Chapter 5 chapter Five

Beaver walked to the grocery store on the corner of the street, called the police headquarters, and found Officer Ackley. "Beaver," asked Ackley, "what does that long line of taxis coming to his place mean?" Beaver said, "He's going to be a writer. He's got an idea to write an essay." Reports, and he had to do it right away. He picked up a lot of second-hand furniture, typewriters, file boxes, and the like, and called a cab to bring it back." "You never know if he's kidding you or if he's really kidding you," Officer Ackley complained.

Ackley complained again. There is a delicate tension in the offices of the precision instrument design and installation company.On the surface, the company's business seems to be running normally, but the furtive eyes and whispers of people in the lounge indicate that the atmosphere is not easy. Local news editor Frank Paxon sat in his private office, pencil in hand, scribbling aimlessly on a piece of paper. The buzzer used to communicate between offices sounded, and Paxson moved the lever almost mechanically.The voice of the lady from the consulting office came: "Here is an author who brought a manuscript and said that he would sell it to the local news for $500."

Paxon was taken aback: "$500 for a manuscript?" "yes." "Tell him we don't buy manuscripts. All of our manuscripts are written by insiders. Tell him they won't give me $500 for an entire issue." "Yes, Mr. Paxson. I told him, but he insisted that I inform you that he had another gun for sale." "A gun?" "Yes, sir." This aroused Paxon's interest: "What kind of gun?" "He said it was a genuine Isabole-type upright shotgun, and he asked for fifteen dollars." "A real Isabole shotgun!" Paxon exclaimed. "Only fifteen dollars?"

"Yes, sir." As a gun lover, Paxson could no more turn down such an offer than a baseball fan could turn down a free ticket to the World Series. "Let him in." Paxon had expected a shabby fellow in rags, with long hair and shining eyes, to enter.Little did he expect that a suave and well-dressed man would walk into his office.The man carried a suitcase in his right hand and two gun cases of fine leather over his left shoulder. Paxon became suspicious and said, "You know, brother, I don't want to buy a gun from someone I don't know anything about. I need you to have all the gun procedures."

"Oh, sure," said Lester Leith, "I'll give you a sales certificate." "I need more than a sales certificate. I need to know something about you. That price, um, is unbelievable for a genuine Isabole-type stand-up shotgun." Lester Leith laughed: "Would you like me to raise the price to $60?" Paxon blushed. "I just want to buy another gun, if the price is right. I think you can understand my thoughts, um, sir, your name is-" "Leith," said the visitor. "Oh, I think you can understand." Lester Leith laughed: "Actually, Mr. Paxon, I'm willing to sell this Isabore for cheap because I can't hit anything with it, whereas I can't hit with a Batebilt." crack shot."

Paxon shook his head: "I don't like the Batebilt type, I like the Isabole type shotgun with a flat stock." "You're going to love this gun," Leith said. He opened one of the gun cases, and Paxson inspected it briefly, then assembled the gun, tried the safety catch, and slung it over his shoulder. Once or twice, then turned to Leith in bewilderment: "How much did you say you offered?" "15 dollars." Paxon stared at him suspiciously. "If you need an inquiry," Leith said, "you can call my accountant." "I think you know how much this gun is worth new," Paxson said.

"certainly." "So why only $15?" Leith hesitated for a moment, then said suddenly: "I'll tell you, Mr. Paxon. I think there's a bulge in the barrel. You can't see it very well in the house, but if you go to the window, let the When sunlight shines into the gun barrel, you can see it clearly, a special shadow that is not clear." Paxon walked to the window, extended the barrel of the gun into the sunlight, and began to examine it carefully.Lester Leith sat motionless at Paxon's table, smoking a cigarette. After examining it carefully for a moment, Paxon turned and said, "I don't think there is—oh, there might be a small bump. I don't think it's worth more than $15 anyway, though."

Leith said: "Well, to tell you the truth, Mr. Paxson, I thought I could show you my manuscript if I made an attractive offer. I—" Paxon shook his head vigorously: "We don't buy manuscripts from outside." "If that's the case, I think I'd rather have another editor show him the gun," said Lester Leith, evenly. Paxson's face changed drastically: "So you're playing this kind of trick! You want to sell me an Isabol shotgun for about a tenth of the price to bribe me to buy yours for $500 Article. Hey, you bastard! Get out! Go, get your gun! What do you think I am? It's worth a little money!"

Lester Leith, keeping his dignity as best he could, picked up the suitcase, shouldered the gun case, and went out.Paxon followed all the way to the door, saying all the things he wanted to say before forgetting the matter. Lester Leith had just emerged from the elevator when he saw Bernice Lamen get off a bus that was parked around the corner and began to walk towards the entrance of the Rust Commercial Building, walking hurriedly as if about to What to do.He stayed there until she found him. She stopped and looked at him in surprise. "Oh, my God, it's you!" she exclaimed. "You look happy," said Leith.

"Yes. But what on earth are you carrying these weapons for?" "I was devastated," Leith said. "Why? What's the matter?" "I've worked so hard for this story," Leith sighed, "and now nobody wants it." "Where did you submit the manuscript?" "To the local news, your editor Frank Paxon is not interested in it." "My God," she said, "he doesn't have the money to buy outside manuscripts." Leith said, "Money doesn't matter. I just want to see my name in black and white." She frowned and looked at him in confusion, her delicate eyebrows were straightened a little: "Are you serious?"

"I've never been so serious in my life, but let's not talk about my troubles. Why are you so happy?" "Jason Belvier just apologized personally to me and told me to go back to work," she said. "You mean you're all right?" "Oh, at least they've decided I can go back to work." "I don't see what to be thankful about," said Leith thoughtfully. "You'll be thankful, if you're living wages, if being fired under suspicion prevents you from looking for work elsewhere." "Is it that serious?" Leith asked. "Yes, even worse." "Given the circumstances," Leith said, "we need a drink. You're celebrating, I'm rejuvenating." "I have to go to work." "On the contrary, that's the last thing you should do," Leith said. "What do you mean?" "Where did your sense of independence go? You want them to just insult you, drag you into a private detective's office for interrogation, then hand you over to the police to extract a confession from you. Smeared by the brush of suspicion, it becomes The object of ridicule by colleagues, and then someone expresses a little comfort, and you eagerly grab it and run back to work?" "why not?" "Because there is a better way. You should ask them to show you respect. You should demand a public apology and some compensation for the inconvenience they have caused you, let alone the damage they have done to your reputation. mentioned." "I'm afraid I'm not the stuff." Leith studied her carefully. "That," he said, "has nothing to do with what you're made of." She blushed, then laughed. "Really, Mr. Leith, I'm sorry your story was rejected, but I can't stand here and chat. I have work to do." Leith pointed to his car parked on the curb, and he asked, "Can't you just wait, maybe thirty minutes—just for a drink?" She hesitated. "And if you put me on Jason Bellevue," he said, "I'm sure he'll apologize to you in front of the entire staff at Precision Design and Install." "I would love to, but that would be too much. It would kill Bellevier," she said. Leith said: "Let's drink and chat later, I know where there's a great spiced coffee with brandy and laurel bark and orange zest and - oh, come on. Let's talk over there .” "Well, all right, but I don't want to delay too long," she said. Fifteen minutes later, they entered a restaurant, found a table and sat down.The waiter was skillfully stirring various ingredients with a silver long-handled spoon at the table. The burning brandy emitted blue flames, licked the bottom of the bowl from time to time, and cast a circle of light around it, floating out Fragrant smell.Then he scooped two cups of spiced drink out of it and withdrew cautiously.Leith said, "Let me call Jason Bellevue." "What do you want to tell him?" "I'm going to tell him he's wronged you so much that you can't go back to work unless he pays you $1 and apologizes publicly. Then after some haggling, I'll get it done for $5,000." "I'm going to be fired within five seconds of your call," she said. Leith solemnly drew his wallet from his pocket.Remove 10 $100 bills from inside and place them neatly on the tablecloth. "I'll bet $1,000," he said, "that what you say won't happen." She stared at the money and looked up at his face: "You are the strangest person I have ever seen." "At least that's worth mentioning," he said without hesitation, "In today's age, mediocrity is rampant, and it's hard to be different from others, even if someone says you're slightly abnormal." "There's nothing mild about it," she retorted with a laugh. "Are you really serious?" In the process of answering, Lisi motioned to the waiter: "Bring the phone here." The waiter fetched a telephone with a long cord and plugged it into a telephone socket by the table.Lester Leith checked his notebook and dialed a number quickly. Bernice Lamen watched him worriedly. "Hi," said Leith, "I want to speak to Mr. Jason Bellevue, and tell him about the drawings." As Leith waited for Jason Bellevue to answer the phone, Bernice Lamen said: "After about 10 minutes, I'm going to feel like this is the craziest stupidest impulse I've ever had in my life, and I'm going to feel like I didn't hold back. You regretted it in the street. But now, I feel curious, and—and—” A deep man's voice came from the phone, saying, "Yes, I'm Bellevue. What's the matter with the drawings?" Lester Leith said mildly: "I want to talk to you about Miss Lamen." "What about her?" Leith said: "You've damaged her character, you've accused her of crimes, you've brought her a terrible disgrace. It seems you now think—" "Who are you?" Bellevue yelled angrily, and his voice was about to crack the receiver. "I'm Lester Leith." "Are you a lawyer?" "No," said Leith, "I'm a friend of hers, and I hope it won't be necessary..." "Hey, if you're not a lawyer, what business does it matter to you?" Leith said, "I'm a money manager." "A what?" "A financier, I finance various business ventures. Right now I'm funding Miss Lamen's claim to you, and I hope we don't need a lawyer." "Go and get a hundred lawyers!" Bellevier roared. "Very well," said Leith, "I just want you to remember that I have offered you a reasonable solution. Perhaps you'd better consult your lawyer and see what he has to say." "I won't pay any attention to your blackmail!" said Bellevier. "Whatever you want," Leith said, "remember, when your company got involved in a $100,000 lawsuit and your lawyer told you you couldn't stand it, did you ever There was a chance that it could be settled privately. And once the shareholders of Precision Instrument Design and Installation learned of it..." "Hey, wait a minute. I never say no to anything without verification. What amount do you want?" "Ten thousand dollars." "Well, no way. I feel better now, and you can't blackmail us so much." "That's just your idea." "That's all I know. Goodbye," Bellevier said. The sound of the "bang" button of the receiver on the other end of the telephone line came clearly. Bernice Lamen sighed. "I've expected that," she said. Lester Leith picked up the ten $100 bills and pressed them under her plate: "If my words don't work, these are yours." "No, I can't take the money - but we're screwed. He's made his decision, it's a gamble and we lost." Leith smiled. "Given the circumstances, we'd better have some more spiced coffee. There's no need for you to go back to the office now." Tears welled up in her eyes.She blinked, held back tears, and forced a smile to say, "Oh, well, it was kind of funny when it happened." Leith said: "Hey, don't worry, things are basically going as I expected." "You mean you thought he'd reject you a long time ago?" Leith nodded. "Then why are you still doing that?" "Because I think he's going to think about it and he's going to call his lawyer. I'm going to call him again after we've had another cup of coffee, and then you're going to hear a different answer. " They chatted, drank a second cup of coffee, and ordered another brandy and liqueur.Then Leith called Jason Belvier again, and it was the sullen Instruments president who answered.This time Bellevue's voice was much more cautious: "Listen, Leith, maybe you don't need to go to a lawyer. The more I think about it, the more I think Miss Lamen should get some compensation, but $10,000, it's definitely not going to work." "She wants you to apologize," Leith said, "in front of the whole office." Bellevue hesitated for a moment.