Chapter 4 Chapter Four

Grant's news over the telephone put all his tea thoughts out of his mind.A letter in capital letters was waiting for him, which Grant was used to.Scotland Yard had experience with capital letters, and he smiled as he hailed a taxi.People always capitalized letters to show they didn't write them! And he sincerely hoped they wouldn't. Before he opened the pending letter, he dusted it with powder for fingerprinting.He elegantly cut open the envelope, clamped the seemingly heavy but actually very light letter with tweezers, and pulled out a bundle of £5 bank notes issued by the Bank of England (Bank Note, a promissory note issued by the Central Bank at that time, which could replace Currency usage.——Translator’s Note) and half a note.The note read, "Bury this man found in the procession."

Five £5s, a total of £25. Grant sat down and stared at the stack of notes.Nothing like this had happened to him in all his time at Scotland Yard.Somewhere in London tonight there is a very concerned person who will pay £25 to have him buried in a pauper's cemetery, and that person won't show up.Does this fit with Grant's intimidation hypothesis? Was the money used to buy peace of mind? Or was the killer superstitious and had to do something to the victim's body? Grant disagrees.People who stab someone from behind don't care what happens to the dead body.The murderer has a friend—male or female—who is in London tonight.A friend who sent £25 out of concern.

Grant brought Williams together to study this extremely ordinary and cheap white envelope and the abrupt but flat capital letters on the envelope. Grant said, "What do you see?" "A man," Williams surmised, "had a rough life, unaccustomed to writing. Clean, smoking, depressed." "Wonderful!" Grant said. "Williams, you are Watson again. You are a great hero." Of course Williams knew who Watson was—he hid in the granary in Worcestershire when he was 11 years old and read Sherlock Holmes's "Detective with the Piebald Band", fearing that he would be discovered by the adults who forbade him to read this book—he He smiled and said, "I think what you found must be far from that, sir."

But Grant didn't. "Except that he might not be able to write with his injured hand. Oddly enough, he sent a five-pound bank note that could easily be traced. "He blew out the candle, half the letter was dusted with powder, but they couldn't find fingerprints. He called a police detective and told him to send important envelopes and banknotes to be photographed for fingerprints. Typed notes were sent to Identification by handwriting identification experts. "The banks are closed now. Bad luck. Hurrying to go home, Williams?" Williams is in no hurry. His wife and children are in the South this week.

Grant said, "Let's have dinner together, and let's talk about your opinion on this team murder." Years ago, Grant had inherited a sizable inheritance—a sum of money that would have allowed him to retire early and live a life of leisure if he wanted to.However, even though he often complained that these were worse than dogs, Grant still loved his work. Possibilities in the future are minimized.There is a grocery store in the southern suburbs, which is filled with all kinds of small things that look like jewels. Because of the existence of this store, there is this inheritance, and Grant was able to meet the parolee who was released from prison on the first day.

Grant intends to let him go, and Grant wants to give him a chance to clean up. It was thanks to this legacy that Grant was able to become a regular at restaurants like Laurent's, and—even more incredible—he was treated as a guest of honor by the head waiter.Only five people in Europe were considered VIPs by the head waiter of Laurent's restaurant, and Grant was naturally flattered. Marceau saw them in the room decorated in green and gold, with a painful and sad expression on his face.He was fretting because there weren't any empty tables to his left, except for the one in the corner that required shouting to talk.

He did not let his distinguished guests see his embarrassment.Therefore, he was troubled and felt sorry. Grant sat down without saying a word.He was very hungry, and he didn't mind sitting anywhere to eat as long as the food was good.Unless the table is in the doorway where the food is served in the kitchen, of course there will be no table there.The door to the kitchen, shielded by two screens, wobbled and creaked, playing castanets, which intensified and weakened as the door opened and closed. After the meal, Grant decided to have Williams visit the Bank of England the next morning with a postmark and thus trace where the notes had been sent.This shouldn't be difficult and the bank will usually cooperate.They continued to discuss the murder.Williams believes that the incident began with gang infighting.The deceased had entanglements with the gang he belonged to, knew he was in danger, and obtained a gun from a well-meaning fellow who was shy, but never got a chance to use it.And the money was given to him by the mysterious good-hearted partner that night.In theory, but one thing is missing.

"Why doesn't he have an identifying tag on him?" "Probably," Williams replied logically. "It's their style. They never leave any recognizable labels on them." This is not impossible.Grant thought for a moment, musing over his words.His keen sixth sense, developed on four years on the West Coast and in Scottish establishments, alerted him that someone was watching him when the appetizers were served before the main course.He resisted the urge to turn his head back—he was sitting facing away from the hall, almost directly facing the door of the kitchen—and cautiously checked the mirror, but no one was interested in him at all.Grant continued eating, glancing now and then in the mirror.There haven't been many people in the hall since they arrived, and it's easy to keep an eye on everyone around them.In the mirror he saw only those who ate, drank, or smoked for nothing.Grant intuitively felt that he had been a bull's-eye for a long time, and this kind of continuous but unknown opponent's stalking made him feel horrified.He lifted his gaze over Williams' head to the screen that concealed the door, and there, amidst the clatter of the two screens opening and closing, there were eyes fixed on him.Even when he realized that he had been spotted, those eyes still stared at him, appearing and disappearing from time to time.Grant continued to eat as if nothing had happened.Overly curious waiter, he thought.Maybe he knew who I was, and wanted to see who was connected with the murderer. Grant had always been patient with these curious onlookers, but now, looking up in the middle of the sentence, he found Those eyes were watching him.It's a bit over the top.

He looked straight back, but the owner of those eyes pretended not to know that Grant had noticed him, and continued to look ahead.Now and then, as the waiter passed in and out of the screen, the eyes would disappear for a moment, but always return to stare furtively at him.Grant improvised to see this guy who interested him and was very interesting.He told Williams, who sat less than a yard from the screen. "There's someone in the screen behind you who seems interested in us. Wait for my finger to flick to your right, pointing at the screen, do what you can, pretend it was an accident. "Grant waited for the waiter's eyes to look at him intermittently again, and made a crisp sound with his middle finger and thumb. Williams' thick arm swiped, and the screen was lifted instantly. However, there was no one behind him, and he could only continue The door swings back and forth, and the man has already hurried away.

As Williams apologized for the screen incident, Grant thought, well, forget it, you can't tell which eyes it was anyway.He dismissed the matter, went on to finish his supper, and returned to Scotland Yard with Williams, expecting the photograph of the fingerprints on the envelope to be ready. The photos have not yet been sent.But the Reliance Brothers' investigation into ties at the Northwood factory has come to fruition. Only the Nottingham branch had ever sold a box of six ties of that series on consignment last year, and they asked for another order. "Brother Faithful" returned the tie, and said that if the inspector needs them in the future, please do not hesitate to ask.

"If today is the same as yesterday and there is no important breakthrough in the case, I will go to Nottingham when you go to the bank to do business." Grant said. Not long after, an agent came in with the fingerprints on the envelope, and Grant picked up the fingerprints in the folder on the desk—the fingerprints of the deceased and the fingerprints on the pistol.The report noted that there was nothing on the notes but stains.Officers Grant and Williams personally compared the fingerprint photos on the envelope.Several people who have handled the letter hold different opinions.But it is clear, complete and beyond doubt that it is the print of the thumb of the right hand, and that thumb matches the print on the gun which was found in the dead man's pocket. "That fits with your theory that the deceased's friend provided him with the gun," Grant said. The officer made a strange noise and continued to look at the fingerprints. "How could this be? It's as simple as a baby sucking milk." The sergeant straightened and looked at his officer in disbelief. "I swear I didn't drink too much, sir, it might be a problem with the whole fingerprinting system. Look here!" He compared the fingerprints of the deceased to an unclear thumbprint in the lower right corner in front of Grant.After a long silence, when Grant further compared the fingerprints, the police officer leaned forward, half-believing in the hope of further confirming his high opinion.But the facts before them are beyond doubt, the fingerprints belonged to the deceased himself. What Grant had thought to be a simple incident was a minute or two later presented with the shocking truth. "Mediocre letterhead, no wonder," he said casually, as the bystander part of him laughed at his childlike overwhelm with wonder. "Your idea has come to fruition, Williams. The man who borrowed the gun and sent the money to the dead man was with the dead man. So he could pretend as he pleased to be his landlady, his wife, or whoever was concerned about his disappearance." Friends who are interested." He picked up the phone on the table, "We want to hear what the person in charge of authenticating the handwriting has to say about this note." No handwriting expert could add to what Grant knew or guessed.Such ordinary paper can be bought at any stationery store or newspaper and magazine store.The handwriting is definitely a man's handwriting. Unless there is a sample of the suspect's handwriting, they may judge whether it was written by him, but at present they can only do so far. Williams left Scotland Yard and returned to his temporarily solitary home, and thought of how fast the week had passed, and of Mrs. Williams's imminent return from the South, and soothed his weariness.Grant remained at the station, trying to cast a spell against the vile dagger, which now sat on the dark green leather top of the desk, an elegant and menacing thing.The almost vicious end of the case contrasts eerily with the immaculate iconography on the hilt. Grant looked at the icon mockingly.What did Miss Ray Macbeth say? You've got to be thankful that the case is such a big one.Well, Grant thought, the Scotland Yard case was more sacred to him than the knife-hilt icon.His thoughts drifted to Rey Macbeth.This morning's papers were full of news of her going to the United States, and newspapers and magazines lamented, sarcastically, and angrily accused the British manager of letting the best musical star leave his country. Shouldn't he see her again before she went, Grant thought, and ask her why she looked surprised when he described the dagger? She had nothing to do with crime.He knew her well—she lived in a tiny duplex in the suburbs, went to public school, and her real name was Rose Markham.He had seen the Markhams in the Suitcase case.There was no way she could have cast the slightest light on the team murder case. She graciously invited him to drink tea in her dressing room, otherwise she could have lured him outside on purpose.Maybe the motivation is really simple.Her surprise may have been limited to his description of the dagger, and had nothing to do with the murder.Daggers are not rare, and many people have seen or even owned similar weapons.On the other hand, if he had seen Miss Ray Macbeth again, the result would have been no more satisfactory to him.She is going to America. Puzzled, he locked the dagger in the drawer again and prepared to go home.He went out and walked to the embankment on the north bank of the Thames, and found that the night was very beautiful, with bright moonlight and cold fog, so he decided to walk home.The streets of London at midnight - so much more beautiful than the crowded day - fascinated him.London at noon lets you see her entertaining, rich, varied, and interesting, but at night she reveals herself; in the dead of night, you can hear her breathing. When he turned into the road where he lived, he walked up the stairs unconsciously, and a flash of light flashed in his mind.Grant "closed his eyes."He wasn't sleepy, in fact it was just a metaphor, his mind's eyes fixed on the blurred image by the street lamp in the opposite corner.Who doesn't sleep so late? Whether he is crossing the street or going down to the other side of the street, he quickly calculates the distance of the figure, but it is too late for him to change direction.He stopped, paying no attention to the wandering man.When he turned to go home, he glanced back again. The man was still there, and the figure standing in the dark was barely visible. It was past twelve o'clock when he took out the key to open the door, and Mrs. Field was still waiting for the door. "A gentleman came here to look for you, but he didn't stay long, and he didn't leave a message." "How long ago was this?" Mrs. Field said an hour ago.She didn't see clearly, he was standing on the steps outside.Seems very young. "He didn't say who he was?" No, he declined to be named. "Well," said Grant, "you go to bed. If he comes again, I'll answer the door." She hesitated in the corridor, "You won't do anything to him, will you?" She asked with concern. "I don't like it when you hang out with guys who look like anarchists." "Don't worry, Mrs. Field, you won't be killed tonight." "I'm not worried that I'm going to be blown up," she said. "I'm just worried that if you lie here and bleed to death and no one will find out. Come to think of it, when I come in tomorrow morning and see this, How would you feel?" Grant laughed, "Just relax, nothing terrible will happen. Except for those Nazi Germans, no one can let me shed half a drop of blood, not to mention the law and order here has always been good." She doesn't insist anymore. "You should eat something before you go to bed," she said, gesturing to the food on the tray. "I made some English tomatoes, and the beef was bought at Domjin, perfectly salted." She said good night and went out, but not to the kitchen. Before the knock on the door, Grant heard that Mrs. Field had just come to the gate. She was still thinking about the visitor in her mind. I don't know whether it was out of boldness or curiosity, but Mrs. Field took the initiative to answer the door.After a while, she pushed open the door of the living room and said, "There is a young gentleman who wants to see you, sir." A young man about nineteen or twenty came in under Grant's earnest expectation, tall, Dark, broad-shouldered, but not overly muscular, with the firmness of a boxer's foot.He entered the door, cast a furtive glance at the blind spot behind it, and, standing in the room a few yards from the inspector, took off the bonnet with his long, gloved hands. "Your Excellency is Inspector Grant?" he asked. Grant pointed out a chair, and the young man, with utterly un-English grace, sank slowly on the edge of it, clutching his hat, and began to speak. "I saw you in Laurent tonight when I was in the little kitchen cleaning the silverware and a bunch of cutlery. They told me who you were and I thought long and hard and decided to tell you everything .” "Very well," said Grant, "are you Italian?" "No, I'm French. My name is Lego de Hau." "Very good, just say what you have to say." "I was in line the night the guy was killed, I was off that day. I was behind the guy for a while in line and he accidentally stepped on me, and then we got chatting - all about the play I lined up on the outside, he lined up against the wall. Later, a guy came up to talk to him and cut in front of me, that guy was new, unlike the rest of us who had been in line for a long time.He stayed until the theater opened and the line moved forward.He was angry about something.The two of them weren't arguing -- by no means the way we usually are -- but I think they were both very angry at the time.After the murder happened, I ran away.I don't want to get into this muddy water with the police.But I saw you tonight, and you looked so gentle, so I made up my mind to tell the story. "Why don't you come and see me at Scotland Yard?" "I don't trust the scouts. They're a lot of shit. Besides, I don't have any acquaintances in London." "Who was standing between you and the theater wall when the man pushed you to the back while talking to the dead man?" "A woman in a black coat." Mrs. Lockley.Everything the boy has said so far is true. "Can you possibly describe the person who jumped in line and then left?" "He's not tall, at least not as tall as me, and wears a hat like mine, but a darker color, and a coat of the same style as me." He pointed to his navy blue coat with a waistline-"also brown Yes. He has a dark complexion, a clean beard, and it sticks out here." He stroked his proud cheeks and jawbones. "Would you recognize him if you saw him again?" "Well, of course." "you swear? " "What's the meaning? " "Will you swear?" "willing." "What are those two people arguing about?" "I don't know, I didn't hear it. I didn't pay attention to it at the time. Although I can speak English, if someone speaks too fast, I can't understand. I think it's because the person asked for something from the deceased and didn't get." "Why didn't anyone notice him when that guy left the team?" "Because the guard came and yelled at the crowd: 'Get out of the way!The Inspector produced his blotter and pencil, and handed the pencil to the visitor, resting on the open pages. "Can you draw where you were in the team at that time? And draw the others and indicate where they are." The young man supported the notebook with his left hand, held the pen with his right hand, and drew a clear and fluent diagram. Unaware that he had got rid of the original distrust of the note, he tried to spit out all the things he refused to disclose. Grant looked at his serious, absorbed face, and his mind raced with thought.He is telling the truth. He had witnessed the man fall to the ground at the scene of the crime, and ran away out of fear, hiding until he was out of danger of being treated mercifully by foreign police.And he had seen the murderer and was able to identify him again.The case finally has some clues. He retrieved the blotter and pencil the boy had returned to him, and when he looked up from the drawing to see those brown eyes eagerly resting on the tray of food, he remembered that Lego might be a moment. After work, I rushed over to see him. "Thank you very much for your cooperation," he said. "Let's have a late-night snack before you leave." The young man shyly declined, but was persuaded to share Mr. Tomkin's delicious corned beef. Lego gushed about his family in Dijon, France — his sister who regularly mailed French newspapers, his father who shunned beer after drinking unflavored wine, his job at Laurent, and Impressions of London and the UK.Grant finally sent him out of the silent night of the morning, and he turned to stand on the steps and said gratefully and sincerely: "I am sorry that I concealed everything before, can you understand my difficulties? The escape from the scene was always painful for me at first. I didn’t know the police were so gentle and refined.” Grant didn't mind, and patted him on the shoulder kindly.He locked the door, picked up the receiver, and when the call was connected, he said, "This is Inspector Grant, and I am making an announcement to all the stations: 'Looking for: London parade murder suspect. Left-handed, in his thirties, of medium build, thin, deep Dark skin, hair, prominent cheeks and jaw, clean shaven. Last seen wearing a tan bonnet and fitted overcoat of the same color. Has a recent wound on the index finger or thumb of his left hand.'” After all, he went to bed.