're wrong, you—pay me." I looked at him, trying to act like a guy trying to get rid of a rich old lady.No, I think about it as a blackmailer: Someone has been blackmailing me for years, and I can't bear it anymore. I want him dead, and I don't have the courage to kill him, but I'm willing to pay any price—yes, Any price—in exchange for his life. I spoke—in a hoarse voice, as if I was the one. "What about the conditions?" Mr. Bradley's demeanor changed at once--happy, a little ridiculously happy. "That's what you just said, didn't you? 'How much' really freaked me out. Nobody's ever talked about that so quickly." "What conditions do you want?" "That depends on the situation. There are several different factors. Generally speaking, it depends on the amount of bets, and sometimes it also depends on how much the customer can get. Blackmailers and the like may look at the customer How much money you can afford to decide. I'll say it up front. I don't bet with poor clients, except in the situation I just said. Then it depends on how much money Aunt Eliza has. Anyway. The condition is agreed by both parties, we both want to get a little benefit from this matter, right, in short, the bet is usually five hundred to one." "Five hundred to one? That's unreasonable." "It's always been my bet. If Aunt Eliza had put one foot in the grave, you wouldn't have come looking for me, would you? Surely there's a big bet on a man's death within a fortnight's time, Fifty thousand pounds on a hundred pounds is not too much." "What if you lose?" Mr. Bradley shrugged. "That's too bad, I'll just have to pay." "Of course I should pay if I lose, but what if I don't pay?" Mr. Bradley leaned back in his chair, half closed his eyes and said: "I shouldn't talk about it, really shouldn't." Despite the softness of his tone, I felt a shudder.He didn't say anything threatening, but I couldn't help feeling that it was there. I got up and said, "I—I'm going to think about it." Mr. Bradley returned to his pleasant and courteous manner. "Of course you have to think about it, and don't do anything impulsively. If you decide, come to me again, and we will talk carefully. Don't worry, take your time." I walked out with his words still ringing in my ears. "Don't worry, take your time..."