Chapter 18 Chapter Eighteen

As a student, Grant learned that if a difficult problem gets stuck, it's best to put it aside for a while.The unanswered question last night fit the bill perfectly.The lessons he has personally experienced will never be easily forgotten, no matter in actual life or work, he will always learn from them as a warning.Once he hits an impasse, he diverts his attention.So now, although he doesn't read the aphorisms six times a day as suggested by Bryce, he is very careful not to pay attention to "the sound of his stomach rumbling." Attention turned to the case of Tom Thornburg.Tom Sanbo, a powerful Arab figure, stayed at the Strade Hotel for two weeks and disappeared without a trace without proper check-out and payment.

The daily excess of routine was like a maelstrom that sucked him into it, so he gradually forgot about the town of Shaka St. Mary. One morning six days later, the case popped into his mind again. He took the footpath south of Scudder easily to lunch in Maiden Lane, glad to report to Bryce when he got back to the police station.The large women's shoes on the street reminded him of Dura Sitchin, and he couldn't help but smile a little as he crossed the street at the thought of her enthusiasm, voice, and quick reflexes.Even if she misses the bus home, she will never give up her fancy shoes easily.She put the newly purchased shoes on the chair, because the sealed shopping bag could no longer fit in it, and he had to remind her not to forget to take it at any time.The cheap brown paper bag wrapped the shoes haphazardly, the heels sticking out of the bag—he stopped suddenly.

A taxi driver with a distorted and astonished face seemed to be shouting something. He heard the screeching sound of the truck's brakes, and then stopped not far away.Another policeman walked slowly and directly towards him after hearing the slamming brakes and yelling.But Grant didn't wait there. Instead, he pounced on another approaching taxi, opened the door arbitrarily and told the driver, "Scotland Yard, hurry up." "Arrogant fellow!" said the driver, slamming on the gas for Imbamont. Grant didn't hear what the driver said, and old questions from the past resurfaced in his mind.When he arrived at the police station, the first thing he did was to find Williams, and when he saw Williams, he asked, "Williams, do you remember that we said on the phone that all Wickham-related notes are trash, and I called you Is it absolutely forbidden to throw away any notes?"

"I remember," Williams said, "I was in town trying to catch Benny Squall, and you were in Shaka doing the salvage work in the river." "You can't disbelieve what I say, can you?" "Of course I believe what you say, sir. I always follow your instructions." "Are those notes still there?" "It's on my desk." "Can I see it?" "Of course, sir. I just don't know if you can't read it." It is indeed not easy to understand.Williams's reports are as accurate as a schoolchild's answer sheet, but when it comes to notes, he often uses scribbled shorthand full of personality.

Grant leafed through, hoping to find what he was looking for. "'9:30 from Wickham to Clone,'" he muttered, "'10:15 from Clone to Wickham, 10:15 from Wickham to Clone,' "M. M. Farm Lane: Old '—Old What and Children?' "Old workers and children, I didn't record in detail what they ate on the bus, only what they prepared along the way." "Okay, okay, I know, I understand. 'Changli Crossroads', what is this place?" "It's a green area, an ordinary place, on the outskirts of Wickham, and there's a lot of fun, like a merry-go-round."

"I remembered, 'Two fat people, understand', know them?" "The bus driver knows it. It's on another route." "'A woman goes to Warren's farm,' what happened next, Williams?" Williams explained to him what happened next. Grant listened and wondered what he would think if he suddenly threw his arms around Williams, the way football stars do when they score a successful shot. "Can I borrow the notes for a while?" he asked. Williams said he could give it to him forever, and it wouldn't do much right now anyway, unless—unless, of course—Grant knew that Williams realized why he was suddenly interested in the note was more than mere curiosity.Before he could ask a question, Grant went straight to see Bryce.

"I believe," Bryce said, looking at him, "that the junior officers in this department are deliberately delaying this restaurant case and idly talking to the restaurant owner in exchange for a free drink." Grant brushed off his libelous humor. "Is this a routine debriefing before enjoying lunch, or do you really have something important to tell me?" "Trust that what I have in hand will please you, sir." "As you may have noticed, I do need to be pleased today." "I found out that he has a particular preference for cherry brandy."

"I'm telling you, it's interesting, it's interesting! What do you think it's useful for—" Suddenly his eyes lit up with a peculiar thought. He looked at Grant as if he were looking at a colleague. "No!" he cried, "it's not Humboldt Wiley!" "Seems right, sir. The fact is quite obvious, he does look like an Arab!" "Hambo! My God! Is it worth the risk?" "Enjoy two weeks and have some fun." "This enjoyment does not come cheap. Do you know where he is now?" "Well, I remember he was living with Maybel Hank, and Maybel was living in Acacia in Nice this spring, so I kept calling and checking all morning and found out that we, Willie, or maybe we Wronged Willie, who lives there also under the pseudonym Mr. Gao Zhe. My question is, sir, if he is such a habitual offender, it should not be difficult to find someone else to arrest him. I wonder if you can give me a day or two free time to deal with other matter?"

"what you up to? " "There appears to be a new development in the Seale case." "Speak clearly, Grant." Bryce said with a warning. "It's too early . "You think I won't turn you down when you bring up the cherry brandy lead?" "Thank you sir." "But if there is no conclusion, I hope you will give up, don't just waste time. There are still many things waiting for you to do here." After walking out of the inspector general's office, Grant began to work on the plan in his mind.He first went to his office to pull out a report about Seale from the San Francisco police.Grant studied it carefully for a while again, and then sent his subordinates to contact the Zhou Bolin Police Department in Connecticut.

Then he remembered that he hadn't had lunch yet.He needed a quiet space to think, so he carefully put the precious report into the bag, and then went to his favorite bar, where he could often forget about his busy work and enjoy the enthusiastic service.When he first read the report, he didn't know what point in Seale's life in the United States was ringing the alarm bells in his heart, but now he began to have a clearer outline of the problem. The moment he stepped out of the bar threshold after lunch, he probably knew what was going on. He went back to the police station to check a reference book.

Yes, exactly. He took out the San Francisco report and compared it with the content of the reference materials. He was overjoyed. He found important clues, necessary clues to stand.He found out the connection between Searle and Walter Whitemore. He called Marta Harold, but the person on the other end of the line told him that she was at Creedlen this afternoon for a rehearsal of Depressed Mood. He felt like a bubble now—he thought, do me a favor, just treat me like a ball and slap me—he floated gently to the Picardy Circus.My mood now is like that of Tommy Doop on Sunday. I feel that the world has doubled in size, and my whole body seems to be radiating light.But the sad drama previewed in Cridren in the afternoon immediately made him feel that the world had shrunk to its original size, and it brought him back to reality. He walked across the theater hall, stepped over the cloth strips that symbolized the fence, and quietly walked down the stairs without disturbing anyone.He thought to himself that maybe others thought I was the screenwriter, and wondered whose work the play "Depressed Mood" was. No one ever cared who the screenwriter was, and the screenwriter must have been filled with frustration.A play runs for three weeks, but probably only one in fifty people thinks of the screenwriter, and no one ever pays special attention to the screenwriter's name on the program list. Not to mention a preview like this, where probably only one person in a thousand thinks about writing a screenplay.I don't know if the author of "Depressed Mood" noticed that I was the one in a thousand, and whether he was sure that I was the only one in the thousand.He walked to an exquisitely decorated small box in the Clydlen auditorium. There were only deserted electrical appliances in it, but it exuded a quiet and elegant atmosphere.A few rows of seats in front of the stage could be vaguely seen, but no one came to ask him if he was okay. Sitting on a horsehair sofa on stage with another shy boy, Marta said, "I must lie down, dear Bobby, it's a pity that I'm just sitting. acting." "Yes, Marta, you're right," Bobby said, but Grant could only see him vaguely loitering in front of the orchestra area. "I have nothing against you, Bobby, but I feel..." "Okay, Marta dear, you're right, absolutely right. Of course it's too drab, but that's all right, I promise it's great, it doesn't look any better than this." "Nijie must not agree..." "No. Nij can come behind you before speaking. The jade body of Naimata is lying on the horsehair sofa, and the other shy boy walked out and came in again. He has come in continuously Nine times." Okay. "" said Bobby, finally letting him go after nine times in a row. Someone from the auditorium came out and brought tea to everyone. Niger says that all of his lines on the couch, couch right, and couch left have absolutely nothing to do with the couch. Someone went to the audience to collect the empty glass. Grant moved over to a lone rambler. "When will I have a chance to speak to Miss Harold?" "Until she's satisfied with Nej's performance today, she won't be talking to anyone until then." "I have something very urgent to see her." "Are you in charge of clothing?" Grant said that he was a friend of Miss Harold, and he had to talk to her about something, and it would not take too much time. "Oh!" The hazy figure whispered to another person after leaving, it seemed like they were talking about secrets. After a while he left the group of shadows and came back to Grant.He introduced himself as the stage manager and asked Grant what the matter was.Grant asked him to tell Miss Harold that Aaron Grant wanted to borrow a few minutes of her time. It worked; the stage manager climbed onto the stage and clung to Marta's ear, murmuring something like a turtledove. Marta got up and walked to the edge of the stage, trying to keep her eyes open to look into the dark auditorium. "Aaron, is that you?" she said, "Come in through the side door, please? Somebody show him here." She met him by the side door, and was delighted to see him. "Come over for a cup of tea, there's still a couple of young lovers to rehearse anyway. Thank goodness I don't have to play that part now, it's so boring. Aaron I remember you never came to the rehearsal, what made you blown?" "I wish I could tell you that it's because I admire you, but unfortunately it's for business. I think you can help me." She has always been very cooperative and never asks what the questions are for. "We haven't had dinner with Sergeant Williams yet!" she said, before walking back to the stage to continue the blunt acting of the young lovers, trying to drive them all home to farm. "If you can wait another week or so, Officer Williams and I will have a wonderful story to tell you." "Great! It's all worth it, I'm always knowledgeable and caring." "You're doing really well." He walked out into the alley happily again, as if he was going to fly when he descended the stairs. With the information given to him by Marta, he then went to Kadgang Garden to interrogate the housekeeper of the apartment. "Ah, I remembered," she said. "They hang out together a lot, but she doesn't live here. It's a bachelor flat, I mean for single men. But she comes here a lot." Stores closed early most nights, and with nothing else to do until further information from the Zhouberlin, Connecticut, Police Department, he came home early on rare occasions, and went to bed after a light dinner.He lay on the bed and thought over and over for a long time, constantly recalling every detail and the relationship between every link. Toby.As Tulis sought to understand the dynamics of Leslie Seale's work, Grant was equally eager to know the truth. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and he didn't move for an hour, trying to figure out what Leslie Seale was really thinking.