Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven

Grant called his superiors this morning, but Bryce cut him off before he could begin his report: "Is that you, Grant? Benny.Squall had cleaned Poppy Blunt's bedroom clean last night. ""I thought 'Uncle' had put away all of Poppy's valuables. " "She still needs a new father to keep her valuables!" "Are you sure Benny did it?" "Very sure. His imprint is everywhere. The waiter in the lobby was dismissed by the phone, and no fingerprints were left in the room. After eating the rest of the breakfast, he left by the elevator. His signature is still left on the visitor book. This The name couldn't be more clear, it's his handwriting."

"Well, when criminals learn to vary their stealing techniques, that's when we lose our jobs." "I need Williams to find Benny for me. Williams knows Benny best. Please send Williams to my side. How's yours going?" "Not ideal." "Not ideal? What's wrong?" "We didn't find the body. In this case, there are two possibilities: one is that Searle is dead, and the cause of death may be accidental or man-made; the other is that Searle may have disappeared on purpose." "What was the motive for the intentional disappearance?"

"Perhaps it was a prank." "He'd better not play with us." "Of course, it's also possible that he has amnesia." "It's better that way." "Sir, we need to do two things. One is to broadcast someone. The other is to ask the police in San Francisco to provide information about Seale. We are operating without a clue and have absolutely no idea of ​​his condition. Know. The only clue is that he has an artist relative in England, but they have no contact with each other.Others say there is no such thing at all.After reading the news in the newspaper early in the morning, she may contact us.But she probably knew very little about him. "

"Do you think the police in San Francisco know more?" "Well, San Francisco is his home. He spends the winter months by the sea. Surely the police can dig up something about him there, so we'll know if he's been in any trouble, or Did anyone take it on a mission to kill him for some reason." "I think a lot of people would want to kill the photographer. Well, do as you please." "Thank you, sir. And what about the radio search?" "The bbc won't be happy that their small but elegant broadcast is interrupted by a police spot. What are you going to broadcast?"

"I would like to ask the enthusiastic person who picked up a young man on the road between Wickham and Clone on Wednesday night to contact us." "Well, I'll see. I suppose you've tried all the routine chores, haven't you?" "Yes, sir, tried everything, but there was no sign of him. Also, it's hard to go unnoticed unless there's a specific meeting point where a plane is waiting for him. — but as far as I can understand, such things only happen in fairy-tale adventure stories. The only way he could possibly get out of that place was by walking across the fields and hitchhiking on the highway."

"There is no evidence of being killed at all?" "Not yet. But this morning I will go to some relevant sites to check if there is any alibi." "Before you do anything else, let Williams go about his business. I'll send them to the Wickham Police Department as soon as I get word from San Francisco." "Excellent, sir. Thank you." Grant hung up the phone and ran to tell Williams. "Damn Benny," said Williams bitterly, "I'm just beginning to like the country a little bit. In any case, you must not have the slightest entanglement with this guy. "

"Is he stubborn?" "You mean Benny? No! He's a horrible guy. He'll hysterically accuse us of persecuting him, then say he's just smoothed out the mess and now he's going to fix it - 'get it right'! Ni—so, we followed his lead, although we couldn't help but wonder what kind of medicine he was selling in his gourd. He turns me off.If one day he can really do things sincerely, then his life can be changed, although his crying is first-rate.He once asked a question in Parliament, and after listening to it you couldn't help but wonder, how could any of these MPs have the brains to ask a question about a train ticket in their own hometown? Am I going to take the train back to London?"

"I think Rogers will give you a car to Clone, where you can catch an express train," Grant said, smiling at the horror on his colleague's face at the thought of the train journey.He went back to the phone and called Marta Harold, who lived at the Mill House in Shaka St. Marys. "Aaron!" she said, "good to have your call. Where are you?" "Wickham's White Hart Inn." "poor guy! " "Oh, it's not that bad." "Stop being elegant. That place is too primitive for a confession. By the way, have you heard the latest news about our place?"

"I heard, that's why I'm in Wickham." Marta was silent. Then she said, "You mean scotland yard is interested in leslie seale's drowning?" "Let's put it this way, Searle's disappearance." "Are you saying that some of the rumors about a quarrel between him and walter are true?" "I'm afraid I can't discuss this with you on the phone. I'm calling to ask if you'll be home if I'm at your place tonight?" "Of course, but you must come and live here. You can't live in that dreadful place. I will order..."

"Thank you very much, but I can't do it. For these important things, I must stay in Wickham. But if you will prepare me a delicious dinner..." "Of course I'll prepare dinner for you. Darling, I'll make sure you're well fed. You'll have my omelet, Mrs. Doop's chicken, and the wine in the cellar, so you won't have to The taste of White Hart beer in your mouth." In this way, thinking about the civilized enjoyment he was about to get tonight, Grant started his day's work from Trinian Manor.If it is necessary to care about the alibi one by one, then the residents of Cuining Manor should be the first group of people who want to defend themselves.

It was a refreshing morning, and the soft feeling gradually diffused as the morning mist dissipated. As Williams pointed out, time like this in your life must not be wasted on Benny; however, watching Trinity Hall stood proudly in bright sunlight, and Grant returned to his playful sense of humour.Last night it was still a dark place where the exit was hard to find, but today it was suddenly bright.In this sense of comfort, there is a sense of the absurdity of indulgence.Dazed and excited the moment his foot hit the brakes, Grant pulled over at the bend in the driveway and sat gazing at what was in front of him. "I know how you feel right now." A voice came from under his elbow, and it was Elizabeth.Grant noticed that her eyes were dark, but calm and friendly. "Good morning," he said, "I'm really depressed this morning because I can't drop what I'm doing and go fishing. But now I feel better. " "It's beautiful here, isn't it?" she echoed, "It's hard to believe that these views are actually there. It makes you feel that this is not something that can be created by any kind of artificial force; it is completely produced by the force of nature. " Her attention was diverted from the house by his presence, and he was aware of the problems he posed. "Sorry to interrupt. But I've been very busy this morning trying to get rid of all irrelevant people in this case." "An irrelevant person?" "I'm going to exclude anyone who has absolutely nothing to do with this case." "I see. You are collecting alibi." "Yes." He opened the door so she could ride the bike a little further into the house. "I wish we could all have a strong alibi. Sadly, I haven't been able to come up with any alibi until now. That was the first thing that came to my mind after I knew who you were. Very Weird, isn't it? What a guilt feeling for an innocent person when he can't defend himself in this tumultuous case. Do you need an alibi for everyone here? Including Aunt Lavinia, my mother, and everyone?" "And those employed, and those who have had contact with Leslie Seale." "Well, then you'd better start with Aunt Lavinia, and before she starts her morning routine. She spends two hours dictating each morning, and she likes to start on time. " "Miss Gallopy, where were you?" he asked when they reached the door. "You mean at the critical moment?" He thought she was deliberately indifferent to the matter; the so-called "critical moment" was the moment when Leslie Seale might have been killed, and he didn't think she had forgotten it. code thing. "Yes, Wednesday night." "I went to bed in my room. Oh, don't tell me it's too early for bed. I know it's early, but I like to go upstairs and rest early.Because, I like to enjoy the taste of being alone after a busy day. " "Do you have the habit of reading?" "No, Inspector, but I have a habit of writing." "So you like writing too?" "Disappoints you, doesn't it?" "Just aroused my curiosity. What do you write about—perhaps I shouldn't ask?" "I write some heroine legends that have nothing to do with my real situation but are innocuous, that's all." "Theda is a maid, has a cleft lip, and is suicidal. It's a part of Marlene's story." She stared at him for a moment, then said, "You're a very queer cop." "I suspect your definition of a policeman is eccentric," he said enthusiastically. "Can you tell your aunt I'm here?" But now there is no need to do so.Miss Fitch was already in the hall when Elizabeth ran upstairs. She said in a tone of surprise more than sadness: "Elizabeth, you are five minutes late!" Then she turned her eyes to the detective, "Well, well, they did not talk nonsense. No Someone will take you for a policeman. Come in, Inspector.I have long wanted to see you, I mean formally.The last meeting was hardly a meeting at all.Come to the living room, that's where I work. Grant apologized for interrupting her morning dictation, though she pretended she was happy to put it off for at least ten more minutes, working with this "boring girl"—a "boring girl" Grant called Girl" as a Fitch heroine. It appeared that Miss Fitch, too, went to bed early on Wednesday night.Her actual bedtime was around half past nine. “When a family has to mingle all day, like we do,” she said, “then at night, they have a habit of going to bed early.” That night, she listened to a radio play and was half asleep when she heard her sister come into the house.All in all, she went to bed early that night. "Come in?" said Grant. "Mrs. Gallopy was out?" "Yes, she went to a WRI party." Then he asked Miss Fitch something about Seale.Her perception and perspective on Seale is that the man is sometimes responsible and sometimes the opposite.He sensed that she was surprisingly reserved about Searle, as if on the edge of an abyss; he didn't understand why. When he asked, "From your point of view, 'Is there any indication that Searle and your niece might be in love?" she looked surprised and said quickly and decisively, "No. , of course it is impossible!" "He didn't notice her at all?" "My dear sir, any American man will give a girl his attention. It's a natural reaction, as natural as breathing." "You don't think he has any particular interest in her?" "I'm sure he didn't." "Your nephew told me last night that he and Searle call you every night on the way by the river." "yes." "Does everyone in the house know about Wednesday night? I mean, do they all know that these two gentlemen were camping there?" "I suppose so. Of course the family knows; and every member is anxious to know their progress. So I think everyone knows it. " "Thank you very much, Miss Fitch, you are very kind." Miss Fitch called Elizabeth into the room, and she told Elizabeth to take Grant to meet her mother, and then returned to the living room to continue recording the latest developments in Marlene's story. Mrs. Gallopy was another who lacked an alibi.That night she went to the meeting hall in the village and left at half past nine.She had come home with Miss Easton Dixon, and they parted at a fork in the road.It was about ten o'clock or later when she got home; she walked home because the night was so charming; she entered by the front door because Mrs. Brett, the cook and housekeeper, always The rear door is locked. Emma Gallopy was incapable of fooling him at the moment, for he had seen too many people like her, whose poise concealed the shams of ruthless materialism.Had she let Syl fall into a scheme of her own for the sake of her daughter? He questioned her about Syl, but got no new leads.She praised Searle as a very charming young man whom everyone liked and who were all heartbroken by the tragedy. Grant responded to her statement with a simple "yes" or "no" like an idiot. Mrs. Gallopy made him feel a slight suffocating pressure, and he chuckled to himself when she left to fetch Alice for him. Alice went out with the gardener on Wednesday evening, and did not return until a quarter past ten.Mrs. Brett locked the door when she came back, and they went upstairs, had a cup of hot chocolate each, and went to bed in the back wing.Alice was really saddened by the accident that Leslie Seale suffered, and she said that she would never see such an outstanding young man again.She had seen dozens of young men, gentlemen, and all kinds, all concerned about girls' ankles, and Seale was the only man she had ever met who cared about girls' feet. "feet?" So did Brett, and Edith, the living-room maid.She said Seale would always say, "You can do this so you don't have to go up the stairs again, can't you?" The Brits she'd met never cared about their feet, or whether you had to go upstairs again. Edith, it seemed, was just as sorry for Searle; not only because he cared about her feet, but also because he was good-looking.That night, she went into her room to listen to a radio play that her mistress was also listening to.She heard Mrs. Brett going to bed with Alice, but the back room was too far from the hall to hear if anyone had entered, so she had no way of knowing when Mrs. Gallopby entered. So did Mrs. Brett.After dinner, she said, the family stopped talking to the servants.Edith lay in bed drinking, and after this time the rough door in the hall was usually closed until the next morning. Mrs. Brett has served Miss Fitch for nine years, so Miss Fitch is very relieved that she will manage the employment and the important affairs related to the employment. Walter Whitemore was leaning his back against the balcony wall as Grant walked out the front door to his car. He wished Grant good morning and wished success in his alibi mission. Grant felt that Walter Whitemore seemed to have a clear tendency to degenerate. Even from last night to now, but a few hours apart, you can still see his changes.He couldn't help wondering how just reading this morning's paper could make him look so depressed. "Are people in the press pestering you?" he asked. "They arrived just after breakfast." "Have you spoken to them?" "If you mean have you met each other, then the answer is yes. I can't say much.They can get more information at the Swan Bar. ""Has your lawyer come?" "Here it is. He's still sleeping." "sleep? " "He left London at 5.30pm and came straight to meet me as soon as he arrived. There were a lot of things to deal with because he came in a hurry and he didn't go to bed until around 2am this morning. Hope you understand I mean." Grant bade him good-bye with an inexplicable sense of relief, and went straight to the Swan.He drove into the back brick yard, and when he got out he knocked on the side door. The latch was pulled with an impatient noise, revealing Rafe's face through the crack. "It's no use calling the door like that," said Rafe. "You have to wait until the door opens to come in." "As a police officer, that kind of outrageous refusal is something I'm happy to accept," Grant said, "but I just wanted to come in and talk to you for a few minutes." "If you ask me, I think you don't look like a policeman at all, but a waiter." The retired soldier of the Marine Corps taunted him while giving way to the bar lobby, "You Almost identical to a major we have followed before, his name is Van der Leer, have you seen him?" Grant had never seen any Major Van der Leer. "Now, what can I do for you, sir? It's about the Seale case, I know." "Well, there are two things you can do for me. I need your thoughtful—and I mean thoughtful—view of what might happen between Searle and Whitemore between Wednesday evening. And I want a A list of everyone who was in the bar that night, and when they left." Rafe has the objective attitude of a waiter when dealing with emergencies.He didn't intend to add embellishments to it, nor did he intend to project his own personality on events as an artist would.Grant felt himself relax, as if he was listening to a colleague giving a report.Rafe said he had no obvious liking or dislike for the bar visitors.He never paid attention to them, and if they left the bar with no reason or purpose, no one else would follow.Generally, when the group gathers together at a bar, someone always starts a topic to liven up the atmosphere. ．But on Wednesday, they seemed to have something on their minds, and they scattered and ignored each other. "They're like two dogs looking at each other," Rafe said. "It's not pure noise, it's an atmosphere that takes shape. The noise can come and go at any time, but the atmosphere is there. If you know what I mean , you will understand the difference.” "Did you see Whitemore leave?" "Nobody saw it. The boys were debating who the hell was playing cricket in Australia that year. When the door slammed, everyone stopped for a while, and everything happened like this.Then Bill.Mados sees Syl alone and walks over to strike up a conversation with him.Bill opened a garage at the end of the village. " "Thank you. Now please give me the list of guests who came to the bar that night." Grant copied the contents of the list.The county names of most visitors have not changed since the King of England promulgated the land survey list in 1086.As Grant walked out of the bar to start the car, he asked Rafe, "Are there any newspapers left in the bar?" "There are three," said Rafe. "The Bugle, the Morning Post, and the Post. But there's none left." "Scotland Yard too," said Grant sarcastically, and he drove to Bill Maddows' residence. At the far end of the village was a tall building with a wedge-shaped panel hanging from it in faded handwriting: BILL MARTOS & SON CARPETERS AND SHIPBUILDERS.At the corner of the building, there is a bright black and yellow sign pointing to the side of the yard, with a few words briefly printed on it: garage. When Grant introduced himself to Bill Maddows he said approvingly, "I think you've done a really good job of running both of those businesses," and he tilted his head at the sign. "The father in 'Mados and Sons' is not me." "I thought you might be the son." Bill looked at him amused, "Oh no; the son meant my grandfather. The business was handed down from my great-grandfather.So far we are still one of the best carpenters in this county. Although it is said by my client, it is true.Are you here to collect information, Inspector?" Grant had all the information Maddos could provide him, and Madhus said to him as he got up to say goodbye, "Do you know a reporter named Hopkins?" ?” "You mean Hopkins from The Clarion? We met." "He's been here for a few hours this morning. Do you know what this guy's really thinking? He believes the whole thing is just a publicity stunt they're trying to get the book they plan to write to sell." The standard Hopkins reaction combined with Maddox's puzzled expression made Grant laugh so hard that he leaned against the car and couldn't help laughing.He said: "The life of a reporter is low enough. Jimmy Hopkins was born a low life, as a good friend of mine said." Still confused, Bill said, "I say it's stupid, absolutely stupid." "By the way, do you know where to find Sorge Rodolph?" "I don't think he's up yet, but if he did, he'd probably be around the counter at the post office. The post office is in the shop, in the middle of the street. Soggy lives right up the ramp from the post office. superior." Soji didn't show up at the post office counter where he usually goes today.He came out of a newspaper shop with a newspaper under his arm and walked down the street.Grant had not seen him before, but he knew that the dancer would be easy to spot on the village street by some of the usual marks of his profession. The thin body is covered with loose clothes, coupled with the appearance of malnutrition, people feel that this weak and fleshy body is like a rubber boat that has lost its elasticity.At best, they can only grit their teeth and work for the ballet dancers, and Grant will always be amazed by the flesh and blood of hawkers who are exploited by society after walking out of the stage door. He parked the car on the pavement, then walked up to Soggy and greeted him. "Monsieur Rodolph?" "I'm." "I'm Inspector Grant. May I chat with you for a moment?" "Anyone can," Soggy said smugly, "how can you be an exception?" "It's about Leslie Seale." "I see. Good to hear he's drowned." Grant mentioned some value of discretion in his response. "Oh, judge freely! It's a middle-class thing." Sogi uttered the word middle-class in four syllables. "I know you and Searle had an argument." "That's not the case at all." "But--" "I just poured a beer in his face, that's all." "You don't think that counts as a dispute?" "Of course not. Arguments are based on equality, what you call the same social class. People don't argue with what they see as a mob. If it had been my grandfather in Russia that day, he would have Whip Searle. But this is decadent England, so I just throw beer at him. At least, it gets the point." When Grant told this to Marta later, her reaction was: "I can't imagine what I could have done without that Russian grandfather, Sogi. His father left Russia when he was three years old - Sogi." Gillian doesn't speak a word of Russian, and, anyway, he's half Neapolitan in his blood—yet all his fantasies are based on that Russian grandfather." Grant said patiently to Sorge: "You will eventually understand that as a policeman, it is necessary to question everyone who knows Seale about their actions and where they were on Wednesday night." "Really? It's such a long and boring job. It's sad to be a policeman." Soji imitated the traffic conductor like a puppet, waving his arms and making various signals, "boring, boring. Though clear-headed, he was not shrewd enough. " Grant decided he was wasting time by indirect means, and asked point-blank, "Where were you after nine o'clock on Wednesday night?" "I'm dancing," said Sogi. "Oh, is it in the village meeting hall?" Soggy looked like he was about to pass out: "What do you mean I, I, Soggy Rodolph had a hand in this case?" "I just asked you, where were you dancing?" "By the river." "what? " "I have choreographed a new ballet. On spring nights, the riverside is often the place where my inspirations spring up from my heart like a fountain. What an atmospheric place the riverside is, it makes me always Get drunk there. I can do anything. I also conceived a dance to the river music written by Marshako. The whole dance started like this..." "Where by the river?" "what? " "I mean, where by the river?" "How do I know. The atmosphere along the whole river is the same." "Okay, taking Shaka Town as the center point, are you going upstream or downstream of the river?" "It should be upstream." "Why 'should'?" "I need a wide and flat space to dance, and there are such conditions upstream. Walking from the village to the downstream of the river, there are steep banks and piles of weeds all the way, annoying, ugly, and filthy—" "Can you identify the exact spot where you danced on Wednesday night?" "Identification?" "Just to point out the place." "How do I get there? I don't even remember exactly where." "Do you remember seeing other people when you were there that night?" "Not one worth noting." "Worth a note?" "I've always danced in the meadows with the lovely people, and those people were—how to say, always dependent on the house. They were a bunch—a bunch of institutionalized products, not worth remembering at all. " "Well, do you remember when you left the river on Wednesday night?" "Yes, I remember it perfectly." "Then when did you leave?" "The moment the meteor fell." "When was that?" "How would I know? I don't like shooting stars. They turn my stomach, though I admit that a shooting star at the end of a dance would be a nice finish. You know, a masterpiece like this can set the town on fire." Discuss and prove to everyone that I'm still..." "Mr. Rodolph, can you offer some idea of ​​how Leslie Seale got drowned?" "How to drown? Fall, I think. Not only is it a pity, but it's also polluted. Such a beautiful river should only exist for beautiful things, such as Ophelia, Charlotte. Do you think Xia Can Lottie dance ballet? Does she see everything in a mirror? Well, that's a nice idea, isn't it?" Grant finally gave up. He left the car where it was, and then walked towards the Hu house covered with flat stones in front of the door.Plaster gables in pink, chrome and lime shades surround the home.Hu House stands on the sidewalk like other villas, except that the front door rises three steps above the street level.It distinguishes itself from the everyday cumbersome style in a noble and natural way.When Granta rang the Victorian doorbell inside the white brass ring, his heart was blessing the man responsible for restoring the place to its former glory, whoever he was.Because although he preserved the building, he did not attempt to restore it to its original appearance, thus giving the building a museum-like sense of history; from the worn inlay walls to the brass doorbell , everything tells the traces of the past for centuries.It can be seen that it must have cost a lot of money to make this building look what it is today. Grant also wondered whether the preservation of Hoo House was sufficient proof of Toby Tullis' existence. The man who answered the door was a manservant who might have been a model for a character in Toby's play.He blocked the door politely, like a human barrier. "Mr. Tulis isn't going to see anyone before lunch," he answered Grant's interrogation. "He has work to do in the morning and a press meeting at two in the afternoon." He began to move his hand toward the door. "Do I look like a journalist?" Grant asked pointedly. "Um-no, I didn't say you looked like-sir." "You wouldn't even be stingy with providing a business card tray, would you?" Grant's tone suddenly became smooth. The servant obediently turned into the house and took out a silver business card tray from a black oak box in the hall. Grant handed out a business card and put it on the plate. "Give me my regards to Mr. Tully's, and please tell him that it would be my pleasure if he would take three minutes to see me." "Sure, sir," replied the manservant, without moving his eyes, not even glancing at his business card, "will you enter the hall and wait patiently?" He disappeared into a back room, shutting the door behind him with his back to Grant with a rattling sound that didn't sound like a servant should.But after a while, he came back again, "Inspector Grant, please come with me, Mr. Tullis would like to see you." This back room, Grant found, jutted out into a large garden sloping towards the river; a world quite different from the streetscape of the village he had just left.It was a living room furnished with the finest furnishings Grant had ever seen outside of a museum.Toby, in a striking nightgown, sits behind a row of silver coffee sets, and behind him hangs more conspicuous everyday clothes.Next to him was a young man who was still young and full of longing, walking back and forth with a notebook in his hand.Judging from the original appearance of this notebook, the office function is far better than the effect as a handicraft. "You're so humble, Inspector." Toby greeted Grant. "modesty? " "Three minutes! Even journalists want to talk for ten minutes." What started out as a compliment to Grant turned out to be a reminder that Toby is the busiest interviewee in the English-speaking world and how precious his time is.As usual, Toby's performance still looks a bit out of date. He introduced the young man named Giles Furlan, his secretary, and asked him to prepare coffee for Grant.Grant expressed that he knew that this time was either too early or too late for him, but he wondered if Mr. Tulis would like to continue his meeting with him while having breakfast, and Toby agreed. "I'm investigating the disappearance of Leslie Searle," Grant said. "I'm afraid I'll have to bother anyone who isn't close to Searle. We must visit all of Shaka and Searle. Acquaintances, and as far as practicable, recorded their whereabouts on Wednesday night." "Inspector, your question is one I never expected to be asked. I have always had a strong desire to be asked what I do after nine-thirty on a Friday night, but I really never dared to expect it." It will actually happen to me." "It did happen now, and I expect you to provide a full and convincing alibi." "At least, it had a simplistic effect. Inspector, Giles and I spent hours on that lovely evening discussing the plot of the first act of the second chapter of the play The Walker, although that act Not strictly necessary. See, I'm a businessman." Grant shifted his attention from the "businessman" to Gilles, and judged that with Gilles' current status as a disciple, if Toby was involved in the case, he would probably admit that he was the murderer in order to please the teacher. 所以，像提供不在场证明这类的小事只不过是表面功夫而已。 “当然，佛兰先生可以证明这件事。”格兰特说。 “是的，哦，是的，当然；我当然可以；是的。”吉尔斯为讨好托比连声称是。 “这件溺水案的确是个悲剧。”托比一边喝着咖啡一边说道，“世界上美好的事物不多，因此生命是经不起我们这样虚掷的。当然，雪莉生命的结束有她的价值。 探长，你知道牛津大学建造了雪莉纪念碑吗? ” 格兰特晓得纪念碑的事，不过这只会使他想起一只烹煮过度的鸡而已，但他只把这个想法搁在心里。事实上，托比也不期望他提供什么答案。 “一件美妙的事。溺水的确是结束生命一个理想的方式。” “密切接触过这么多各式各样的水上浮尸之后，我对你的观点难表赞同。” 托比翻起一双鱼眼望着他，然后说道，“探长，请别摧毁我的幻想。你比希拉斯·卫克里还糟糕。希拉斯总是能点出生命的污秽处。对了，你取得希拉斯的不在场证明了吗? ” “还没有。我知道他不是很了解西尔先生。” “那就不要错过希拉斯。我该不该怀疑希拉斯是否有可能因为地方色彩的因素而干此事? ” “地方色彩? ” “是的。希拉斯的国家是个强暴、谋杀、乱伦、堕胎以及自杀的渊薮，因此有可能希拉斯认为现在是莎卡圣玛丽照他的价值观念去生存的时刻了。你能看穿我们的希拉斯吗? ” "I'm afraid not." “无需为此感到抱歉。这是一项需要培养的嗜好。如果报导属实的话，即使是他的夫人也都还没有培养起来呢。不过可怜的女人，她是如此忙于生儿育女与受苦，所以可能根本没有多余的时间去思考这样抽象的问题。似乎不曾有人对她提醒避孕的可行性。当然，希拉斯让女人受孕的几率也是一等一的。他控制女人最强有力的武器就是让她们怀孕。多么让女人气馁的一件事啊，你不觉得吗，永远逃脱不了传宗接代的命运。通过丑陋不堪的受精来孕育生命，这就是希拉斯的人生观。他痛恨美。美对他而言是种罪恶，他必须捣毁它，然后再孕育出生命。当然，他只是有点疯狂，病态的甜蜜，但这种疯狂是有利的，所以无需为它伤感落泪。所谓成功的人生，其中一项秘诀就是知道如何稍微来点有利的疯狂。” 格兰特怀疑托比是日常闲聊如此，还是刻意藉此来证明自己比希拉斯高明。像托比·图利斯这种人，光从外表就可以得知其为人处世的特质。不过难以判断的是，这样的外表功夫有多少是出于自我保护，又有多少只是纯粹在摆样子而已。 “星期三晚上你不曾和西尔见过面? ”他问。 托比表示没有。他到酒吧的时间是在晚餐前，而非晚餐后。 “探长，我不想多管闲事，不过依我看来，你们似乎没有必要对一桩单纯的溺水案如此兴师动众。” “为什么会是溺水? ” "Why not? " “总之，我们没有证据可以证明西尔是溺毙的，而一些确定的证据也显示他并非是淹死的。” “哦，不是淹死的? 那你们有什么证据证明他不是淹死的? ” “他的尸体会顺着河流漂走。” “哦，对呀! ” “图利斯先生，根据我们的调查，这应该是一桩莎卡圣玛丽镇星期三晚上发生的男子失踪案。” “依我看，你真的应该去见教区牧师了，探长。他可以为你提供完美的解决方法。” “那是什么方法呢? ” “可亲的教区牧师相信西尔根本不曾来过此地。他坚称西尔不过只是个化身成人形的魔鬼，等玩笑开够了就消失无踪。” “真是有趣。” “我猜你不曾见过西尔，对不对，探长? ” “哦，见过。我见过他。” 托比是如此地吃惊，这可把格兰特逗乐了。 “这个魔鬼在来到莎卡镇之前刚在布鲁姆斯勃里区参加了一个派对。”他说。 “我亲爱的探长，看来你非得见教区牧师了。致力于魔鬼偏好的研究，具有无法估计的价值。” “为什么你要问我是否见过西尔? ” “因为他是在人们可以想像的范围内最能把魔鬼具体化的完美代表。” “你的意思是他长得很好看? ” “这仅仅是好看或不好看的问题吗? ”托比以半质问半挑衅的口吻问道。 “不，一点也不。”格兰特说。 “你认为西尔是不是个坏人? ”托比说。 “没有任何相关的证据支持这个说法。” “照我看，”托比略带嘲讽地说，“这是官僚体制下谨小慎微的说法。探长，我对人生没什么期望，但有一点我非常想知道，莱斯里·西尔的工作动力究竟是什么? ” “如果我查得出来，官僚体制下谨小慎微的说法便会瓦解，会让你知道的。” 说完，格兰特随即起身准备离去。 他站在那儿凝视着花园有好一会儿时间，远处河流上泛起粼粼的光影。 “那可能是问农舍，离这儿应该有数里之遥吧。”他说。 托比说那是胡屋最迷人的景致之一，当然，这条街上沿着河岸边的别墅多半有通往河边的花园，不过这些花园大都会被一般人家的大小菜园或供应市场农作物的农田给打乱。这使得遍布草地与树林的胡屋看上去特别像世外桃源。 “河流虽然划分出界线，但对景致丝毫没有影响。这条河仿佛是夹带着悲伤的祝福。” “有蚊子吗? ” “不可能，虽然它无时无刻不在尝试飞进屋内，但成功的几率是每六个冬季一次。我的管理员在去年冬季的某一天早上醒来时，发现船撞倒在他卧室的窗口上。” “你有船? ” “只能算是个小玩具而已。在夏天的午后撑篙躺在河上是件很愉快的事。” 格兰特对他的协助表达了谢意，并为打扰他的早餐时间而再度致歉，然后准备离去。托比表示想带他参观这栋房子，格兰特却以三点理由回避了：一是他有工作在身；二是他在报纸的插图上已欣赏过几乎整栋房子了；三是他极不愿意去欣赏由像托比·图利斯这样狡黠的精明家伙所展示出来的全球最精美的工艺作品。