Chapter 9 Chapter nine

Mrs. Oliver sat in the bus.Although he was full of excitement after a while of tracking, he was a little out of breath. The young man she called the peacock in her heart was a swift runner, but Mrs. Oliver was not a swift walker.Along the embankment, she followed him at a distance of about twenty yards.At the Sharon Junction he turned into the underpass, and Mrs. Oliver also into the underpass.At Sloane Square he got out, and Mrs. Oliver gave chase.At a bus stop, she was in a line of three or four people behind him.He got on the bus, and she followed.He alighted at the station called World's End, and Mrs. Oliver followed.He plunged into a labyrinth of streets between the Kingsroad and the river.He turned into a yard that looked like a construction factory, and Mrs. Oliver watched from outside the gate.He turned into a lane again, and Mrs. Oliver gave him a moment, and then followed again--but he was out of sight.Mrs. Oliver surveyed her surroundings.This area looked dilapidated, she walked slowly into the alley.This alley leads to other alleys—several of which are cul-de-sacs.She had completely lost her way, and when she turned back to the front of the construction factory, someone behind her spoke, which really shocked her.The voice said politely, "I hope I don't walk too fast."

She turned around hastily.All of a sudden, this period of time, which was originally quite fun, has completely changed the view of the pursuit, which was not serious but full of interest.What she felt at this moment was a sudden and unexpected fear.Yes, she was very scared, and the atmosphere was filled with danger for a while.Yes, the voice was quite brisk, but she knew that what was hidden behind it was anger.That sudden anger reminded her of all kinds of chaotic scenes that were often reported in the newspapers.An old woman is attacked by a mob of youths.A vicious and cruel young man, full of hatred and desire to hurt.It was such a young man she was following.He knew she was there long ago, and after giving her a break, he followed her into the alley. He was standing in front of her at this moment, blocking her way out.This is exactly the nature of the fickle London: a moment ago there were crowds of people in the four weeks, but now there is no one calling for help.There must be someone in the next street, and there should be someone in the nearby house, but the one closest to her is a majestic figure, a figure with a strong and cruel hand.She felt that at this very moment he was going to use his hand... the peacock.A domineering peacock, wearing a pair of smart black velvet trousers, with anger hidden behind a soft, mocking and playful voice... Mrs. Oliver took three deep breaths, and made a lightning decision, She quickly resorted to an imaginary self-defense.Steadily and without hesitation, she sat down on a large trash can beside her against the wall.

"God, you scared the hell out of me," she said. "I never thought you'd be there. I hope I didn't upset you." "So you're really following me?" "Yes, I admit that I followed you. I thought it must have pissed you off, and listen, I thought this was the perfect opportunity. I bet you'd be pissed off, but you really It's not necessary, it's not necessary. Listen to me—" Mrs. Oliver sat more firmly on the dustbin: "Well, I write books. I write detective stories, and I'm really bored this morning. Actually, I went to the dining room to have a drink." coffee, trying to clear my mind. I just wrote this book that I'm stalking someone. I mean the hero of my novel is stalking someone; Not at all.’ I mean I use that word a lot in books, and I’ve read a lot of books on stalking people; I wonder if it’s as easy as some people’s books say, or if it’s like others It's so utterly impossible. So I thought, 'Well, really, the only way is to try it myself,' because there's really no other way to experience it than to try it yourself. Otherwise, there's no way I don't know what it's like, or if I'm anxious if I lose someone. As a result, as soon as I looked up, I saw you sitting at the table in front of me, and I thought—hope you don't get upset— —You should be the most suitable candidate.”

His weird, hard blue eyes were still staring at her unrelentingly, but she felt that the tension that had been pressing before seemed to disappear. "Why am I the best person for you to follow?" "Well, because you're so bright," explained Mrs. Oliver, "you're so pretty dressed—it's almost Regency style, you know; and I thought to myself, well, this is a good chance, you're very It is easy to distinguish from others. So, as soon as you left the dining room, I followed you.In the end, it was not as easy as I thought. She looked up at him and said, "Would you mind telling me that you always knew I was following you?" "

"Not at first." "Oh, well," said Mrs. Oliver thoughtfully, "of course I'm not as good as you. I mean you might not be able to tell me so easily from other older women. I'm nothing special." , isn't it?" "Has your book ever been published? I don't know if I've read it?" "Well, I don't know. You may have read it. I've written forty-three books so far. My name is Oliver." "Arran Oliver?" "Oh, you know my name," said Mrs. Oliver, "that's very flattering. But, of course, I dare say you won't like reading my books. You probably think it's too old-fashioned— Not exciting enough."

"Didn't you know me before?" Mrs. Oliver shook her head and said: "No, I don't know--I mean don't know you." "And what about the girl I was with?" "Are you referring to the lady who was eating grilled fish with you in the restaurant? No, I don't think I've seen her. Of course, I only saw her from the back. She seems to be—I mean, girls look like Pretty much the same, right?" "She knows you," said the young man suddenly.Suddenly, there was a sternness in his tone. "She said she saw you not long ago. About a week ago, I think."

"Where? At a party? I thought maybe I'd seen her. What's her name? Maybe I'd know." She thought he might be in two moods at the moment: to speak, or not to speak; but he decided to tell her, and as he spoke, he watched her face sharply. "Her name is Norma Resderick." "Norma Restarick. Oh! Of course, yes, at a party in the country. The place's called--wait I see--Long Hill, isn't it?--I don't remember the house name. I went with some friends. I don't think I would have recognized her anyway, but she did mention my book.I also promised to give her a copy, what a coincidence, isn't it, I actually chose such a person who sat with someone I more or less knew to follow.What a coincidence, I don't think I can fit this into my book.That would seem like too much of a coincidence, wouldn't you say? "

Mrs. Oliver sat up. "God, where have I been sitting? Trash can! Really! And it's such a rotten one." She snorted and said, "Where did I go?" David was still watching her.She suddenly felt that what she had thought earlier was completely wrong. "I'm so bored," thought Mrs. Oliver. "Nerves. Think he's dangerous, think he'll do me a favor." He was smiling at her now with the most tender warmth, and he shook slightly. Shaking his head, curls of chestnut hair fluttered on his shoulders.According to the style of today's young people, they are really beautiful animals!

"I figured, to give you an idea of ​​where you are at the moment, I should at least show you, come with me. Come up, take that staircase." He pointed to a rickety staircase topped with what looked like a Pigeon House. "Which staircase?" Mrs. Oliver hesitated for a moment.Maybe he wanted to use his smile to lure her up, and then hit her with a stick on the head. "It's useless, Alan," Mrs. Oliver said to herself, "you've got yourself into this situation, and you have to hang on and see if you can find what you're looking for." "Do you think the stairs can hold my weight?" she said. "It looks like it's about to collapse."

"Very good. I'll go up first," he said, "and show you the way." Mrs. Oliver followed up the ladder-like staircase.Still not working, she was still uncontrollably afraid.It's not just the peacock that's afraid, it's that she doesn't know where the peacock is going to lead her.Anyway, she was about to know.He pushed open a door on the roof and walked in.It was a very empty room, a converted artist's studio.There were mattresses here and there on the floor, paintings piled up against the walls, and an easel or two.The room smelled of oil paint.There were two people in the room, and a young man with a beard was standing there drawing a picture.He turned his head as they entered.

"Hello, David," he said, "bringing friends?" Mrs Oliver thought he was the dirtiest looking young man she had ever seen.Greasy black hair, coiled into a bun and hanging behind the head, the front hanging over the eyes.Except for the beard, and the face is not shaved.The clothes on his body seemed to be all made of greasy black leather, and he was wearing a pair of high leather boots.Mrs. Oliver's eyes flicked past him, and fell on a girl who was acting as a model.She was half lying on a chair on a platform, her head was thrown back, and her hair was hanging down.Mrs. Oliver recognized her at once as the second girl in Bollorden's flats.Mrs. Oliver could not remember her last name, but she remembered her first.She was the most gorgeous and listless girl, Frances. "This is Bode," David said, referring to the disgusting painter. "It's our rising talent. This is Frances, she's playing a desperate damsel asking for an abortion." "Don't talk nonsense, you ape," said Peter. "I believe I know you, and I should," said Mrs. Oliver, cheerfully, without knowing anything. "I must have seen you somewhere! Nearly, somewhere." "You're Mrs. Oliver, aren't you?" said Frances. "She said so herself," said David. "Is it true? Isn't it?" "Why, where did I see you?" Mrs. Oliver was still murmuring, "at a party, wasn't it? No, let me think again, I see. It was at Po Loden Apartments." At this moment Frances sat up from her chair, speaking in a tired but elegant tone.Peter wailed loudly and mournfully. "Oh! You see you've broken your posture again now! Do you have to squirm here and there? Can't you stay still?" "No, I can't take it anymore. This position is so uncomfortable, my shoulders are so stiff that I can't move it." "I'm doing a stalking experiment," said Mrs. Oliver, "and it's a lot harder than I thought. Is this a studio?" she said, looking around her happily.It's the way it is now, a sort of pigeon tower - luck that it didn't fall off the floor. said Peter. "Everything you need is here," David said. "The light in the north is very good, the room is spacious, and there is a place to sleep; when there is a shortage of three downstairs, you can play cards, and there are so-called cooking facilities. And A few bottles will do." He turned to Mrs. Oliver, but in a quite different tone, said very courteously, "What would you like a drink?" "I don't drink," said Mrs. Oliver. "This lady doesn't drink," said David, "who would have thought that!" "It's not very polite, but it's quite right," said Mrs. Oliver. "Most people look at me and say, 'I always thought you must be drinking a lot.'" She opened the handbag—and immediately three curls of gray hair fell to the floor.David picked it up and handed it to her. "Oh! Thank you very much," said Mrs. Oliver, taking it up. "I was in a hurry this morning. I wonder if I have any more hairpins." She reached into her handbag, and fastened the curls on her head again. up. Peter laughed out loud—"What a guts," he said. "That's out of the question," thought Mrs. Oliver, "how could I have been such a fool as to think that I was in danger this time. Danger—these people? They are, whatever they may appear, a very nice, kind fellow. Friends often tell me the truth. My imagination is too rich." Then she said she had to go, and David, with Regency masculinity, helped her down the rickety stairs, and pointed her to the surest and most convenient route to the King's Row. "Then," he said, "you can take a bus—or a taxi if you want." "Call a taxi," said Mrs. Oliver. "My feet are going numb. The sooner I get into a taxi the better. Thank you," she added, "that you don't even mind my following you for no apparent reason. Luckily." , Those private detectives, professional detectives and other things will never look like me." "Probably not," said David solemnly. "Turn left from here—turn right, turn left again until you reach the river bank, turn sharp right again, and keep going." But it was really strange, when she walked through the barren yard of the construction factory, a sense of uneasiness and suspense surged into her heart again. "I shouldn't think about it anymore." She looked back towards the stairs and the window of the studio. "Three very nice young men," said Mrs. Oliver to herself, "so nice, and so polite. Turn left from here, and then right. Just because they look strange, you think they are dangerous." People. Is it time to turn right? Or left? Right, I thought- ouch, my feet. Looks like it's going to rain again." The road seemed endless. , the King's Row also seemed far away.She couldn't even hear a car—where was the river?She began to suspect that she must have misremembered others' instructions. "Oh! never mind," thought Mrs. Oliver, "you'll be out soon anyway--to the river, or Putney Street, or the Wandsworth, or whatever." She asked a passer-by how to get to King's Road, and the man said he was a foreigner who didn't understand English. Mrs. Oliver wearily turned another corner at the entrance of the alley, and finally saw the ripples on the river.She hurriedly walked down the narrow passage leading to the river bank, and when she heard footsteps behind her, she turned half her body before she was hit hard on the back, and there was a burst of gold stars in front of her eyes.