Chapter 9 Chapter nine

Grant read the morning paper carefully with his usual insouciance.This description is not contradictory.Grant looks like he's just skimming through the paper, but if you ask him what's going on in particular, he's developed an extremely efficient way of organizing the information.He is satisfied with his performance, because in a few hours, he can catch the suspect. As of today, it has been a week since the murder occurred.It is really a great achievement to be able to locate the murderer from a bunch of tangled and messy clues in such a short period of time.Of course, he humbly admits that this is due to the favor of luck.Without a little luck, more than half of the cases in the world may be difficult to solve.Take burglars, you can hardly cure them unless you get really lucky and catch them on the spot for a crime or two.The team murder case was by no means an easy case.The deployment work has come to an end, and Grant has an intuition that the Levantine must still be among the crowds in the South End of London. At this time, he is eager to try like a blindfolded hound.Mrs. Everey was still suspicious, but he decided to take her word for it.The person sent to monitor her reported that no one had entered or left her apartment from the time he was on duty at eight o'clock last night until early morning.Also, her willingness to provide a man's photo when she didn't have to do so most likely did not know the previous tenant's address.Grant knew all too well the self-serving attitude of these old Londoners.A Londoner on Fulham Street across the Thames was as much a foreigner in Canada as Mrs. Everett was, perhaps, more interested in such and such a street somewhere in Ontario than Richmond.None of this meant anything to her.The man named Ramon hadn't been with her for a long time, and she probably didn't care as much for him as she did for the deceased.He may have falsely promised to write to her, which made her very sympathetic.On the whole he thought Mrs. Everey was telling the truth, and that her fingerprints did not match those on the revolver and the envelope—Grant had paid special attention to her left thumb and forefinger clinging to the corner of the photograph.Some new leads from the investigation put Grant in a particularly cheerful mood that morning.Regardless of whether his reputation will rise again or the murderer will be apprehended, just imagining his hand resting on the murderer who stabbed in the back is enough to make Grant cry out.

He simply loathed this calculated crime. As the parade murders had become less of a newspaper sensation this week than other major incidents, the interest of Grant's superiors seemed to be shifting toward seemingly innocuous cases like stolen bicycles.He thought it was funny, but he was grateful that there were only such important things in Britain today.He distinguishes the seriousness of the incident by the boldness of the title and the length of the article.Training for a rowing race, a cosmetic doctor's struggle with a woman getting a facelift, and Rey Macbeth's trip to America.When Grant turned to the picture page of the newspaper and was face to face with her, he again felt uncomfortable and disturbed, and a reaction that a policeman should not have came to his chest, and his heart almost stopped beating-it would make him unable to move. Be fair.The soul of Scotland Yard must not be disturbed by emotions, timid or indiscreet: even if he is held to his head with the barrel of a gun, he must not give in easily-the inexplicable ups and downs of emotions undoubtedly make him guilty.In order to overcome his weakness, he brought the photo back to his eyes.Still, Grant's eyes were embarrassed, as if he was looking into that smiling face—a smile that was all the rage and never gets tired of.Because of his mouth being pursed all the time, when he saw the line of titles read: "Miss Rey is the incarnation of Dodo in "Don't You Know?" ", "Miss Rey's performance caused a sensation"

At that time, I couldn't even laugh.In the center of the page there was a line, "Miss Rae departs from Waterloo for Southampton". Rey stepped on the steps of the first-class cabin with a beautiful and delicate foot, with a bouquet of flowers in her arms, and the people on both sides of her held the slogans prepared in advance.In the lower corner of the photo are the heads of the countless people who were lucky enough to squeeze in front of the crowd and cheer enthusiastically. Their faces turned to face the camera, and they lost focus because they were too close and blurred.At the end of the article, she described the grand scene before she left, and left a sentence: "Aboard the Queen of Arabia with Rey were Mrs. Foley Robinson, Sir Margaret Bedivere, and the Member of the House of Commons, Shatter Mr. Frank and the mayor of Reising."

The detective's tightly pursed lips relaxed a little.Lessing clearly wanted to live out the rest of his life in a cheerful, calm mood.Once he left, no one would care whether he lived or died, so it would be easy.His cold and penetrating powers of observation now revealed what he already knew, but it was almost impossible for him to admit to the London crowd or London society that he fell under the charming charm of Rey Macbeth, He would rather be hanged or fired from the police station.Throwing away the newspaper, the matter was still lingering in his mind. He picked up another newspaper and saw the news of the departure of the Arabian Queen.He took Mrs. Everett's word for it, but he had not yet begun to investigate whether her statement that Sorrell was going to America was true.He believed that the story of going to the United States was a cover-up by Sorrell to conceal his intention to commit suicide. As for the Levantine Ramon, whether he believed it or not, there was no need to check whether Sorrell was really going to the United States.If he doesn't figure it out, will he miss the opportunity? At the very least, there will be dereliction of duty.He instructed his subordinates, "Go and find out which ships departed from Southampton last Wednesday." As soon as the words fell, he fell into deep thought again until the detective came back to report.The Matalien on the Atlantic Canada route is bound for Montreal, and the Arabian Empress on the Rotterdam-Manhattan route is bound for New York.

It seems that this Sorrell has spent some effort to find out that these routes really exist. Grant intuited that Sorrell must have been to the office of the Rotterdam-Manhattan route, and while chatting with people, he had the sudden inspiration to go to the United States. He stepped into the cathedral-like office in Rotterdam-Manhattan through the fog and rain, when a blue-eyed little boy suddenly appeared from the mosaic aisle at the entrance of the lobby and asked him if he needed help.Grant said that he wanted to see someone who was familiar with last week's New York route business. The little boy who made him feel at ease took him to each department to meet each counter staff. Grant repeated his work and purpose.When asked about the third round, Grant found a counter clerk who knew the situation of the Arabian Queen very well-including domestic operations, staff, passengers, capacity, features, load capacity, timetable, departure and departure of the passenger ship Case.

"Could you tell me which passengers were booked on board the Queen of Arabia and didn't show up?" No problem, the counter clerk said there were vacant seats for two passengers. One was Mr. Sorrell, the other Mrs. James Lockleigh. Grant was speechless for a moment.He then inquired about the date of the reservation, which they both booked on the same day—seven days before the murder.Mrs. Locklear had canceled the reservation at the last minute before departure, but they had heard nothing from Sorrell. Can I borrow the floor plan of the cabin? Of course, the counter staff said and took out the floor plan.This was Mr. Sorrell's cabin, and the next three along the aisle were Mrs. Locklear's.

Are they booked separately? Yes.He remembers both deals well.He thought of Mrs. Locklear, and from his conversation with the Inspector he was sure they were talking about the same person.He was sure he also recognized Mr. Sorrell. Grant took out a picture of the Levantine and spread it before his eyes. "Is this the man?" he asked. The counter staff shook his head, "I don't remember seeing this person before," he said. "So, what about this one?" Grant asked, holding on to Sorrell's photograph, which the counter clerk identified without hesitation. "Did he ever ask who lived in the cabin next door to his row?" asked Grant.The counter staff no longer remember such details.It was a busy Monday.After Grant thanked him, he returned to the misty mist, oblivious to the rain.Things became irrational and incomprehensible: cause and effect, motivations and actions, juxtaposed in layers, forming incoherent daydreams that seriously frustrate Grant's train of thought.Sorrell really wanted to go to America.The astonishing and indisputable fact that he had booked second class, a seat he had chosen himself, contradicted Grant's findings.He felt as if he was suddenly thrown off the original track by a sharp turn when the investigation was getting better.If Sorrell had been as poor as he was when his body was found, he would never have actually booked a second-class cabin to New York, paid a fare, and committed suicide.But what accounts for the fact that he is missing the revolver and all his belongings? His first hypothesis echoes loudly—the police are ready to dig deeper into the meager personal leads.Sorrell, by and large, is a good citizen who keeps his own life.Possibly nothing more than a secret exchange with James Locklear's wife.She was the only person around Sorrell who wept secretly after the murder.She and her husband were probably behind Sorrell at the time of the murder.

Her husband! James Locklear, the exemplary British citizen, flashed through his mind.Grant decided to set off at once, and pay a surprise visit to this Mr. Locklear. The valet took his card, and Grant waited outside for nearly three minutes before Mr. James Locklear came out of the office to greet him politely. 'Inspector,' said he, 'what brings you here? Do you know that you and the dentist are probably the most disagreeable people in the world.As long as I see you, something unpleasant must happen. "I'm not here to make trouble," Grant said, "I'm just stopping by to borrow your phone so I don't have to run to the post office. "

"Oh, that's it." He said, "Please use it, I will avoid it." "No, you don't have to go away," said Grant, "it's nothing important. I just want to know if I'm needed at the police station. "They're not looking for him. The South End leads are too weak, and the hounds are still busy. He hung up, relieved, surprised at how anxious he was after leaving Scotland Yard. He couldn't arrest anyone until he had taken a moment to think the whole thing through.As a Scotland Yard policeman, the biggest nightmare in this life is to catch the wrong person.He turned to Lockleigh, telling him that they had a target on the way and arrests would be made shortly.Locklear saluted him, and in the middle of his praise Grant said, "You didn't tell me that your wife was going to take a boat to New York on the night of the murder."

Under the reflection of the window, Locklear's face was both dazed and astonished. "I don't know," he said at first, then hurried on, "I don't think it's important, or I should say I don't think it's necessary to tell you. Got to stay in London for questioning. She has a sister who lives in New York, and she wants to go there for a month or so. It's not a big deal, is it? I don't think it has anything to do with the case." "No connection, of course," said Grant. "I found it by chance. It has nothing to do with the case. Is your wife better now?"

"Much better, I think. She hasn't lived at home since that incident, and is now at Eastbourne temporarily with another sister—the same sister you saw last." Still puzzling.Grant set off for Scotland Yard.He pressed a button on the desk and said to the person speaking, "I'm going to get someone out of Secret Service. Is Simpson there?" "Yes, sir." "Call him in." A blond, freckled, medium build man walked in.He exuded a likable air like a lively beagle waiting to be thrown something at him.Grant told him, "Go to the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Lockleigh, Ergod Green Park, 54 Ramnod Road. I want to know how their relationship is--I mean the relationship between husband and wife, and any You can get the news from the landlord. It would be better if you can get the rumors from the neighbors nearby. I already know the whole story, so you don't need to waste time on it. What I want to know is their housework. As long as you don't Breaking the law, any way you want. Report to me tonight, whatever the outcome of your enquiry. Is Maureen still at the bureau?" Yes, Simpson saw him as he was going upstairs. "Very well, tell him to come and see me." Maureen had no freckles, he looked like a sexton. "Morning sir," he finished, and stood quietly waiting for instructions. "Good morning, Maureen. From now until I order it to stop, you're a street peddler. You're pretending to be Italian. No, I reckon you'd better be British. It's less noticeable. I'll give A note for you, go to Lord Street and find Clindero, and he'll give you what I want, and don't sell too much, so you don't get caught. After that, you don't go straight back to Scotland Yard.Meet me an hour from now in Clindero's alley.Can you do it in an hour?" "I think so, sir.Am I going to pretend to be a young man or an old man?" "It doesn't matter. It's fine at the stage of youth to adulthood. Greybeard may be too exaggerated. Don't go too far to participate in the parade." "As you order, sir," said Maureen, turning to convey the Inspector's instructions. An hour later, when Grant chanced upon him in an alley in Lord Street, he said, "You're a genius—you're a genius. I wouldn't believe what your report said about you if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." A lifetime of nonsense." He looked at the peddler in front of him with admiration, and it was unbelievable that this slightly hunchbacked man was one of the most promising agents in Scotland Yard.Disguise is not often used in Scotland Yard's cases, but when they do, they do it seamlessly.Maureen was a master of it—it was hard to imagine him now.The clothes on him are obviously third-hand goods, and because they have just been washed, they don't fit well.Overworn coat shoulders were also ill-fitting. "Buy some trinkets, sir?" Maureen said, as the street peddler opened the lid of the wicker box, and the woolen rugs displayed all manner of cheap Italian artifacts—letter openers, colorfully painted wooden decorations. objects, trinkets, paper bowls, and stucco statues. "Excellent!" said Grant, taking a Kleenex-wrapped object from his pocket.Before he opened the Kleenex, he said, "I want you to go to 98 Fulham Street, Bradling Crescent, and find a woman who lives there and has seen this thing before." The silver dagger with the handle was placed among the pile of painted woodwork and stucco statues. "Needless to say, this is not for sale. How much is this thing worth?" he gestured, picking up the dagger casually. "For the sake of being a gentleman, I'll count you one pound and ninepence." Maureen said without hesitation. A passer-by passed behind and overheard their conversation, and Grant continued cheerfully, as if he never got off topic. "Keep your eyes as natural as you can when you're selling to that woman in Bradling Crescent. Then try it out at 54 Rue Ramunode and see if anyone's seen it. When you're done Report to me as soon as possible." Vendors of Italian handicrafts arrive at the back door of 54 Rue Ramunode around tea time, and the listless young maid says, 'Oh, what's going on, there's another one!'" Another what? " said the peddler. "Here comes another hawker." "Oh? So much? I bet they don't have all the new things I sell," he said, opening his crate. "Oh?" she said, obviously surprised. "Is your stuff precious?" "Not those. It's the one next to it. A girl with a decent income like you must be able to afford it." "Sir, how do you know how much money I make?" "I don't know anything. I just see a lot of things in the world. Young and beautiful girls, working in mansions, naturally make a lot of money." "It is indeed a lot of money." Judging from her tone of voice, it seems that there is still a little bit of regret. "Don't the ladies in the house want to see these things?" "No lady," she said, "I'm the only woman in the room now. The lady is now in Eastbourne.Are you in the military?" "I served in the military during the Great War.I spent some time in the military. Is it France? Miss, I have been in France for four years. "Oh, you can come in and have a cup of tea, and I'll take a good look at those things.We happened to be having afternoon tea. " She took him into the kitchen, where butter, bread, several different jams and pastries were set on the table.A large teacup was being delivered to the man's mouth on the table. The freckled blond man was wearing a blue coat, and the other silver badge on the lapel of the coat had been removed.On the table next to him was a stack of cheap letter paper. "This is a salesman who has just arrived," said the maid, "he is selling stationery. I don't think this kind of thing is going to be bought anymore.It's been years since I've seen anyone sell this paper. "How come, miss?" said the blond man, very calmly meeting the strange look cast by the peddler. "How is the business doing?" "Average, passable. You seem to be doing well." "Well, no way. I haven't sold half a stack of papers today, and the people around here are all racing dogs. Good people have bad luck." "Do you want jam?" said the maid, pushing him the peddler's teacup, and he helped himself to the dessert. "While I'm glad my wife isn't home at this time, I'm a bit sorry. I'm thinking she might want to do some shopping, too." "I'm not sad at all," she said. "The curse has been lifted. Her violent temper is unbearable. Life shouldn't be so painful." "She has a bad temper?" "I thought she was in a bad temper, but she said she was nervous, and since that murder—the night a man was killed, she was in line. Yes, to the right of the man. God, it was such a mess! She had to be interrogated afterwards, to give evidence. If she really wanted to kill the man herself, she would never have caused such a commotion that she couldn't even run. She screamed that night Yelling and kept saying she wasn't standing there when the poor cop tried to silence her and she wouldn't let him come near her. She yelled at him, you don't even do that to a dog. I tell you , she was in a very poor state of mind when she returned to Eastbourne with her sister, Miss Liebgill." "Yes, the only thing they can do is go away for a while," said the blond man. "Does she often go back to her mother's house?" "Not as often as I do. After the murder she went to Yorkshire and it turned out to be worse than before. So she is now going to Eastbourne instead, where she may be for a long time.Show me your babies now. " The peddler quickly turned his head to the bottom clip of the box, "Look carefully, I will give you a bargain for anything you like. I haven't had such good tea for a long time. What do you think, Bill?" "Well," his colleague pretending to be a salesman stuffed his mouth full of cake and nodded in agreement. "There are not many good people left." She secretly looked at the brightly colored baubles. "Miss lost something," she said, "and she lost her temper over a dusty thing like this. It's so delicate. What is it for?" She took Picking up the dagger, he asked, "Murder?" "Have you ever seen this thing?" asked the peddler in surprise. "It's a letter opener, just like any wooden letter opener." She tested the sharpness of the point with the tip of her finger, shuddered in disgust, and put the dagger back in place.In the end she picked out a painted paper bowl, which, though impractical, looked very pretty, and the peddler offered her only sixpence. As a token of her gratitude, she offered them to smoke Mr. Locklear's.So they puffed and chatted about what was most important to her—murder. "Believe it or not, the Inspector from Scotland Yard was here. He's so respectable, you'd never believe he was a cop. He's not as slick as the rest of the cops. But it's not much better." Go, the police are the same all over the world. He thought the lady was suspicious when she was too frightened to see him. I heard Miss Liebager say to her, 'Don't forget, Margaret, the only one who won't come again The way to do it is to meet him first and make him believe in you. You have to."' "Eastbourne is a beautiful place," said the blond man. "Someone with her can make her forget about these scary things." "Well, she's not a nice person to be around. She's always using people as a punching bag, telling them to fuck off, and finding a new one. It doesn't matter if she's with someone or not. Weird one, I mean it." When she was about to repeat the same topic again, the blond man got up and said, "Miss, I haven't had such a good tea for many years, thank you for your hospitality." "You're welcome," she said, "you take my advice and don't sell those letter papers anymore. No one uses them now. They're out of date. Sell something like this gentleman's—the Christmas shop display." new gadgets." The blond man's mocking eyes fell on the dagger that was called "new thing for Christmas". "Are you going north or south?" he asked the peddler. "North," said the peddler. "Then, bye. I'll go first. Thank you again for the tea, miss." He closed the door behind him casually.Five minutes later, the hawker was also ready to leave. "If I were you, I wouldn't be able to drink tea so leisurely," he said. "There are a lot of well-dressed boys in the whole street, but most of them are also good and bad hooligans. You'd better be careful when you stay at home." a little." "Are you jealous of that blond gentleman just now?" She said defiantly, completely ignorant, "You don't have to do that. I didn't buy his paper at all." "Forget it, forget it." The peddler said, taking his good intentions and leaving.He walked slowly south until he reached the intersection of the main roads. It happened that the blond man was sitting on a chair outside the bus booth. "How was it?" said the blond man in a cheerful voice. "How was your day?" "Not so bad," said the peddler. "Not bad. What are you doing here?" "I'm also here to go to the market. Nothing unexpected." He said, watching the bus in front of him drive away. "These girls are so brainless! We could have just looted her, killed her, and acted like this never happened." "I reminded her so before I left, but she thought I was jealous of you." "Eating my jealousy? She meant something else. She never bought my paper!" "That's what she said." "You sell really good stuff. The boss chose?" "That's right." "You don't have to think about it. He really doesn't have a name for himself. What clue did he find?" "have no idea." "I noticed that she wasn't fascinated by the knife." "Indeed not." The peddler said no more. The blond man fell silent. "Oriole bird!" he said, taking two cigarettes from his pocket and offering one to his colleague.The peddler accidentally glanced at the brand of the cigarette, recognized that it was Mr. Locklear's cigarette, and smiled on his serious face. "You thief!" he said, holding the cigarette to the lighted match. This little sneaky incident did not appear in the report that Maureen and Simpson had made to Grant.The Simpson report noted that the Lockles got along well with each other, with occasional serious verbal clashes.Simpson was not sure whether they were shouting at each other because of Mrs. Lockley's hysteria, or Mr. Lockley's intolerance of his wife. The maid did not reveal the cause of their quarrel.All she heard was voices through the door.The most serious conflict occurred on the night of the murder, after they returned home.They almost fell apart that time.Mrs Lockleigh was due to go to Yorkshire the day after the murder but was in too bad a mood to make it. After being questioned by the police, she and her sister went to East Bern and stayed at the local Paradise Grand Hotel. She was the type to vent her anger when frightened or violated, and during this time she treated her servants unreasonably.She has some private money in her own hands, so she doesn't want to rely on her husband. Maureen's visit to No. 98 did not interest Mrs. Everey in the slightest. He never had a chance to open the crate. She was interested in nothing.The lid of the crate was ajar, and the first thing her eyes caught was the dagger.She cast him an instant suspicious glance and said, "Get out!", closing the door in his face. "What do you think? She recognized it?" Maureen wasn't sure.But she closed the door and chased him away after seeing the dagger.The maid in Ramnod had never seen the dagger before, he was sure of that. After sending Maureen away, Grant put the dagger back into its original drawer and sat in meditation for a while. Things are really going wrong today.The arrest fell through; he blamed it on the ironic curse—discovering that Sorrell had indeed intended to go to America had brought the case to a standstill.Thus the trail of the £223 bank note paid to Ramon and the £25 sent by an anonymous friend was interrupted.It has been seven days since the murder and the money was withdrawn ten days before the murder and they are still trying to trace the £25 in their possession. In addition, the two agents he sent out did not bring back any important information.In desperation, he weighed the relationship between Mrs. Locklear and Sorrell.He was inclined to believe that it was a mere coincidence that their names were listed side by side on the passenger manifest and that they were in the same queue.Mr. Locklear was visibly taken aback when Grant pointed out that he had not told police that his wife was going to New York.As for Mrs. Everey, her sudden diversion made her more suspicious than her wit.Maureen mentioned that she had given him a suspicious look.She deliberately turned a blind eye to the dagger and responded to the situation with impertinent curses.She may have grown suspicious.He decided to use some tricks to clear Mrs. Everett from being an accomplice.As for the Lockleys, he intended not to disturb them for the time being. The police were often able to solve the case without collecting sufficient evidence, but now, the clues they had were not only insufficient evidence, but also not conducive to investigation, so they had no choice but to stand still.It was imperative for him to know: why did Mr Locklear tell the maid that she was going to Yorkshire when Mrs Lockleigh was going abroad? .It's Williams. "We've got him, sir. Are you coming over, or are we keeping watch?" "Where?" Williams reported to him. "Have you controlled all the entrances and exits? If you do, are you sure you won't make any mistakes?" "Of course not, sir. We'll get him right away." "In half an hour, meet me at the exit of Ike Lane, Blessington Road." Grant rendezvoused with his men and asked them for details.The subordinates reported one by one, and Williams added from the side. They find what they are looking for through a real estate agent.Three days before the murder, Ramon had rented a furnished two-bedroom apartment on the top floor from people they determined he had moved in on the morning of the murder. Great.Grant applauded secretly, which matched Mrs. Everay's words. "What name is he registered under?" he asked. "Using his real name," Williams said. "What! Using his real name?" Grant repeated his words incredulously, and then fell silent, dazed. "You've done a good job, Williams. Go get him now. He's a freak now, isn't he?" "Indeed," Williams emphasized. "So far, no one has reported seeing this man in or out. He's probably scared out of his wits. Let's do it, sir. Counting up from the terrace, it is on the fourth floor of the house. "Very well," said Grant, "you and I two forwards, and you keep a gun in your pocket.Ready to go. " They don't have a door key and apparently there is no doorbell on the third floor. (The first floor of a British house is called the ground floor, and the third floor is equivalent to what is commonly known as the fourth floor.) They rang the doorbell for a long time, and they were not able to enter until the residents on the first floor complained and came out to open the door.Grant's heart was ignited with the last light, and they climbed the old stairs, and finally reached the last critical moment.No need to stay in place and go around in circles.He'd face the Levantine, the man who had met the Strand, the man who had stabbed Sorrell in the back.He knocked hastily on the door in the dark.The door sounded empty and unresponsive.Grant knocked again, still in vain. "You'd better open the door, Ramon. We're the police, and if you don't open the door, we're going to force our way in." Still dead silence. "Are you sure he's still in there?" Grant asked Williams. "But he was there yesterday, sir, and no one saw him come out again. After three o'clock this afternoon, the house was tightly surrounded. "Pick the lock," said Grant, "and remember, as soon as the door opens you dodge behind it. With the combined efforts of the two, they smashed through the door, and had no time to care about the pain caused by the uneven application of force. Grant put his right hand in his breast pocket and inspected the room. He knew it with just one glance.He suddenly understood that when he arrived at the house, he already had a premonition that there would be no one in the room. "The bird flew, Williams. We missed him." Williams stood in the middle of the room, with an expression like a child who suddenly ran out of candy, and swallowed in frustration.Although Grant was greatly disappointed, he knew that time was running out.It wasn't Williams' fault, it was because he was a bit overconfident, but he locked on to the man very quickly after all. "He got away in a hurry, sir," Williams said, his battered ego and depression somewhat assuaged by the fact before him.Evidence of a hasty escape was everywhere, with food left on the table, half-open drawers apparently ruffled, and clothes and personal belongings strewn about in a mess.This is obviously not a planned retreat, but a flight. "Let's find out what he left behind," Grant said. "Before I turn on the lights, I'll check for fingerprints. There doesn't seem to be anything in here except lighting fixtures." After wandering around the room, only one clear fingerprint was found on the surface of everything on the floor, and the other sporadic and broken fingerprints were of little use.It was heartening to see that when someone grabbed a coat on the hook rack behind the door with his right hand, his free left hand left two complete fingerprints on the waxed wooden door.After the search was successful, Grant turned on the lights and approached Ramon's scattered objects on the ground. Williams' call led him into the bedroom. Williams held a roll of Bank of England notes in his hand. "I found it in this drawer, he really walked in a hurry!" An antidote soothed Williams' broken heart, "Why didn't he just settle himself!" Grant looked in his notebook, and turned to the page where the numbers were listed, and compared them with the notes he had found.That's right, word for word.These are exactly the bank notes that Ramon obtained from Sorrell and went to the bank to withdraw them.Ramon walked away in such a hurry that he forgot about this life-threatening evidence.All the money is here, except the twenty-five pounds sent to Sorrell for his funeral.This is really puzzling.Grant kept thinking, why didn't the Levantine spend a penny in the ten days from getting the money to killing people? He shouldn't have to be afraid of anything.The meaning behind the bank note was so wide that he couldn't think of any explanation.The Levantine went to collect the money in person, but if he wanted he could exchange the full amount for the face value in legal tender.Why didn't he spend a penny? There were also some unremarkable things on the floor that aroused their interest.Grant reflected that the man's literary dabbles were quite extensive.He noticed a row of books along the mantelpiece: Science Fiction by Welles, Adventures by O. Henry Barchan, Poems by Irving West, Detective Stories by Mary Robert Reinhardt , Sassoon's poems, several volumes of "Horse Racing Information" Bound volume, and "The Little Vicar" by Scottish novelist Barrie.He took out a book, opened it, and saw the same handwriting on the butterfly page as on the bank note, signed the name of the book collector: Albert Sorrell.他将书放回架上，逐一查阅其他的书。几乎全部的书都属于索瑞尔所有，这些书看来是索瑞尔在临去美国前转赠给拉蒙的。起码在最后一分钟时，这两个人相处得依然很融洽。后来究竟发生了什么事? 难道这段友谊只是貌合神离? 拉蒙从一开始就是草丛里的蛇，冷不防咬你一口? 拉蒙的藏身之处显示了一个新的问题。他会去哪里呢? 他匆匆离去——仓皇狼狈的逃逸，这绝非预谋。这表示他可能必须寻找另一个栖身的避难所。他们无须费心考量他已经潜逃海外的可能性，他根本没有这么做。 他甚至还没离开伦敦。开溜之前，他可能一直像只窝囊的老鼠钻在自己熟悉的地洞里。 格兰特下达指令，搜寻工作还是和以前一样继续进行。他回到苏格兰场，试着让自己就嫌犯的处境想想有哪些可能行得通的逃亡路线。夜里，已经很晚了，疲惫不堪的他终于在这条线索上搜寻到一线曙光。他在门上采到的那些指纹的检查结果送交到他手上，竟是伊芙雷太太的指纹! 毫无疑问。布莱德林新月区房间里在索瑞尔照片后面留下印记，和为了某种目的冒险前往拉蒙住处抵着门的，是来自同一人的指纹。伊芙雷太太，好家伙! 竟向草丛里的蛇通风报信! 格兰特该退休了，他居然看走眼，这么容易轻信于人。这个出人意表的结果让他深感耻辱，但他相信伊芙雷太太对他还是很坦白的。他派去盯她梢的人可能出了岔子。总之，这次的逃逸事件非同小可，不过他总算掌握到拉蒙的线索了。他要利用伊芙雷太太来逮拉蒙。他毫不怀疑唆使拉蒙逃逸的人是伊芙雷太太。很可能昨天他前脚刚离开，她就立刻去找拉蒙。她在派去盯梢的人抵达前先走一步，但他应该看到她回来啊，这点得要查清楚。 安德鲁太大意了。最有可能的情况是，她提议或帮他找好一个新的藏身之处。 他不相信以这个女人的聪明才智，会．笨到把拉蒙藏在自己布莱德林新月区的住所内。因此，他现在要清查伊芙雷太太的一切，以及所有和伊芙雷家族相关的细枝末节。 该从何处下手呢? 哪一条捷径才能接近伊芙雷太太这个女人的护城河和城堡? 不管怎么样，就是没有捷径可走。她不是个三姑六婆的女人，现在显然更会保护自己。 刺激她的情绪显然是白费工夫而且有欠考虑。他当初早该想到她不是爱串门子或搬弄是非的女人。那么，现在该怎么做? 在什么样的团体，什么样的场合，伊芙雷太太才可能与人无拘无束地畅谈? 他以不同的情境设想，觉得她真的与众不同。 最后，他突然想到：教堂! 妇人是个虔诚的教徒。她可能是教堂所有集会里备受敬重的人，因为她从不跟别人来往，所以人缘不佳。她的气质透露出此人或多或少得到教会热忱教徒的敬重。从教会活动着手，也许会听到一些某教徒因破产而没落的故事或评价中肯、耐人寻味的趣闻。从教会着手应该会有线索。既然她不受欢迎，她的弟兄姊妹们准保有的好说了。 格兰特阖眼入睡时，还在盘算着要派谁去调查伊芙雷太太。