Chapter 6 chapter Five

A little over a week later, the gray-haired, diminutive Mr. Hesoutine poked his head into Robert's office to report that a Hallam detective was waiting at the office and wanted to speak to him. In this office, Robert's office room and Neville in the back.The small room used by Pognet differs from other places in the institute only in that it is carpeted and furnished with mahogany tables and chairs, but it is still an out-and-out office place; but here, only the room opposite the entrance It was commonly known as the "Office", and it was where Mr. Hasseltine flaunted his authority over the other clerks in the office.At the rear of the so-called "office" there was a formal waiting room adjoining the small room of young Mr. Poignet, but clients of the firm were seldom invited there.Usually, customers step into the office and enter the "office" to explain their intentions.Stay where you are and chat with the staff until Robert is free to receive them.The small waiting room, without the interruption of visitors and the probes of the male office staff, has long been occupied by Miss Teff as a place to answer Robert's letters. Surprised to find that he was a little nervous.Ever since he went to the bulletin board to read the test results nervously when he was young, he thought he would never feel that emotion again.And this, in retrospect, is because his present life has been passed so long in flat monotony that the predicament of a stranger can change his state of mind considerably; The Sharps were full of problems, so they weren't strangers to him anymore? He told himself to lift his spirits no matter what Hallam said; Inform them that as far as the current state of evidence in this case is concerned, the police do not plan to take any further action.Blair noticed the words "current state of the evidence" and wondered about the implications.They didn't close the case -- had the police ever closed a case this way? -- they just kept silent.

The idea of ​​Scotland Yard holding back is not particularly reassuring in the circumstances. "I think that's because they lack hard evidence," he said. "They couldn't find the truck driver who had given her a ride," Hallam said. "They knew it was going to happen." "Yes," Hallam agreed, "no driver would risk being fired for admitting to having given someone a ride. Especially a girl. The transport bosses are pretty tough on that. Especially when the case involved A girl in trouble, and the police are leading the inquiry so no one will even come forward and claim to have seen her." He leaned over to take the cigarette that Robert handed him.

"They need that truck driver," he said, "or someone else," he added. "Yes," replied Robert thoughtfully. "Harlem, what do you think of her?" "The girl? I don't know. Like a nice kid. Seems sincere. If I ever had a daughter, it might be like that. "This, as far as Blair understands, will be a difficult issue for them once the case is established. When the girl is on the witness stand, it is likely that everyone will think of her as their daughter. It is not because she is a vagabond. Wuyi, on the contrary, just because she is not, makes it easier for people to think that she is her own. Think about her well-fitting school uniform, mouse-brown hair, unpretentious young face and noticeable dimples under her cheekbones, And those eyes that are set apart and candid. She would be the perfect victim in a prosecutor's dream.

"Like any girl her age," Hallam said, still thinking about it. "Nothing is against her." "So you don't judge people by the color of their eyes," said Robert meaninglessly, his mind still on the girl. "Hey! Of course there is!" Hallam's tone was full of surprise. "Believe me, as far as I know, a special kind of baby blue can tell the wrong man, even before he says anything. Everyone with eyes that color is an eloquent liar." He paused. After a while, I took a breath of cigarettes. "If you think about it carefully, the murderer can prove it-although I haven't seen many murderers."

"You reminded me," said Robert. "I will keep my distance from people with baby blue eyes from now on." Hallam grinned. "As long as you're careful with your wallet you'll be fine. All baby blue-eyed liars only deal with money.He only kills when he can't tell a lie.The mark of a true murderer is not the color of the eyes but the placement of the eyes on the face. "Where on the face?" Robert repeated involuntarily. "Yes, misplaced. I mean, the eyes were placed in the wrong place. They looked like they should have been placed on another face."

"I thought you said you didn't see enough murderers." "Not enough; but I cross-correlate all the cases, and compare photographs. I wonder why there isn't a single book on murder that mentions it, as it happens so often, with that disproportionate placement. " "So, it's all your own theory." "My own observation? Yes. You should try it. Fascinating. I now have a stage to act on that observation." "You mean on the street?" "No, it's not that bad. It's that with every new murder, I wait for the picture, and when the picture comes, I say to myself, 'Look! How did I tell you?'" "What if the picture Come on, how do the eyes on the top match up?"

"Then it must be an accidental homicide. The kind of homicide that any man may commit under certain circumstances." "It's like the pastor Ned Danbatten, who is in the priesthood. His parishioners publicly thank him for his dedication to the parish for five years, but you can find that his eyes are obviously not in harmony with his face in the photo. How? Explanation? " "Because his wife satisfied him, his children obeyed him, his salary was sufficient, he was apolitical, he got on well with the local dignitaries, and he was allowed to perform the priesthood he wanted. In fact , he never had the slightest need to murder."

"It sounds like you've baked your own cake and are enjoying it contentedly." "Ha!" Hallam snorted in disgust. "Looks like I was wasting a good cop's observations on a lawyer. I thought," he said, getting up to go, "that a lawyer would be happy to hear some way of judging strangers." "It's what you do," Robert pointed out, "to let go of prejudices in a clean mind. From now on I shall not be able to look at a client without thinking about the color of his eyes or whether they are placed in the right place. " "At least some effect. It's time for you to face your real life."

"But. Anyway, thank you for coming, and for telling me what happened in Franchise," said Robert, regaining his poise. "The telephone is in this town," Hallam said, "as public as the radio." "Thank you anyway. I must notify the Sharp family immediately." As Hallam walked to the door and left, Robert picked up the phone. As Hallam said, he can't just talk on the phone without scruples, he can only say that he will come as soon as possible with good news.This will temporarily remove their worrying doubts.He looked at the watch in his hand, it was time for Mrs. Sharp to take her lunch break, maybe he would miss the possibility of meeting that old fire dragon.Of course, though he would not admit it explicitly, he would have liked the opportunity to speak privately with Marion Sharp.

However, no one answered the call. Ignoring the operator's impatience, he insisted on letting the phone ring continuously for five full minutes, but still no one answered. The Sharp mother and daughter were apparently not at home. While he was still waiting, Navier Poignet strolled in, wearing his usual eccentric pink tweed shirt and a purple tie.Looking at him through the phone, Robert couldn't help but think about a question that has flooded his navel a thousand times: if one day he, who has always upheld professional traditions, leaves the firm and is replaced by this young man surnamed Bonnie What will happen here if someone takes over? Yes, this young man has talent, but that talent is of no use in the small town of Milford. ．The people of Milford expect a grown-up to have the practical attitude of a grown-up; Naville is so focused on the world he has created that he is blind to reality, as the clothes he wears say.

Not that Robert expected the young man to change into a traditional, sober black suit.He himself wore gray tweed, and besides, his clients generally distrusted that "city" attire. ． (Like the first time Marion Sharp casually criticizes a lawyer in city dress on the phone: weird little man in a striped suit.) However, this town has tweed A, and tweed B. kind of difference.Navier-Pignet was in straight tweed, a very odd kind. "Rob," said Neville.At this moment, Robert finally gave up and put down the microphone, "I've finished the documents on Cassopo's transfer case. If you have no other instructions, I want to go to Rabolo in the afternoon." "Can't you talk to her on the phone?" Rob asked.It should be explained here that according to the current fashion trend, Naville has a marriage contract with the third daughter of Bishop Rabolo. "Well, not for Rosemary. She's gone to London, and will be there for a week." "Then it's for some sort of protest meeting in Albert Hall." Robert said that because he could not inform the Sharp mother and daughter of the good news as soon as possible, he was unhappy because the phone did not get through. "No, I'm going to the trade union hall," said Neville. "What's the protest this time? Vivisection?" "You sometimes look very much like the ancients of the last century, Robert," said Neville with his customary solemn patience. "No one is opposed to vivisection these days, except for a few eccentrics. This protest is about the British government's refusal to grant political asylum to Patriot Katowice." "The so-called patriot is said to be a wanted criminal in his own country." "Yes, by his enemies." "Pursued by the police for two murders.," "It's the execution of the death sentence." "Navill, are you a follower of John Nachos?" "God, of course not. Why do you ask?" "Because he believes in self-relief executions. As far as I know, this kind of thinking has gradually become unrecognized in this country. If I had to compare Rosemary's opinion of Katowich and 'Special Branch''s opinion of him Given a choice between opinions, I'd choose the Special Branch." "The Special Branch only does what the Foreign Office tells them to do, that's well known. And if I stayed here to explain to you what happened in Katowice, I'd be late for the movie. ""what movie? " "It's the French film I'm going to see in Rabolo." "You know, most of the French films that British intelligentsia hold their breath and watch as masterpieces are nothing more than commonplace in their own country. Leaving that aside, could you drop me a note? To that mailbox in the Franchise?" "Of course. I've always wanted to see what's inside the walls. Who lives there now?" "An old woman and her daughter." "Daughter?" Neville repeated, unconsciously pricking up his ears. "A middle-aged daughter." "Well, all right! I'm going to get my coat right now." Robert took a piece of paper and briefly wrote down that because he couldn't get in touch with them on the phone, and he had to go out to discuss business for about an hour, he used this method to inform them that Scotland Yard could not open a case on this matter at present: Will try to call them later. Naville swept in like the wind, with an exaggerated coat on his arm, took the note, and hurriedly said "Tell Aunt Lin I might be late, she invited me to dinner", and disappeared outside the door. Robert put on his own plain gray hat and walked to the Rose and Crown to meet his client, an old lady and the last in England to suffer from chronic gout.The old man hadn't arrived yet, and Robert, the usually patient, lazy, good-natured gentleman, was getting a little irritable. The pattern of his life had obviously changed.Before that, all the cases he took over had the same status in his mind, he devoted the same emotion and energy, and handled the cases at the same speed.Now, there was one case that clearly occupied most of his thoughts, making the others seem secondary in comparison. He sat in a chintz-covered chair in the lobby, looking at old, out-of-date magazine issues on the adjacent coffee table.The only current issue was a weekly magazine called The Watcher.He picked it up reluctantly, muttering again to himself how the dry, cold paper made his fingertips uncomfortable when he was flipping through it, and the jagged edges made him gnash his teeth. It was a magazine of protests, poetry, pedantic critiques.The protests column contains an article by Neville's future father-in-law, who spends three-quarters of his column attacking England's denial of political asylum to a fugitive patriot. The Bishop of Labolo long ago explained the expansion of Christian philosophy to the point that the underdog is always right.He was thus popular among the revolutionaries in the Balkans, on the British strike committees, and among all the long-term criminals in the local prisons. (The only exception to this last group is that inveterate criminal, Bendy Bryan, who despises the Bishop and respects the Sheriff his equal: tears are nothing to him but hydrogen peroxide—water and often sneeringly at the bishop's most touching stories.) The old criminals sneered that there was nothing in the world that the bishop didn't believe; you could easily win him over. Usually Robert thought the Bishop was funny, but today he was a little annoyed.He tried to put together two poems, but none of them appealed to him.He then threw the magazine back on the coffee table. "England doing something wrong again?" asked Ben Carley's voice suddenly. He was passing by his chair, stopped, and nodded at the just-thrown The Watcher. "Well, Carly." "Marble Arch stands in the center of London alone as a symbol of the country's past economic prosperity," said the little lawyer, flicking the paper contemptuously with Nicantine-stained fingers. "Want a drink?" "Thanks. I'm waiting for old Mr. Wuyinya. He won't move around easily now." "Well, poor old man. It's a crime to keep you here without drink! I saw your car parked outside the Franchise the other day." "Yes." Robert said, a little puzzled.Cali wasn't usually this rude and obtuse.If he did see Robert's car, he must have seen the police car too. "If you knew them, you might be able to tell me something about them that I've always wanted to know. Are those rumors true?" "Gossip?" "Are they really witches?" "Should they be?" "In the country, as far as I know, such rumors are usually backed by strong facts," said Callie, his bright black eyes staring meaningfully at Robert for a moment, then looking around the hall, his face There is the usual question mark emoji. Robert understood that the little man was hinting that he could provide some intelligence information that he thought would be useful. "Well," said Robert, "since the city's pastimes have penetrated into this quiet and peaceful rural society with the opening of the movie theater, then, I can only say, please God, maybe the witch hunt plot will be the end .” "Don't disbelieve it. Just give these Milford idiots a good reason and they'll go all witch hunting and sabotage. Let me comment, and I'd say those people are a fast-growing, degenerate bunch The crowd. Hey, the old man you were waiting for is here. See you later, then." One of Robert's most attractive qualities is that he sincerely hopes to use his ability to help solve other people's difficulties and troubles, just as he patiently listened to the twists and turns of Mr. Uyinya's story And to win the gratitude of the old man-it is worth mentioning here that he did not know that the old lady had given him a gift of one hundred pounds in her will.This time, when the old gentleman's business was over, he went directly to the telephone in the hall. But there were too many people around, so he decided to call the garage in Sim Lane.The office should be closed by now, and it is far away after all.His thoughts went round and round as he walked across the street.Now that he thinks about it, if he does call the garage, his car is nearby, and if she—and if they want him to come over right away and explain further, as they probably will—the more she thinks about it, the more sure they are. It would—yes, whether or not the police could make a case about it, of course they would want to talk to him about how to make the girl's story less believable.After he heard the news from the Hallam detective, he was so relieved that he didn't think if—"Good night, Mr. Blair," said Bill Burlow, from his cramped office. Leaning out from behind the door, warm welcomes filled his round, kind face. "Do you want to pick up the car?" "Not yet. Can I borrow your phone first?" "Of course, of course." Stanley, who was under a car waiting to be repaired, also poked out his hazel face and asked, "Any news?" "No, Stanley. I haven't bet on the racetrack for months." "I lost two quid on a mare called 'Smart Promise.' That's what it's like to bet on a horse. Next time if you have news..." "I'll make sure to let you know next time I'm at it. But it's still going to be a race and nothing else." "As long as you don't bet on a mare . . . -" said Stanley, and disappeared under the wheels again; and Robert went into the hot but bright little office and picked up the telephone. Marianne answered the phone this time, her voice sounding warm and cheerful. "You can't imagine how much comfort your note has given us. My mother and I have been living in prison for the last week. By the way, are prisoners still required to pick up old hemp? " "I don't think so. As far as I know they're doing something more constructive now." "Take the method of rectifying the mind by occupation." "almost." "I can't imagine any voluntary tailoring kind of work improving my character." "They will probably ask you to do something that sounds more interesting. According to the current trend of thinking, it is immoral to force prisoners to do things they don't want to do." "Well, this is the first time I've heard you being so bitter." "Am I spicy?" "Like pure brewed bitters." Anyway, she mentioned something to drink; maybe next she would suggest inviting him over for a pre-dinner sherry. "By the way, you have a very charming nephew." "nephew? " "The one who sent the note." "He's not my nephew," said Robert suddenly coldly.Realized that he was old enough to be someone else's uncle. "He is only a distant relative of mine. Glad to hear you like him. "This won't work, he has to take the initiative and lead people to the point." I think we have to meet and discuss it, and see what the next step will be safer—" He paused and waited. "Yes, of course. Maybe someday we'll drop by your office while we're shopping. What do you think we should do?" "Like doing some private inquiries. I can't really discuss this on the phone." "Ah, yes. Of course not. So, if you're not too busy on Friday, how about we come to your office in the morning? That's our weekly shopping time." "No busy, Friday," said Robert, swallowing down his disappointment. "Around noon?" "Okay, that's fine. In your office at twelve noon the day after tomorrow. Goodbye, and thank you again for your support and help." She hung up the phone cleanly, without any of the muddy, sticky delays that Robert imagined women would usually have. "Shall I drive it out?" Bill Burrow asked as he came to the dimly lit repair station. "What? Well, the car. No, I don't need it tonight. Thanks." He started walking the way home in the direction of Mall Street, trying not to feel left out.When things just started.He made it very clear that he was extremely reluctant to go to the Franchise house; she certainly avoided a repetition of that prevarication.He has already regarded this matter as a business matter, and of course they will not bother him outside this scope. Well, he thought; while throwing himself into his favorite armchair by the drawing-room fireplace, and opening the evening paper (printed in London this morning); His mind was on this case, so as to make up for the negative impression caused by his repeated refusal attitude during the first contact. The quiet atmosphere in the old house eased and comforted his heaving thoughts.Christina had shut herself up in her room to pray and meditate for two days, while Aunt Lynn was in the kitchen preparing dinner.There was a letter on the table from Lettice, his only sister; she drove trucks for a few years during the war and fell in love with a tall, calm Canadian who now lived in Saskatchewan, Canada, and had Five little blonds.Come here, dear, she concluded, before the little ones grow up, before the moss grows all around you.You are well aware of Aunt Lin's bad influence on you! He could almost hear her talking right next to him.She and Aunt Lin have not been getting along well. He smiled, relaxing and dwelling on the past, until Naville's arrival shattered his tranquility and meditation. "Why didn't you tell me what she was like!" demanded Neville. "Who? " "That Sharp woman! Why didn't you tell me?" "I thought you wouldn't see her," said Robert. "You just need to drop the note into their mailbox." "There's no mailbox there, so I ring the bell. They probably just got home. Anyway, she came and answered the door." "I thought she had the habit of taking a nap." "I don't believe she needs any sleep. She's not human at all. She is a combination of fire and metal. ""I know she's a very stern old lady, but you'll have to be lenient.She had quite a difficult time..." "Old? Who are you talking about?" "Mrs. Sharp, of course." "I didn't see old Mrs. Sharp. I was talking about Marianne." "Marian Sharp? How did you know her name was Marian?" "She told me. That name suits her quite well, doesn't it? Only Marion deserves her." "It seems that you have talked quite a bit about the occasion of chattering by the gate." "Well, she invited me in for tea." "Tea! I thought you were in a rush for that French movie." "But if a woman like Marion Sharp offered me a cup of tea, I certainly wouldn't be in a hurry to do anything else. Did you ever notice her eyes? Well, of course you did. You Her lawyer. It's an amazing gray to hazel gradation. And the eyebrows that cover it, the lines are so perfect, it's almost the deliberate drawing of a talented painter; they seem to spread their wings and take flight. .I wrote a poem about it on the way home.Would you like to listen to it?" "No," said Robert stiffly. "How was that movie?" "Well, I didn't go to see it." "You didn't go!" "I told you, I'm having tea with Marianne." "You mean you spent a whole - afternoon - afternoon in the Franchise!" "I think so," Neville murmured dreamily, "Yeah, God, I thought it was only seven minutes." "And what about your craving for French cinema?" "Marianne is a French movie in itself. Even you should be aware of it!, that "even you" stung Robert." Why bother when you can be so close to the truth What about shadows of worry and hypocrisy? Authenticity, that's her greatest strength, isn't it? I haven't known anyone as real as Marion. "Isn't Rosemary?" Robert was on the verge of what Aunt Lynn called a "downright chilling" mood. "Well, Rosemary is a lover, and whether I intend to marry her are two different things." "Really?" said Robert, with false humility. "Of course! Nobody would marry a Marianne Sharp any more than anyone would marry The Wind, or Joan of Arc. It's sacrilegious to associate a woman like that with marriage. By the way Mention, she only said hello when she was talking." "That's kind." The tone was so heartless that even Neville shuddered. "Don't you like her?" He asked, stopping to look at the distant relative in front of him in surprise. Robert seemed to freeze for a moment the usual genial, lazy, easy-going Rob-Blair, who looked like a tired, sleepy man who hadn't had dinner and was depressed by frustration and the cold treatment he had just received. "As far as I'm concerned," he said, "Marianne Sharp is just a slender woman of about forty who happened to come to me when she lived in an ugly old house with an impolite old mother. Some legal difficulties, no different than anyone else." However, as these insincere explanations were uttered word by word, he wanted to shut up in contradiction and annoyance, as if he was guilty of betraying a friend. "Perhaps she's not the type of person you associate with," said Neville generously. "You want a blonde with some goofiness, don't you?" There was no malice in the tone, just a statement of an uninteresting fact. "I don't know where you got that impression." "Every woman you're going to marry has that quality." "I've never been 'almost married'," said Robert flatly. "That's what you thought. You didn't know Molly Mendes almost married herself to you." "Mulie-Mandes?" Aunt Lynn's voice came in from the kitchen with flushed cheeks and a glass of sherry. "A silly girl. The kind who makes muffins all out of a baking pan and always sees her looking in the little mirror she carries around." "Aunt Lin saved you that time. Didn't you, Aunt Lin?" "Dear Neville, I don't understand what you're talking about. But instead of jumping up and down on the hearth rug to keep warm, throw a log in.. Do you like your French films?" "I didn't. I went to have tea at the Franchise house." He glanced at Robert and began to notice his unusual reaction. "With those strange people? What can you talk about?" "The mountains—Maupassant—the hen—" "Hen, dear?" "Yes; pure evil in the eyes of a hen." Aunt Lin was full of doubts.She turned to Robert for support. "Should I call the pastor, dear, if you want to meet them? Or should I ask the pastor's wife?" "I don't want to entrust such irremediable facts to the Vicar's wife," said Robert dryly. She hesitated for a moment, but family matters prevailed over all other doubts. "Don't drink too much sherry or my stove will be left uneaten. I really hope Christina will come down tomorrow and I'll be praying, I've never seen her in redemption for more than 2 days.My dear, if you don't think there's anything wrong with it, I really don't want to call on people who live in the Franchise.Aside from the fact that they were strangers and very old, they kind of scared me. "Yes, that's exactly the typical reaction he'd expected in this town to something about the Sharps and their daughter. Ben Carley let him know that this afternoon; Hard to find jurors who are objective and unbiased. When he sees them on Friday he will suggest a private investigator. The police have long been overburdened and private investigators have been more successful than public investigations in this case possibility.