Chapter 10 chapter Ten

"Simpson," said Grant, "how did you find out about the Rockleys yesterday?" "I'm pretending to be a former stationery salesman, sir." "Oh, no wonder, can you pretend to be a salesman again today? Steady, neat, tie, no-frills, unemployed. I want to know that Eve who lives at the end of Foalham Street in Bradling Crescent." Mrs. Ray's details. I don't need you door-to-door. She's reserved. You'll have to be careful. She seems to be a churchgoer. Try it there, I think you'll find it useful for your investigation. Go to a party, As far as I know, this kind of group is the most gossip. I want to know everything, where her relatives and friends live, whether she has contact with them or not. I will pay more attention to myself. Finally, there is a Probably useless advice: Mrs. Everett is not a three-year-old. Take that to heart and keep it in mind at all times. Don't move faster than you can handle. If she notices you, it means it's time to If someone else takes over, the investigation plan will fall through. If there is any situation, let me know immediately, but you must not come back here unless you call back to report first."

Mr. Cardik, the pastor of the Bradling Congregational Church, was sweating pushing a lawnmower to clear tough turf in his front yard, feeling that the blessings of March sunshine were wasted.He was aware of a stranger watching him at his work with a mixture of sympathy and admiration.Seeing that he was discovered, the stranger simply tugged at the brim of his hat to greet the pastor. He said, "Sir, working so hard in this weather, shall I help you?" The vicar was young, and it was evident that he did not bother with the day-to-day chores. "You think I can't do this job on my own?" he asked, grinning profusely.

"No, sir. You misunderstood me. I just wanted to work for you and see if I could make some extra money." "Oh?" Mr. Katiko's occupational disease happened again. "Are you looking for a job?" "Exactly." The man replied. "Married? " "Not yet, sir." Simpson wanted to make up some tearful stories, but restrained himself in time. "What kind of job are you looking for?" "It will be all right." "Very well, what skills do you have?" "I know how to make shoes, sir," said Simpson, wondering how he would justify himself in the days to come.

"It seems wise, then, that you mow the grass and I take care of other things. Come in for lunch at one o'clock." That was not Simpson's original intention.His goal was the kitchen, not sitting in the dining room and chatting with the priest.Gao Ming put on a look of embarrassment, he hesitated to put down the enthusiastic hands on the lawn mower, and stammered: "If you don't mind, sir, I want to go to the kitchen to eat something by myself, I'm not used to eating with other people." "Come on," Mr. Cardik beckoned him again kindly.Simpson, who was worried about being deprived of his precious opportunity to visit by the pastor, unexpectedly ran into a respectable priest.

"Please, sir, if you don't mind--" His tone was so firm that the priest broke his insistence. "Well," he said impatiently--shouldn't he be magnanimous, in a spirit of fraternity, not to care about such little things? --"if you really want to do it, you can," he said Let go.Returning a short time later to hear Simpson's offhand tales—he believed the visitor, though not a parishioner, to be a respectable companion—he lingered on the sidewalk until lunchtime, happily chatting with the visitor. Talk about something you are interested in.He spoke of the Great War—he had been a chaplain at Lyon—of saplings, of London bituminous coal, of leather shoes—the last of which he spoke most likely to interest his listeners—and of a man's choice in youth The arduous mental journey of dedicating to the church.Hearing his last words to prove that God is against gambling and that people who gamble commit the felony of forsaking themselves, those around them, and God, Simpson is not at all surprised that Mr. Katiko lacks a young audience.

"You are so young," said Mr. Cardik, "can you tell me why young people don't like to go to church?" If Simpson answered the question honestly, he would never leave the Vicar's house this afternoon.So he avoided the subject and shook his head helplessly, expressing his helplessness.A bookmaker who earns two shillings and sixpence a week is better off as manager of a small firm, and works with all the earnestness and earnestness of his heart.When the bell rang inside the house, he was secretly thankful that the pastor had wished him good luck and hurried back to the back of the church.Simpson is more interested in this game than in any good food.

The clergyman—a bachelor of marriageable age—has two maids: one is a cook and housekeeper, and the other is a female helper who often appears in plays or movies.They were very welcome to dine with such a decent man, and within an hour of the meal Simpson learned more than ever about the life of the servant class in the country in the past.Hearing Mrs. Everey, a widow who put on airs because her father was a clergyman, Simpson was deaf to anything else. He asked them if Mrs. Everey's father was the clergyman here, and they said no, he was somewhere in the North of England.She dared to say that it must be somewhere in the middle of nowhere.Mrs. Everett actively participated in all church gatherings and activities. The cook said that this did not mean that she was devout in her faith. She wanted to let everyone in the world know that her father was a pastor.Constantly pondering this surprising motive, Simpson returned to the garden to continue mowing the lawn, which was almost finished.

Not long after, the pastor came again.They're having a party tonight in the nave--wonder if Simpson would like to attend? Simpson thanked him and said sincerely that he would like to.At that time, the chairs and some items in the church will need to be moved to the main hall - I don't know if Simpson is willing to help? He will go there after afternoon tea, and he will see members of the women's committee preparing for the evening activities. The Women's Committee was what Simpson was looking for, so he expressed his willingness to participate again, and the pastor left after listening.

After trimming the plants in the flower beds in the afternoon, they took turns chatting with the cook and assistants. They came to Simpson with excuses, regardless of whether he believed their excuses or not.The afternoon tea in the kitchen has been prepared, and the refreshments are richer than the day before on Ramunode Road, except that the sudden appearance of colleagues is less exciting.Simpson went to the church, and he had already inspected the surrounding area—the red brick building where the upper and lower people shunned, and the level of filth made it hard to believe that it was formed naturally.The surface of the glass window, which was piled with tan and navy blue stains, was covered with a thin layer of dust.In the afternoon, the brightly lit church hall was another terrifying sight.Two or three women scurry about aimlessly like frightened hens: talking a lot but doing nothing because they keep being suggested a change of procedure while they rush to the meeting.Their mutual stubbornness and insincerity dragged the discussion beyond the rector's patience.Simpson watched them from behind the door for a while while waiting for Caddy to accept the results of the mowing.He walked forward slowly, and politely took off his hat, drawing their attention, "Who are you looking for?" one of them said.He explained that Mr. Cardik had asked him to come and help, which he did almost immediately.

In fact, he's proudest of all that he's been the darling of the party—his high spirits have nothing to do with his status as a CID agent.But at night, when he faced his opponent, the previous excitement faded away.He later narrated it privately to Maureen.It is a pity that I cannot reproduce his wonderful description of Huiying Huimu at that time.No doubt in Maureen's imagination, it was just a man who went to a party.Simpson had a hard time that night, though I don't know why.Blonde hair and honesty are his passport to success—traits that no one can have at the same time.They tapped the walls with raspberries to turn them pink—which might hurt many delicate souls, but he was unscathed.He's the most popular person of the day, and he has to sort out what he wants out of a sea of ​​information he's dying to digest.And it turned out that, when it was all over, Maureen said to him, "The boss is very pleased with your performance in Bradling Crescent." Simpson's cheerful expression was slightly incompatible with his blond hair and honest appearance Disdainful, he said bluntly: "I have tried my best!"

The fellowship ended quite satisfactorily at 9:45, and Simpson again helped the committee members play the game of blowing the wind and moving things back to their original places.Then escort the three aunts and six wives who treated him well to go home.Grant met him next morning to hear what he had heard about Mrs. Everett. Mrs. Everett was Scotch.The reason she spoke without a Scottish accent was that she had lived in London for twenty-five years, first from the West Coast.Her father had been pastor of a small liberal church in a small West Coast village in Rossshire, where her brother now served.Her real name is Luo Geng, she has been widowed for fifteen years and has no children.The reason she is not very popular is that she is always a loner, but she is highly respected.Her renting the room to two bookies was enough to ruin her reputation with the Bradling Congregationalists.Sorrell had lived with her since his discharge from the army, before he was in the book-booking business, or she might have been forgiven God for knowingly choosing the care of a sinful tenant.The two tenants never participated in any church activities, and even stayed away from church services.Grant understood that being a moral leper would have no friends. There seems to be an inexhaustible gravitational pull in their philosophy that makes them virtuous in complete sinking, their every move in life being watched in the shadows by other utterly unknown beings.The two men, as Mrs. Everett had said--Mrs. Everett, it occurred to Grant, had been verified to be true!--were inseparable. Neither of them even had girlfriends.They were both very intelligent, it was acknowledged in Bradling, and Mrs. Everey took care of them wholeheartedly.It was known that Mrs. Everey had no relations in London, that she went back to Scotland every year, and that if her lodgers were not traveling, she would offer to pay someone to take care of everything for them. After Simpson walked out of the room in high spirits, Grant called the detectives who were in charge of monitoring King's Cross Road and Euston Railway Station on Monday and asked them to describe the suspicious situation observed that day.The detective tasked with monitoring King's Cross mentioned a young man and his mother. "Describe the mother," he said.The agent complied, describing it in considerable detail. "Did anyone find anything suspicious at the train station?" Another agent said there were several.A thin black man with slightly high cheekbones was going to the north of Scotland, and they took a northbound train. "What makes you think he's not your target?" "His demeanor, sir. And the lady. His luggage is out there, and anyone passing by can see his initials—G.T . . . It looks very natural." That's a good move, Mrs. Everett! thought Grant.Nobody who left their bank notes in their drawer when they left would think of bringing a golf bag. He guessed that they must have put the suitcase in a conspicuous place on purpose.It was hard for him to believe that someone would risk such a large bet in order to achieve his goal. This may be a coincidence. Where would he be going? There was no tag on his suitcase and the ticket inspector said the man was going to Edinburgh. Grant guessed where Ramon might be going without thinking.There aren't many people in the Church of Scotland who have the surname Robin, and there's only one in Rossshire.He was pastor of the small liberal church in Carrnish—could he have betrayed the strong faith of the clergy?—Carnich was a small village on the front of the lagoon in west Rossshire. Grant went into the office and said to Balck, "I'm going to Scotland to fish for a day or two." "There are more comfortable places for your dying little head than Scotland," said Balck, who knew that trying to make sense of Grant's every move had to be circumscribed. "Maybe, but not necessarily for fishing. This is where I live. Two days should be enough for me, hopefully." "Take someone with you?" "No need to." "I know you're good. But think about the virtues of the country policemen in the Highlands." "He'll just sit there and wait for the fish to be slaughtered - I don't think it's going to turn out that way, though. I want other people in London waiting for the fish to bite." "Well, when are you leaving?" "I will leave King's Cross at seven thirty tonight and arrive in Inverness before ten tomorrow morning. I will let you know then." "Very well," said Balck, "good luck with your catch! Be careful not to get caught by your own hook." Grant took a moment to lay out the investigations that would be required in his absence.He was not sure that it was Ramon who was going to Carnish.After questioning himself, he decided to go anyway, because he was the only one of all the searchers who had seen a Levantine.Investigations in London will continue as usual.A move to Karnish may be all-or-nothing.Grant could not but admire Mrs. Everett. ' He packed his tackle and picked out some old clothes. Mrs. Field came in with sandwiches and mercies, none of which Grant felt he needed.On the first floor he declined the former, saying that he would enjoy a good dinner on the train, and in the morning, there would be another big breakfast on the train. "Yeah!" she said, "it's really nice, but there should always be something ready when you want something to eat during the long night. You don't know how happy it is when you wake up hungry." There are sandwiches, even if it's only temporarily stuffed between your teeth. These are chicken sandwiches, and it's hard to imagine what it's like to eat chicken again. Scotland, where birds don't lay eggs, God knows what you'll be able to eat then!" Grant said that Scotland is now very similar to England, more beautiful than here. "I don't know what beauty is," said Mrs. Field, stuffing her sandwich firmly back into the cloth bag, "but I do know that a cousin of one of my servants was there once—she was on vacation from London with her master—to look around , except for their dwelling, there was not a single house to be seen in the whole country, not even a tree. The locals have never even heard of what is called 'Scon'. "(Scone, a small round cake that the British often eat.) "It's so dirty!" Grant followed casually, folded his oldest and favorite pair of tweed pants and put them in the suitcase. As the train steamed away from King's Cross, he sat down leisurely and began to study the inch-sized rough topography of Carnich on the map. It put him in a good mood to study the map again.Hunting down a suspect across the vast countryside is always exciting.More primitive and more humane.Less mechanized than pulling a safety shot with an inhumane steel touch device by the Thames.It's a man versus man game, probably only the post office has a phone, no warning for you to stop someone else from destroying it first.Use your wits alone to meet the foe - maybe your gun will beat him.Grant hoped that wasn't the case.Bringing the dead to justice is not satisfying.As a policeman, I really don't want to see the result of the arrest be the Fa-rectification on the spot.He has to keep a low profile.Besides that, he had only two days to delay.The Levantine must have not reached his destination last night.He's got to be there for a while, and should try to look as calm as possible.At first, all his actions had to be concealed, but as he got used to the country life--Grant knew the way of the country--complete isolation would lead him to believe that he was safe. Grant looked at the map.The village of Karnish is located on the south bank of the Finlay River - where the river and sea meet in Finlay Lagoon.Stretching four miles to the south, the river drains into land from a second lagoon.The village on the north bank of the river was apparently slightly larger than Karnich, and it was called Gonin.Gunning is located at the northern end of the peninsula, and Carnich is at the southern end. The distance between the two villages on the peninsula is about four miles, separated by rolling hills and the third highway. Grant decided to live in the village of Gunning—he heard There was a hotel with sanitary facilities - and from there, he could also spy on the nearby village of Carnish under the guise of fishing on Lake Finlay.By nearly midnight, he had memorized the entire map, and the countryside gradually took shape in his mind, as if he had been there before.The painful experience in the past made him deeply understand that people who are good at reading maps will often suffer from strong impacts when comparing them with the actual terrain.But now, he may know the area better than the man he so desperately wants to hunt. Mornings make him happy.He opened his eyes at dawn, and through the opening above the window he saw the brown moors gliding slowly, and the train began to rattle, signaling that it was coming into Gran Territory.A clear, cool breeze blew in his face as he dressed.After breakfast, he looked out over a great brown barren land against a background of bright sky and pine forests covered with dazzling snow—horizontal layers of black mud packed tightly on the mountainside like patches on woolen fabric—and then Down is the birch.The birch trees that act as a barrier to the stream climb up the hillside, and some birch trees seem to drag a surprisingly thin new green curtain, laying turf between the small trees.The train hurried downhill, and it was still plain—a barren field between the valleys, with some stone calenders scattered on the mountainside.Lagoons, rivers, lush countryside.At the last whistle before arriving in Inverness, the train rattled and turned again and began to shake, and he stood on the aisle wondering what the fugitive was thinking-a Londoner who had abandoned his familiar Streets, cozy apartments and hiding places. Sunday's river was not yet ready for him. The black rapids met him from the west, and the free air of Solrey was isolated by the wild wasteland.Was he annoyed that he shouldn't have run away? He wondered about Ramon's mood at the moment.He had been a good-natured man--at least Mrs. Everey thought so.Is he more cheerful and generous now? He is definitely a sensitive person by nature, who deliberately kills people from behind for some purpose.And to a sensitive person, being alone and being cornered in a backcountry worse than being locked up in a back room in a stucco house is just as terrifying.In the early days of the Scottish Highlands, you could get away with climbing the hills—that’s how the Irish got away with it.But now that civilization has developed, everything is very different from before.None of the convicts wanted to take refuge in the Highlands or Wales.People have long been dissatisfied with food and clothing, shelter from wind and rain, or a thatched hut or cave on the mountainside.Mrs. Everett would not even have been able to get Ramon out of London if it hadn't been for Mrs. Everett's offer to hide for a while - Grant was convinced of that.How did Ramon feel when he saw his destination? He left the comfortable seat of the direct train at Inverness, crossed the windswept platform to the local station, and spent the rest of the day from The green country drove back to meet the brown heath from which Grant had risen.The train moved slowly to the west and farther west, and occasionally stopped somewhere for no reason, and inexplicably stopped in the middle of the vast wasteland to let the locals pass. It was not until the afternoon that he was left in a thick layer of On the dusty platform, the train unloaded him and continued towards the wilderness.Here he was told that he could take the mail.Thirty-six miles to Carnich, and with luck he could reach his destination by eight o'clock tonight.It depends on the situation along the way.Two weeks ago, the left wheel of this car was almost half stuck in a ditch, and Andy had to unplug the front right wheel of his other car to replace it. Grant was taken to the ticket office. On the gravel ground behind the station was the exquisite machine that he would ride for five hours. This classic car, nicknamed a large tour bus, took him in time to go to Gu Ning Village.Behind the driver's seat were three rows of crude benches, upholstered with mattresses, stuffing, and apparently planed wood, and covered with random American tarpaulins.To his great surprise, five people were already sitting on the chair.Grant asked them about the possibility of renting a car to the destination, and the look on the audience's face told him to stop dreaming, and he regretted the big mistake he made.Do not despise the mail coach, which means: the inhabitants of thirty-six miles away rely on it every day to pass between the local area and the sea.He's begged himself to compromise with his discomfort, and this farce at least makes the trip less than lackluster. He hasn't been embarrassed so far.Sitting next to the driver's seat, he expected it to be a good seat. As they drove along narrow roads, with rushing streams flooding the wheels here and there on the downhill path, he finally saw what it means to be human.Many places are too narrow to pass parallel to pedestrians. "What do you do when this happens to you?" he asked the driver. "Sometimes we back up—sometimes they give way," he replied.Grant's eye-opener came when they encountered an oncoming tractor after five miles.Although they thought it was no big deal, the situation was still extremely thrilling.On one side of the car is a mountain, and on the other side is a small valley.The driver was joking as he backed up, dumping his huge body onto a pile of gravel on the river bank by the road.The tractor roared away, and the journey continued. They were blocked twice on the short thirty-six-mile road, both times being crossed by cars. Once, two vehicles almost brushed each other and barely passed. One tire of the mail car was almost sunk in a ditch, and the other side was stuck in the pebbles and gravel piles of broom trees.Another time, it was a Ford. After the drivers on both sides greeted irrationally, relying on the better performance of the car and the technology of not touching the wasteland, it recklessly brushed past the stationary mail truck sideways. .This kind of amphibious car situation didn't scare anyone. The car was full of passengers, but no one expressed their opinions. It was obviously used to it. Concerned about the load capacity of the car, Grant couldn't help wondering, what would happen on this road to make people think it was an unusual journey? The same fear also happened to a little old woman waiting for a car on the side of the road on people. The car slowed down slowly, and the driver came down to help the old woman into the car.She looked at the passengers on the bench in surprise and said, "Andy, where do you find room?" "Shut up!" Andy said happily. "We never leave anyone behind." Grant understands that the phrase "shut up" does not mean any reprimand in Scotland, which is different from the meaning in English. It also represents suspicion of other people's outright compliments.Seats were vacated, and no one seemed uncomfortable, except the hens who had tumbled into coops by the side of the road and were frisky on the road, waiting for their owners to grab them and put them in wheelbarrows. It was a few miles to the village of Gunning, and Grant smelt the sea—weeds along the coast.It was strange to smell this when I wasn't expecting it, because it didn't look like a seaside scene at all.What's even more weird is that when they were moving forward, a small green pond suddenly appeared on the hill.Brown waves lapping on the weeds clinging to the rocks confirmed that it was really the sea and not a lake in the wilderness.The greatest surprise of twenty-four hours hit Grant's heart. The long sandy shoreline of Gonning Village lay bare in the afterglow of the setting sun, and the raging waves gently disturbed their silvery calm.The mail dropped him off on the cobbled porch of the hotel.However, hungry, he lingered outside the door, watching the sun sink westward over the straight edge of the peninsula.The tranquility is full of clarity, and the atmosphere of the evening is far away.The smell of bituminous coal and sea water was strong.The first lights of the village bloom like morning glory, the sea turns into lavender fields, and the sandy shore shimmers dimly in the gloom. ．He's here to apprehend the perpetrators of the London Squad homicide.