Chapter 10 chapter Ten

Lola was displeased when she learned that Grant was going to Squam the next day instead of fishing in the river. She said, "But I just made you and Zoe a great lunch!" Grant felt that Lola's disappointment did not come from the lunch, but from other more plausible reasons.But since all his thoughts are now on thinking about more important things, he has no time to analyze such trivial details. "A young American guy who lives at the Moore Hotel came here to ask for my help. If there is no objection, I think he can go to the river instead of me. He told me he used to fish a lot, maybe Pat would like to show him trick."

Pat's face glowed as he ate breakfast, and the person sitting across from him could feel it.Today was the first day of the Easter holidays, and he found it interesting to hear Grant's suggestion, after all, showing something for people to see was one of the few things he liked to do. "What's his name?" Pat asked. "Ted Cullen." "What does Ted mean?" "I don't know, maybe it's Theodore's nickname!" "Hmm—" Pat said suspiciously. "He's a pilot." "Oh!" said Pat, stretching his eyebrows. "I thought that kind of name was probably a professor."

"No, he flies to and from Arabia a lot." "Arabic!" said Pat, rolling the r so loudly that the secular Scottish breakfast table was filled with the sparkle of precious stones.A combination of modern transportation and ancient Baghdad, Ted Cullen seemed to have the perfect package, and Pat would be more than happy to show him. "Of course, Zoe still has the highest priority to choose where to fish." Pat said. Grant would be wrong if he thought Pat's affection for Zoe would be expressed in shy silence or obsessive admiration.Pat's only sign of surrender was to keep putting the words "me and Zoe" into his conversations, and the "me" would come first.

After breakfast, Grant borrowed a car to go to Moymore, and he told Ted Cullen that a little boy with red hair and a green kilt would be waiting on the drawbridge opposite Tully with all his gear and fishing methods he.As for himself, he hoped to be back from Sgon to join them by the river in time for the afternoon. "I want to go with you, Mr. Grant," said Cullen. "Have you got a clue about the matter? Is that why you went to Sgon this morning?" "No, I'm going to find a clue. There's nothing you can help with right now, so you can spend the day by the river."

"All right, Mr. Grant, all at your command. What's the name of your little friend?" "Pet Rankin," said Grant, and headed for Squam. He stayed up all night last night, staring at the ceiling, letting the images in his mind slide and fade into each other, like a stunt shot in a movie.The shapes keep emerging, breaking up, disappearing, and never in the same combination.He lay on his back and let them perform an endless and slow interlaced dance in his mind; while he himself kept his distance, not participating in the gyrations at all, like watching the Northern Lights show.

It was the best way for his brain to work.Of course, there is another way his brain works, and it works quite well.For example, when it comes to a series of time and place issues, such as Mr. A showing up at location x at 5:00 p.m., Grant's brain can calculate as clearly as a computer.But if he encounters something that is motivated as the main axis, he will sit back and let his whole mind be on the problem without restraint.Just let it go completely, and the brain will produce the patterns it needs. He still doesn't know why Bill Kenrick took a train to the north of Scotland when he was supposed to be meeting his friends in Paris; let alone why he traveled with someone else's papers.But he was on the verge of figuring out why Bill Kenrick was suddenly interested in Arabia.Karen saw the world from his own limited pilot's point of view, so he thought Bill's interests were locked in flight paths, but Grant was sure that Bill's interests had other reasons.According to Cullen, Kenrick shows no signs of being crazy.

On the other hand, his obsession with research routes is unlikely to be related to weather factors. It should be sometime, somewhere, when flying through a certain thrilling route, Kenrick discovered something that aroused his interest. His interest was sparked when he was blown off course during a sandstorm that ravaged the Arabian interior. When he returned to the voyage, he became dizzy, and when others talked to him, he seemed absent-minded, as if the whole person had not returned from the scene. So, Grant went to Squann this morning to find out what interested Bill Kenrick in the mysterious Arabian desert, in this vast and desolate land? Go to Mr. Talizik.Whether you want to know the possible value of a manor or the properties of lava, you have to go to Mr. Talitzik.

Early in the morning, when Sgon's public library was empty, he saw Mr. Talitzik with a donut and a cup of coffee in his hand.Donuts, thought Grant, were a lovely boyish and lively choice for a man who seemed likely to serve whole wheat bread with china tea and lemon.Mr. Talitsik was very happy to see Grant again, asked him if his research on the island had progressed, listened with great interest to Grant's different words about heaven, and then offered assistance on new research topics.Arabia? Oh! Yes, there is a whole shelf of books on Arabia.There have been as many writers on Arabia as on the Highbrides, and with the same tendency, if he may be allowed to say so, to idealize their subjects.

"You think it boils down to the mundane fact that both places are nothing more than windy deserts." No, no, not quite.This is again a bit of a generalization.Mr. Talitzik derives much pleasure and benefit from studying the island.But the tendency to idealize primitive peoples is perhaps the same in every case.Here is the bookshelf on the subject that Mr. Talitzik would leave Grant to munch on alone. The books sit in the reference room with no other readers present.The door closed quietly, leaving him alone to concentrate on his personal research.He devoured each of them with the quick, practiced eye of a row as he scanned the entire row of Highbury books in Knuckle's drawing room.Their scope is the same as that of the Highbury Islands last time: works from emotional writers to scientists are all inclusive, the only difference is that some belong to the classic category, which is more suitable to be classified under the classic category.

If Grant still had an iota of doubt that the person in berth 7B was Bill Kenrick, it was completely gone now, when he discovered the desert "Desert Field" in southeastern Arabia, pronounced in the local language as "Strong Kelly". So that's why it sounds like "Robbing Kelly"! Then he started to shift his interest to this empty area, pulling each book from the shelf, flipping through the pages about this area, and then putting it back, Pull out the next one.At this moment, a noun caught his attention: "where the monkey lives", monkey, he called in his heart.talking beast.He flipped back to the previous paragraph to see what he was talking about.

It is talking about Huaba. Waba seems to be the Atlantis of Arabia (Atlantis, an island that is said to have sunk in the Atlantic Ocean.), a legendary city that was destroyed by crime at some time between the legend and the letter of history.The crime and affluence of this city in those days were far beyond what words can describe.The most beautiful concubines live in the palace, and the most handsome horses in the world live in the stables. Every place is exquisitely crafted.The soil is so rich that you can reach out and pick the fruit that grows in the ground.But there is also endless leisure for men to commit great sins.So soon destruction came, and with it a conflagration of cleansing sin.But now Huaba, the legendary city, remains in ruins, guarded by moving sand and rocky cliffs that constantly change location and shape, inhabited only by monkeys and evil spirits. No one will come near here, because the evil spirits will blow sandstorms on the travelers who come. This is Huaba. And no one seems to have found the ruins, although every Arab explorer, overtly or secretly, sought them out.In fact, so far no two explorers have agreed on exactly which part of Arabia this legendary place is located.Grant went back and read the relevant books again, and searched again with the magic keyword of Huaba.Then he discovered that each of the pundits had his own favorite theory, and that the inferences were from places as far apart as Oman to Yemen.He found that none of the authors downplayed their failure by belittling or questioning the legend.The story has been circulated in Arabia in a consistent form, and both sentimental writers and scientists believe that the source of this legend is based on fact.Becoming the discoverer of Waba is every explorer's dream, but it is still guarded by dust, gods and visions. Writes one of the greatest authorities: "If at last the fabled city is found, it may be not by effort or calculation, but by chance." It was accidental. The pilot who was accidentally blown off course by a sandstorm? What did Bill Kenrick see when he emerged from the cloud of coffee-colored sand that hit him? An empty palace in the sand? Could that be him going off course? Something to look for? Something to see, maybe. So that's why he "began to be habitually late"? After the first experience, he didn't say anything about it. If what he had seen was indeed a city in the sand, then he would be forgiven for not telling anyone.Because it would just provoke a laugh, and they wouldn't believe in any such thing as a mirage.Even if any of those OCAL pilots had actually heard the legend—hardly in such a mobile group—they would have laughed at his whims. The ms and ns of English letters are closely connected together, "just because he is more cautious" this Bill didn't say anything, but next time he went back again, again and again.Maybe it was to find out where he had seen it, maybe it was to see a place he could already pinpoint. He studied maps, he read about Arabia, and—then he decided to come to England. He had arranged to go to Paris with Ted Cullen, but then wanted to spend some time alone in England.He had no relatives in England, hadn't lived in the UK for several years, and, according to Karen, he never got homesick for a place or wrote to anyone regularly.He was raised by his aunt after his parents died.And now my aunt is dead too.Since then he has had no expectation of returning to England. Grant sat back and let the silence surround him.He could almost hear the dust slowly stilling.Year after year, these dusts settle in silence like Huaba. Bill Kenrick came to England.But about three weeks later, when it was time to join friends in Paris, he showed up in Scotland as Charles Martin. Grant could imagine why he came to England, but why was he pretending to be someone else? And why did he come up north in such a hurry? Who was he going to visit as Charles Martin? , he should have had time to make a hasty visit to that person, and then fly to Paris to meet his friend at the appointed time.He could visit someone in the Heights, and then fly from Sgon to Paris to have dinner with friends in a restaurant. But why use the identity of Charles Martin? Grant put the books back on the shelf and patted them with satisfaction, a gesture he hadn't done when he was studying the High Brides books, and then he went to Talliz. Mr. K's office.At least for Bill Kenrick, he had a clue.He knows how to verify. He asked Mr Talitzik, "Who do you think is the most authoritative Arab expert in Britain today?" Mr. Talitzik, shaking his ribboned pince-nez and smiling contemptuously, said there were a whole host of successors to Thomas and Philby, but he thought Only Heron Lloyd can claim to be a true authority.It is of course possible that Mr. Talitzik was particularly partial to Lloyd, since Lloyd was the only one in the group who could write English that sounded like literature.In addition to his talent as a writer, Lloyd had talent, integrity, and a good reputation, which cannot be denied.In his various expeditions he did accomplish some astonishing itineraries, and enjoyed a high standing among the Arabs. After Grant had thanked Mr. Talitsik, he went to Who's Who and copied Heron Lloyd's address. Then he left the library for lunch.He was supposed to go to Caledonian because it was more convenient, but he followed the absurd urge to go to the other side of town and took Seven B The shadow of the breakfast place. Today's dining room is not as dark as it was when the lights were only half turned on. It looks stark and bright, with silverware, glass and tablecloths, and even a head waiter walking around in a formal waiter's attire; Now, as calm, warm and refreshing as that morning.He remembered how he needed reassurance and reassurance back then, and now he could hardly believe that it was him who had been tortured to the point of exhaustion. He was sitting at the same table, near the screen door in front of the counter, and Mary came over and asked him what he wanted to eat, and how was his fishing in Tully lately? "How did you know I was fishing in Tully?" "You were with Mr. Rankin the last time you came to breakfast just off the train!" get off the train.Getting off the train after a night of strife and pain, that nasty night.When he got off the train, Ren Qib died in the sleeper, he just glanced at it carelessly, harboring a moment of regret, that's all.But this momentary and unintentional pity was rewarded seven to one hundredfold.Seven B followed him all the time, and finally saved him.It was Seven B who told him to go to those islands, to those cold and crazy places to look for things he didn't know what they were.During that strange and absurd transition period, he did all the things he never did anywhere else; he laughed until tears came, he danced, he let himself blow like a leaf The next horizon, he sings, he sits, watches.Then he came back, a healthy man.He owed Seven B far more than he could repay. Bill Kenrick, the rootless young man, was on his mind as he ate his lunch.Does he feel lonely? Is he free? If he is free, is it the freedom of the swallow or the freedom of the eagle?Is it the lightness of chasing the sun, or the majesty of Gao Xiang? At least he has a rare and lovely feature anywhere and in any era; he is a man of action and a born poet.This is what separates him from those who work at oCAL, who can cross continents without thinking like mosquitoes, making some white figures in the sky.And this is what makes him different from the five o'clock crowd at the London train station. For those people, the risk is of no value at all.Even if the man who died in berth seven B wasn't Sidney or Glenfield, at least he was one of those types. And because of that, Grant loved him. He tipped Mary generously, then left the restaurant to book two flights to London the next morning.He had a week left on vacation, and there were plenty of fish in the rivers of Tuli Valley—beautiful silver fighting fish, but he had other things to do.Since yesterday afternoon, there was only one thing on his mind, and that was Bill Kenrick. He was a little uneasy about getting on the plane back to London, but not seriously.Looking back at his old self, the man who had been terrified of being possessed by a demon, the man who had stepped off the London Mail on Sgon's platform a few weeks ago, he could barely make out who it was.Now all that is left of this miserable guy is a little worry that he will be afraid. And the fear itself no longer exists. He bought enough desserts for Pat to eat for three months, and then drove back to the hills. He's actually a bit concerned that these desserts are too classy for Pat -- maybe a little too girly -- because Pat declares his own favorite is the one in Mr. Mel's window, labeled "Eye of Ogo Pogo." "Candy.But Laura would definitely only feed him a little at a time. Halfway between Milmore and Sgon, he parked by the river and walked across the Badlands in search of Ted Cullen.Since it was not long after lunch, Karen probably hadn't started fishing yet. He hasn't started yet.As Grant walked to the edge of the heath and looked down into the valley by the river, he saw a group of three in the middle, sitting leisurely and relaxed on the bank.Zoe was still sitting against the rock in her favorite position, at the level of her crossed feet on either side, and her two followers, Pat Rankin and Ted Cullen, were giving her undivided attention.Grant watched them with pleasure and indulgence, suddenly realizing that Bill Kenrick had actually done him one last favor, which he hadn't been aware of until now.Bill Kenrick saved him from falling in love with Zoe Kentallon. It only takes a few more hours to really make him fall in love with this woman. Just a few more hours alone with her and he would be hopelessly entangled.But Bill Kenrick stepped in just in time to save the day. Pat saw him first, and ran to take him to Zoe and Karen, like a child or a puppy would do to someone they liked.Zoe tilted her head back as he came and said, "You haven't missed a thing, Mr. Grant. Everyone hasn't caught a fish all day, so would you like to help me hold the rod for a while?" Maybe a change of rhythm can catch fish!" Grant said he'd love to do it because he's running out of time to fish. "You still have a week to go fishing!" she said. Grant wondered why she would know. "No," he said, "I'll be back in London tomorrow morning." Then, for the first time, he saw Zoe responding to stimuli like a normal adult.There was an instant regret on her face, as obvious as Pat's, but unlike Pat, she could control it and hide it.She said in a gentle, polite tone that she was sorry, but no emotion showed on her face anymore.She is the face of Andersen's fairy tale again. Before he could think about the whole situation, Ted Cullen said: "May I go back to London with you, Mr. Grant." "I just want you to come with me! I've booked two tickets for tomorrow morning." Finally Grant took the fishing rod that Ted Cullen was using--it was an extra rod from the Kernu family--and they could walk down the river together and talk.But Zooey was not in the mood to continue fishing. "I've had enough," she said, pulling off the rod. "I think I'll go back to Knuckle and write a letter." Pat stood there bewildered, but still like a friendly dog, bewildered between the two objects of his allegiance, and then he said, "I'll go back with Zoe." Grant thought it was almost as if Pat was saying that to support her rather than just accompany her; as if he had joined the protest against Zoe's injustice.But since it is impossible for anyone to ever think of being unfair to Zooey, his attitude is of course unnecessary. He and Ted Cullen sat on the boulder, chatting about the information he had found, and he watched the two figures in front of him get smaller and smaller as they walked across the wasteland.He was a little curious about why Zoe had such a sudden retreat, and why she had such a listless look? She looked like a discouraged child, dragging her weary and slow pace home.Maybe she was thinking about her husband David, and let that thought drown out for a moment! That's grief: it lets you go for months until you think it's all right; Block out the sun. "But that's nothing to get excited about, is it?" Ted Cullen said. "What's not exciting?" "It's that ancient city you mentioned! Would anyone be excited about this? I mean, would someone be interested in these ruins? Ruins are nothing new in this world." "Oh, it's different," said Grant, who had forgotten about Zoe. "Whoever discovers Waba will make history." "You said he found something important. I thought you meant something like a munitions factory in the desert." "No, if it's those things, it's not unusual!" "what? " "Secret munitions factories, people who discover such things don't become celebrities." Ted's ears perked up. "Celebrity? You mean whoever discovers that place becomes a celebrity?" "That's what I said." "No, what you just said is that he's going to make history." "Yeah, that's right," said Grant. "Now 'making history' and 'becoming famous' are no longer synonymous. Yes, he will be famous, even the discoverer of Tutankhamen's tomb (Tuta Ilkhamen, ancient The king of Egypt's eighteenth dynasty, whose tomb was found almost intact by the British explorer Howard Carter in 1922." "So you think maybe Bill's going to see that guy named Lloyd?" "If not to meet him, then to meet people in the field. He wanted to find someone who would take what he said as an important thing; I mean, not just make fun of what he saw. He wants to meet someone who will be excited or interested in the news he brings. He'll do what I do anyway. He'll go to a museum, library, or even the National Information Service, and find out who The most famous Arab explorer at present. Of course, since the librarians and directors are pedantic people, and the national information department is concerned about libel charges, they should list a bunch of names for him. But lao Ed was far above the other explorers because he wrote as well as he explored, and he was a well-known celebrity in the field. So about twenty to one, Bill would choose Lloyd." "So let's find out when and where he saw Lloyd and start tracking from there!" "Yes. In the meantime we have to find out whether he went to Lloyd as Charles Martin, or under his own name." "Why did he take the name of Charles Martin?" "Who knows? You said he was a little cautious or cunning! Maybe he wanted to keep his connection with OCAL secret! Did OCAL strictly require you to keep the flight route and itinerary secret? Maybe it's that simple." Karen sat in silence for a while, drawing the end of his fishing rod in the grass, and then said: "Mr. Well, you don't think Bill was murdered, do you?" "Of course it's possible. Murders do happen, sometimes clever ones. But there's a good chance it's not murder." "why? " "Just one thing is enough, that is, the police have already investigated. Although there are many speculative novels that describe the police investigation negatively, our criminal investigation department is really an efficient institution. If It is, if you will accept my slightly biased opinion, the most efficient institution that our country, or any other country, has ever seen." "But the police were already wrong about one thing." "You mean his identity? Yes, but you can't blame them for that." "You mean because the layout is perfect? ​​Yeah, how do you know there's nothing else as perfectly laid out as Charles Martin's identity?" "I don't know. Like I said, clever murders happen. But it's easy to fake identities, it's hard to get away with murder. How do you think this murder happened? Euston, went into the berth and beat him hard, and then arranged like a fall?" "yes." "But after the train left Euston, no one looked for Seven B. Eighth B said that shortly after the service staff checked the tickets, they heard Seven B's people come back and close the door, and they didn't hear any conversation after that. "It doesn't take a conversation to punch someone in the back of the head!" "True, but he needs his chance. You have to open the door, and the guy in the sleeper has to be in just the right position for him to deliver the killing blow. The odds are slim. It's not easy to attack a person in a bunk. Anyone who wants to kill someone has to get into the berth, which is absolutely impossible in the corridor. You can't do it if the person in the berth is on the bed; the person in the berth faces You, you can't do it, and he will turn around as soon as he senses someone. So, the only possibility is to have a simple conversation first, and then do it. But eight B said that no one came to seven at all B, and didn't hear any conversations. Eight B is the kind of woman who can't sleep on the train. Because she knows it in advance, so any little sound, just a little scream or click, is right It was torture for her. She usually didn't fall asleep until about two-thirty in the morning, and Bill Kenrick was dead before that." "Did she hear him fall?" "She heard a 'bang' and thought it was Seven B taking off the suitcase, and of course Seven B didn't have a big suitcase that would make a 'bang' when he took it off. Oh! By the way, Bill would Can you speak French?" "A little everyday conversation." "Like Avec moi (with me)." "Yes, that's about it. Why do you ask me that question?" "Just curious. Looks like he's going to spend the night somewhere." "You mean in Scotland?" "Yes. He has the New Testament and novels in French, but he doesn't speak much French." "Perhaps his Scottish friends won't either." "Yes, Scots don't usually speak French. But if he's going to spend the night somewhere else, he can't meet you in Paris on the same day." "Oh! One day's nothing to Bill. He can just send me a telegram on the fourth of March." "Yeah...I wish I could figure out why he's covering himself up like that." "Cover yourself?" "Yeah, that's why it's so well disguised? Why does he want people to think he's French?" "I can't think of any reason why anyone would want to be thought of as French?" Karen said. "What do you want from Lloyd?" "I hope it was Lloyd who saw him off at Euston Station, because they talked about 'Jack Kelly', remember? That's pronounced like 'Rob Kelly' for Yogurt." "so lloyd lives in london?" "Yes. Chelsea." "I hope he's home." "Me too. Now I'm going to make the most of my last hour in Tuli, and if you can bear to sit around doing nothing right now and think about things for a while, maybe you can come back to Knu with me for dinner and meet the Rankins .” "Sounds pretty good, I haven't said goodbye to the Viscountess yet! My impression of the Viscountess is completely changed now. Do you think the Viscountess is your typical aristocrat? Mr. Grant." "For all her typical qualities, she is," said Grant, wondering where to go fishing. He kept catching the light on the surface to remind him that the sun was going down, but he caught nothing.The result neither surprised nor disappointed him, and his mind wandered elsewhere.He no longer saw Bill Kenrick's dead face in the swirling water, but Bill Kenrick surrounded him.He had taken up his whole mind. Grant sighed and reeled in the fishing line, not because he hadn't caught any fish, or because he wanted to say goodbye to Tully, but because he still couldn't figure out why Bill Kenrick had to disguise himself. "I'm glad I got the chance to see this island," Ted said as they walked on the road to Kernu. "It's nothing like I imagined it would be." From his tone, Grant deduced that he had imagined Tuli to be no different from Waba, with monkeys and elves living everywhere. "I wish you were looking at this place in a happier mood," he replied, "and you should come back some day and fish in peace." Ted smiled a little shyly and stroked his unkempt hair, "I think Paris is more suitable for me, or Vienna. When you spend time in small towns that God forgot, you start to yearn for shiny It's neon." "We do have bright neon lights in London." "Yeah, maybe I should try it again in London. London's not bad." When they got home Lola went to the door and said, "Aaron, I heard--what's going on! How did I hear--" Then she noticed him coming back with his friends. "Oh! You must be Ted, Pat says you don't believe Tully has fish to catch. How are you, glad you're here. Come in, Pat will show you to wash your hands before you come over for dinner with us Before drinking." She called Pat, who lived there, and walked up and down, and then walked past the visitor, went directly to the person to be blamed, blocked his way, and said, "Aaron, you don't want to go back tomorrow." "But I've recovered, I'm fine, Lala!" he said, thinking that's probably why she's upset! In the best season of the season, you can't throw it all away just to get some young guy out of the hole he jumped himself in." "Ted Cullen isn't in a hole, and I'm not crazy, if you think so. I'm leaving tomorrow because that's what I'm going to do." He would have added, "I'd love to go now!" But even with someone as close as Laura, saying that could lead to misunderstandings. "But we're all happy, and everything—" She stopped abruptly. "Oh well! Nothing I can say will change your mind anyway, I should have known. No circumstance can divert you from what you set your mind to do. You will always be a goddamn Krishna Hindu An incarnation of the god Vishnu. In the annual procession in eastern India, the statue of Krishna is carried on a large chariot, and devotees willingly throw themselves to die under its wheels. ——Translator's Note). " "That's a horrible metaphor," he said. "Can't you just use bullets, straight lines, which also mean non-deviation but are less destructive?" She put her hand around his arm in a friendly and slightly teasing way, "But you're destructive, honey." Grant was about to protest when Lola went on, "In the most merciful, deadly way. Come have a drink, you look like you could."