Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven

Grant asks Andy for news.Andy, the mail driver, not because he didn't notice the man—he did drive Ramon over thirty-six miles two days ago—but because he was as curious about who Grant was as much as Grant wanted to know Ramon's whereabouts.He ignored Grant's hopefulness and just shook his head and nodded to himself.The game soon became tiresome, and Grant decided to give up before Andy could figure out his identity.After breakfast, he met the innkeeper in Gurning Village in the corridor. Grant asked some useless information, but this time the innkeeper really didn't know.The mail driver wanted to know exactly what had happened to Karnich, because it was his home and he had to go back there to sleep every night.The hotel owner is only interested in whether what happened to Ge Ning will affect the hotel business.

"Come to fish, sir?" he said.Grant said yes.He thought about fishing on Lake Finlay if possible. "That's just right," said the proprietor, "and there's fishing four miles behind the hill. You know it well?" Grant thought it best to brush off his prior knowledge of the terrain for the moment. "There's a little village on the other side of Lake Finlay, but you'd be better off here. There's only one lousy hotel there, and there's nothing to eat but mutton." Grant said it could be even worse there. "Yes, you don't mind the first day or two, but after a week of seeing the sheep on the hills, you may not be able to bear it. If you are too lazy to walk, we can take you where you want to go in a Ford every day. I thought, you have a license, right?" Grant said he thought every hotel had its own territorial waters. "No, all the territorial waters belong to the gentleman who owns the hotel at Carnich, a stockbroker in Glasgow. Yes, he should be here now--if he hasn't left. He just came back a week ago. "

"Oh, can I get a ride in this Ford? I want to visit him." The fishing was just a cover, allowing him to move around the country unnoticed. "What do you call him?" he asks, stepping into the old Ford and sitting next to the driver, who is all furry and has eyes and eyes. "Mr. Drysdale," said the hotel owner, "this sea area is not his, he is only in charge of management." With disappointing comfort, Grant set off. The car climbed over the mountains to the Finlay Valley. "Where's the hotel?" he asked the furry man.On the way together, he learned that the man was called Lottie.

"In Carnish." "You mean in this valley?" Grant didn't want to be noticed so early. "No, across the valley, on the other side of the river." "Are we out of the valley yet?" "Not yet, the valley can only be calculated after crossing the bridge." As they passed the juncture of the valley and the new valley, Grant gazed obsessively down the abyss hundreds of feet below. There were no fields, not a speck of green beyond the edge of the rapids, a silvery thread leading to the lagoon through the thick birches.This is the hometown of gray and brown, and the blue sea shows a strong exotic style-Grant couldn't help but think that this place is really an abandoned paradise.

When they came to the coast on the other side of the hill, he noticed two churches and took his chance. "In such a big valley, you have quite a lot of churches." "Well," said Lottie, "that's the small liberal church—Mr. Robin's parsonage." He drove the car to the side of the road and pointed down. There was a plain church and a parsonage with a square layout and a solid building. Sheltered by trees by the river. "The Little Liberal Church is at the end of the valley, by the sea." Grant glanced interestedly out of the corner of his eye at the apparently habitable house in which his key criminal was hiding.

"What a nice place," he said. "Do they have boarders?" No, Lottie didn't think so.Only in summer, they will rent out the house for a month.The vicar was still single, had a widowed sister, and Mrs. Deemore took care of the house.Mrs. Dymore's daughter, Mr. Robin's niece, has just come here for a holiday, and she works as a nurse in London. Let's stop here.He didn't continue the subject because he didn't want to arouse any suspicion among the curious Highlanders. "How many people live in this hotel?" "Three," said Lottie.As a competitor, there was nothing in the Carnich Hotel that he didn't know.The residents were all male, and Ramon was not among them.

Lottie knew the backgrounds and idiosyncrasies of the three men inside out. The House of Carnish is located on the opposite bank of the village from the river, adjacent to the sea, and the road going north passes behind it. "You'd better wait," Grant said suddenly, as Lottie pulled up in front of the gate.Lottie stopped to let Grant out of the car, which made Grant look very dignified, and he got out of the car and stepped on the doorstep.Standing at the door of the hotel was a thin, melancholy man in fine tweed. This stockbroker, Grant thought, was a good man.He couldn't help but picture the stockbroker's round pink face and his suit pants tightly wrapping his legs, so much so that he was startled when the skinny man came up to talk to him. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I want to see Mr. Drysdale." "Come in," the man said, leading him into a room littered with fishing tackle.Grant suddenly felt a little guilty that he had deliberately vilified the stockbroker, and secretly prayed that he would be magnanimous and not ruin his vacation.When he actually saw him, he changed his mind.He produced his police ID, flattered by the surprise.His impeccable old fisherman's attire was unmistakable. "Inspector, what can I do for you?" "I want you to let me fish on Lake Finlay for a while. I think two days at the most. The man I'm after is around and the only way I can't startle the enemy is if I'm disguised as a fisherman. I thought Gu Ning The hotel would have its own fishing spot, but obviously it doesn't. I don't mean to fish, but it's a good idea, and I won't disturb anything in the river."

Unexpectedly, Mr. Drysdell showed a smile on his serious face, "Inspector, I don't care how unique your idea is in this situation, how extraordinary you are. Since 1945 I can't believe that no one would come here looking for someone. The suspect was hiding in Carnish and the Scotland Yard detectives came to find him! What the hell, the biggest crime for miles around is drinking Drunk and incompetent." "That's probably what I'm looking for." Grant said helplessly. "Anyway, if you allow me to fish nearby, I promise you I won't disturb you for too long."

"Of course you can fish, anywhere. I'm going up the river now. Would you like to come with me? I can show you the best pools here. If you really intend to fish, you'd better be in Fish here for ten days. Tell your servant to go back to Ge Ning first. —Lottie was standing outside the open window, chatting and joking with the waitress in high-octave Scotch Gaelic, ignoring the gentleman accompanying him completely. "Don't ask him to come back."I can take you wherever you want this afternoon. " Grant was overjoyed by the unexpected kindness of this humble, purported miser.Grant sent back Lottie who accepted the order to be fired with adjutant awe, but before leaving, he unwisely cursed and left angrily in the dialect he had spoken with the waitress.It's like a frightened hen giving a warning in self-defense when she rushes out of the chicken pen.When the noise faded away, Mr. Drysdale began to pack his fishing tackle and prepare to go to the river without saying a word.He asked no further questions, and Grant was grateful.Mr. Drysdell did not intentionally break the silence to talk about the state of the river, and two fellow fishing lovers chatted endlessly about fishing.As they went up the right bank of the river—the village of Carnish and the Vicarage on the opposite bank—Drysdale introduced the pond and its features.The tawny, narrow, pebble-bedded river is less than six miles long, rushing through hill lagoons, buffered by still puddles, and emptying from Carnich to the sea.

"I guess you want to go in the direction of the village," said Drysdale, suggesting that Grant go up the hill, away from the lower half of the river, and Grant readily agreed.As they passed across the parsonage, Grant said: "Is that house a parsonage? Vicars in Scotland seem to be doing pretty well." "Indeed," Drysdale agreed, but did not discuss the topic further. Grant looked at the size of the house and asked if they would accept boarding.Drysdale said they had never taken boarding as far as he could remember, and he repeated what Lottie had said about summer boarding.With unworldly abruptness he led Grant away to another landscape, graciously letting Grant know that he had an ally in need of it. Grant decided to start fishing about two hundred yards from the parsonage, slowing down and keeping an eye out for traffic on the grounds as he fished.On his side of the river there was a driveway that could barely be called a road, and on the other side, as far as he could see, there was only a trail of fisherman's or servant's footprints, and anyone who wanted to go upstream , must first pass through his current location. Surrounded by stone walls, the parsonage turned away from him and faced the road.A row of fir trees planted within the walls properly conceals the details of the house, and only the sheen of the limewash and the eight chimneys on the roof reveal its presence.The back of the garden wall collapses on the river bank, and the middle part of the wall near the river is the famous solid and durable iron gate in the highlands.Although he cannot see the road directly in front of the house, he can see the entire road from the other side.No one can escape his surveillance in and out of the house.In the best of circumstances, he could be there all day without drawing attention to himself.Grant cast his first rod into the shimmering brown water of the lake, feeling the wonderful life.The sun was too high this day to actually be suitable for fishing, so he grabbed something to shade him: at this moment, the big fish took the bait.No one had noticed a stranger visiting the Vicarage, and all he had was that the rooms above Blessington were empty. But now, Grant's strong sixth sense told him that the person he wanted to catch was inside. It was eleven o'clock before he started fishing.For more than an hour no human activity other than his own had broken the morning stillness.The two chimneys of the parsonage belched white smoke slowly toward the clear sky.The babbling of the water continued its rhythm as it flowed past his feet, and the river now slid by swiftly.Far to his right, behind the bridge, a row of limestone houses on the coast is like an insignificant scene in the wasteland, under the sunlight, like the background of a stage, peaceful.Grant began to feel that all this was like a painting, just like the image of France when he was studying French in his early years. Only by being in the scene can he make this painting more complete.He was not Grant of Scotland Yard at the moment, he was an angler, an angler made by a magician with a tap of his wand.The postman came from the village and took turns pedaling hard on his bicycle, breaking the spell.The painting still exists, but he is no longer a part of it.It was a stage set—one of those tiny exhibits—and he was a giant who could juggle the whole box at will.The moment he thought this, the iron gate beside the low wall of the vicarage opened wide, and a girl came out, followed by a man.Talking and laughing, they barely closed the iron gate, and walked around to the only path leading to the bridge.Grant was over a hundred yards from the house, and none of them noticed him.The man wore flannel trousers, an old military jacket, and a hat on his head.Grant was a little surprised that his slender frame did not look like that of the man who had wandered the busy Strand that night.The thing that kept him in suspense during the long journey north was that he would definitely bring the escaped suspects to justice.An employee of the London bookies was as unnoticed as a local in the West Highlands.So, that person wasn't Ramon.He secretly expected them to walk across the bridge to his side of the river instead of towards the village.But if they were going to the village, why didn't they go out the front door and walk along the road? He stared at them suspiciously until the girl turned onto the bridge.To Grant's surprise, they went straight down the road and passed the Carnich Hotel. .Grant was gratefully relieved as the girl turned toward the river again and her companion followed her.They came towards him along the river, crossing the road a few yards behind him. As if nothing had happened, he threw a beautiful pole farther into the center of the pool, pretending not to see these two people.After a minute or two, they noticed him.The flap of the floppy old hat nearly covered his lids, and the baggy clothes wrapped him, and his boots, could have fooled even the suspicious eye.It's never been like this before: he's a veritable prop, and he's having fun.He showed no layman's clumsiness to attract the attention of shrewd Miss Deemore—the girl must have been Miss Deemos.Not only did his attire not arouse the discussion of the local residents, nor did it arouse the slightest interest in her companion.In the swirling sound of the running water, he suddenly heard their voices flowing down the water. They were talking and laughing, as if they were close friends.Grant dared not look left and right as they passed, and even when they were far away, he dared not stare at them immediately.If he rolls his eyeballs now, the man's curious gaze will notice his face, revealing his identity.He did not venture to look at them until they were upstream.Was that Ramon? He tried to think of the way the man walked, limp, almost undisguised. But he still wasn't sure.Then the man glanced back suddenly. Grant was too far away to see his face clearly, but his demeanor told Grant all he wanted to know.Before he had time to think, his mind drifted back to the bottom of Bedford Street, and it seemed to be all there.There was no question—this man was Ramon.Grant's heart was pounding.Did Ramon recognize him? He didn't think so.Why did he turn his head? Was it a bad premonition that made him turn his head? It was only when he learned from Miss Dimo ​​that only people staying at the Carnich Hotel can come here to fish, so he was relieved. What now? Arrest him immediately at the vicarage and wait for his return? The warrant is in the pocket.But he suddenly wanted to be more sure—certain of what he suspected was possible—that Ramon was really Sorrell's murderer.They knew that Ramon had an argument with Sorrell before he was killed, but this has not been confirmed.His clues related to the dagger have not yet been followed.When Grant showed the warrant, he wanted to make sure that Ramon had a fresh scar on his left hand from a knife cut.If not, his case would fall short.No matter how sure he was, his evidence would have to be impeccable before he could be brought to justice, and Grant had no intention of arresting anyone if their evidence showed even the slightest flaw.He had to visit the Vicarage himself. This shouldn't be too difficult.If all else fails, at worst he falls into the river and waits for them to rescue him ashore. He ate the sandwich that the Glenning Hotel had prepared for him, and the water rose and fell on the boulders, and the man and woman came back, and they swam in front of him under the bridge, in the direction of the village.After a while he saw them reappear, walking along the road back to the Vicarage.It's already lunch time.For nearly an hour they played carefree before his eyes. When a local patrolman turns up the river with a flat tire on his bicycle, he carefully wraps up the rest of his sandwich and prepares to fight the meager harvest.The patrolman slowed down when he saw Grant--nothing would stop him, judging from his previous leisurely expression--Grant raised his head, and he finally stopped by the river. "How's your luck today, sir?" asked the constable.He had a waxy pink face, round but expressionless. Dull blue eyes with black lashes look like doll eyes, and a glossy black beard grows ragged around the edge of his upper lip.He never seemed to deliberately cover up his fat and fluffy body, and this slow brain might not be able to play a role in a critical situation. Grant said he had caught nothing and that he hadn't expected so much sunshine this morning. "Yes, the sun is a little brighter," said the policeman. "It won't be long. It's not like today. It always rains. You'll catch fish before evening." Grant understood that the Highlanders always said things they thought would make their listeners feel comfortable. "You're out of luck," Grant said, pointing to his flat tire. "That's right, bad luck. This kind of road is the easiest to wear tires. But I can still get subsidies, and others are not so lucky. Mr. Robin, you know, the pastor—" His chin twitched Pastor's House, "Told me a few days ago that the pastor should have tire subsidies like the police. His car broke three tires in a week, and even the pastor couldn't help but be very angry about it." "Are there many cars in Carnish?" "Well, Drysdale has two, as I think you already know, and Mr. Robin one, that's all. The other priests have motorcycles with sidecars." What if someone wants to rent a car? Oh, well, the hotel has a Ford that can take tourists.When they don't use it themselves, they rent it out to others.In the eyes of this patrolman, Ford is obviously not a "car" for traffic. After a while, the patrolman said, "Mr. Robin has gone to see a pair of newly born twins in the East of Acres." Grant looked at the side of the vicarage near Gurning Village, and a serious face appeared on the On the highway, walk upstream in a serious manner. "I thought this road only led to the village of Gunning on the other side of the mountain." Grant said. "That's right. The road goes up the hill, and there's a path along the river that goes down to the field you see from the side of the road, and Mr. Robin is going there. That's why he chose to walk, which he usually hates the most. "The patrolman stayed for a while, happily watching Grant fishing, obviously happy to find something interesting in the usual ordinary time. Grant secretly calculated that if Robin's car suddenly appeared in front of the Vicarage, he would go What should he do when Ning and the southern road are heading. He can't be sure that Ramon is the traveler. It's too far away to make out who it is. Before he makes a move, he needs to get this clear. He had to choose between rushing to the phone or continuing to follow. Ford at the hotel, he thought. Would Drysdell be willing to lend him a car? The afternoon passed slowly, and around four o'clock, the sky flickered, and the situation was not very optimistic.The patrolman pushed his bicycle to the village, obviously forgetting to repair the tire.Still no one came out of the parsonage.At five o'clock, Grant ate the rest of his sandwich and began to explore other possibilities for forcing his way into the Vicarage.Soaked in the river thinking—if not for long—he grew more and more depressed as dusk fell.The interruption of thoughts and the predicament in front of him were miraculously resolved by the heavy footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Mr. Robin standing behind him. The chaplain bade him good night, kindly, with goodwill on his red, hooked-nosed face. "Looks like you're not having much luck today," he said. Terrible, he said.He fished here all day, but he caught nothing.When he returns to Ge Ning Village, he will definitely be a laughing stock. "Well, you're staying at the Carnich Hotel, aren't you?" No, Grant said.He lodged at the Gunning-One Inn, but Mr. Drysdale very generously allowed him to fish for a day or two near Lake Finlay. The distance between the two places is less than four miles.All fish caught, of course, had to be returned to Mr. Drysdale in the end. "It will be a disappointment. When you end up with nothing, you will be very disappointed." The pastor said, "Would you like to have a cup of hot tea in the pastor's hall? My name is Luo Geng. Between five thirty and six o'clock It's tea time, so it should be ready." Grant was grateful to him, and refrained from showing a presumptuous gleam at the invitation.Destiny is in his hands, and once inside the Vicarage, he can show his talents.With undisguised excitement he picked up his tackle, put his arm around the priest, and followed him half a mile downriver to the parsonage.When the matter developed to this point, he didn't care about thinking carefully, and followed the pastor's footsteps in a daze, walked the evening path, crossed the bridge, and walked along the road to the pastor's house at a rather slow pace.When the pastor led him down the main road, across the wide lawn to the gate, Grant's heartbeat accelerated unconsciously, and for a moment he was so weak that he couldn't even laugh. Ten days before Balck had turned the case over to him, he had nothing but a handkerchief, a revolver, and a bloodstained dagger.Now, on the outskirts of the country, he was about to come face to face with the man he wanted to arrest. They took off their coats and hats in the hall, and Grant could faintly hear people chatting and the crisp sound of glasses and plates behind the closed door.Then, Mr. Luo Geng opened the door and asked him to enter the room first.