Chapter 10 Chapter nine

Under the sun, the road from London to Labolo looks like a glossy black ribbon that stretches in a straight line. The sunlight is constantly reflected in the crowded traffic, shining up and down like diamonds.Soon the air and the roads will be clogged, no one will be able to relax, and everyone will have to fall back to using the railroads, trading quick and easy tools for shorter journeys.People call this progress. Kevin pointed out last night that with the speed and convenience of transportation these days, Betty Kane is likely to be in Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, during her holiday that month.It was a frightening thought, because the implication was that she could have been anywhere from Kamchatka in northeast Siberia to Peru; and all he, Blair, had to prove was that she Not in the house on the road from Rabolo to London.If it wasn't for the clear skies, if it wasn't for Scotland Yard, if it wasn't for the conversation he had with Kevin, and if he hadn't gotten along so far, he might have sunk into the abyss of depression .

He would feel a sense of sympathy for Scotland Yard, which he had least expected.But he does. Scotland Yard would have gone all out to prove that the Sharpes were guilty, and Betty Kane's story was true - they had every reason to believe that the Sharpes were guilty.But the urgent task at hand, which is troubling each of them, is to find a way to get the Ike-Emma to pay for its exposure of Betty Kane: and ironically, the only way they can do that Instead, it proves that her story is sheer nonsense.Yes, it frustrates such a large, notoriously cool police headquarters. Inspector Grant received him with his customary gentleness--it was, he recalled afterwards, like going to a doctor--and was quite willing to forward to Robert the correspondence which the Ike-Emma newspaper had brought him.

"Don't put too much hope in these letters, okay?" he said with a friendly warning. "If one of the letters we received had any value in it, it must have been plucked out of the five thousand accompanying nonsense. Writing letters is a catharsis for all kinds of inexplicable people, like busybodies, idlers, perverts, bad-tempered weirdos, self-serving ones—” “Newspapers reflect public opinion, someone said. " "God bless our country," Grant said with a wry smile. "This only makes the situation worse. Everyone who wasn't involved wrote.You know, it's the safest way to vent for them.The letters were long, obscene, arrogant, contradictory.And opinions from their favorite papers, of all kinds; and no one can stop them.So they write and write, and keep scribbling.My God, look what they write!" "But, after all, it gave some chance—"

"Well, yes, chance. All these letters, no matter how stupid they are, must be read and curated. I promise, any important message will be passed on to you. But I still want to remind you, pick out one from normal The odds of a letter from an intelligent citizen are 5,000 to 1. Such a citizen doesn't like what he considers 'intruders' and that is why he is silent; perhaps such a man has a countryman-like chattering interest in so-called privacy, but it is probable that he is a busy man, minding his own affairs and sitting down to write a letter. Xin went to the police station to talk about things that had nothing to do with him, which violated his self-awareness and principles. "

So Robert felt sorry for the police.At least he, the problem Robert himself is facing is clear and has a point of force.He doesn't have to look left and right for fear of going the wrong way and using the wrong force.Not to mention there are other people like Kevin helping him set the direction. "I'm serious," Kevin said last night, "if I were the police, I'd take the risk of proving the girl innocent. They have ample chances of making a case, and a successful case, even a small It doesn't matter, it's good for someone who wants to move up the career ladder. Unfortunately - or fortunately for the average citizen - the people who have the power to decide whether to file a case are the ones When you think about it, it's surprising that such intelligence is a by-product of bureaucratic administration. "

Robert, limp from a few extra sips of whiskey, drifted past the cynic's comment and ignored it. "However, as soon as they get the slightest bit of confirmation, they'll get a court case and show up at Franchise's door so fast you won't even have time to pick up the phone." "But they won't find any confirmation," said Robert softly. "Why could they? How could they? We can keep the Sharp family life undisturbed by simply disproving the hypocrisy of the girl's story. After I visit the aunt and uncle tomorrow, we may be able to understand the girl's normal life." Cognitive got some clues so we can continue our own investigative work."

Now he was driving up the gleaming Raboro Road to Betty's relatives in Menshill--that's where she'd been when the holidays started.They are Mr. and Mrs. Tiers.Mr. Thiers, 93 Chestrier Street, Menskew, Rabolo--works as a salesman for a company that makes brushes in Rabolo, and the couple have no children.That was all Robert knew of them. He paused for a moment as he turned off the main road at Mens Hill.This was the corner where Betty waited for the bus, or had waited here, according to her account.On the other side of the road was a long, uninterrupted pavement that ran straight ahead with no turning in sight.It was a busy road at this time of day on a normal day; but, thought Robert, it was quite empty and lonely at such a sweltering hour of weekend afternoon.

A series of dirty red-brick houses with sharp-edged bay windows lined Chestrier Street, their protruding surfaces almost scraping the low red-brick walls that divided the sidewalks.The barren soil on both sides under the window was originally used for planting, but it has nothing to do with the pleasant freshness of the side alley of Ellsbury lawn. dignity of London.Of course, the same pleated curtains hang along Chestranger Street, as do the common housewives at Ellsbury; but if poets reach Chestranger Street, they look for subjects other than gardens to sing about life. After confirming the number, he lightly pressed the doorbell, but no one answered, so he knocked on the door of No. 93—that door was exactly the same as the other building, and it was indistinguishable, except for the house number on it—a woman A man leaned out from what appeared to be a bedroom window in the next house and said, "Are you looking for Mrs. Tills?"

Rob said yes. "She went to the grocery store, the one around the corner." "Well, thanks. I'll wait then." "If you are in a hurry to find her, you shouldn't wait, you should go quickly." "Well. Is she going anywhere else?" "No, just to the grocery store: that's the only store around here. But she would spend half the morning deciding which brand of cereal to buy. She'll appreciate it if you help her decide to drop a random box in her shopping bag. "Robert thanked her and walked to the other end of the street. She called to him again.

"The car shouldn't be here. Drive it away." "Not far, though, is it?" "Perhaps, but today is Saturday." "Saturday?" "No school days." "Oh, I get it. But there's nothing in the car to—steal," he was about to say, but he brakes just in time to say, "There's nothing to move." "Moveable! Humph! We used to have empty troughs in the window sills; Mrs. Ferdy over there used to have the low drive gate; Mrs. Biddos had two wooden clothes-poles and eighteen yards all thought it was immovable. If you leave your car here for ten minutes and find the chassis when you get back, count yourself lucky!"

So Robert did as he was told, got in the car and drove to the grocery store.Something came to mind while he was driving, and a memory haunted him.It was this place that made Betty Kane happy, when it was actually quite deserted and scary and crowded.But she was so happy that she even wrote that she would stay until the holidays were over. What did she find here that made her want to stay so much? He still had that question in his mind as he entered the store, and then looked around the store, trying to see if he could spot Mrs. Tills among the morning customers.However, he didn't need to make any effort at all, there was only one female customer in the store, and he glanced at the patient shopkeeper and the female customer each holding a product carton in both hands, and it was clearly revealed that it was Mrs. Tiers. "Do you need anything, sir?" the shopkeeper asked, momentarily distracting his attention from the hesitant female customer--today's customer's hesitation was not the brand of breakfast cereal, but the laundry detergent. —and walked up to Robert. "No, thank you," said Robert. "I just came in for this lady." "Me?" said the woman. "If it's because of gas, then..." Robert hastily replied that it was not for gas. "Then I already have a vacuum, and it's in good condition," she said, ready to return to her dilemma of choice. Rob said his car was outside, and he'd be there waiting for her to finish her shopping, and was in a hurry to get out; but she said, "Car! Oh, then you can drive me home, can't you?" ? Save me the hard work of carrying this pile of stuff and walking home. How much, Mr. Carl?" "Mr. Carl, while she was watching Robert, took the washing powder from her hand and stuffed it into her shopping bag, collected the money, got the change back, thanked her for coming, and then said with compassion." He watched Robert follow the woman into his car. Although Robert had told himself not to expect to meet an independent and intelligent woman like Mrs. Wuyin again, his heart still sank to the bottom when facing Mrs. Tiers.Mrs Tills was the sort of woman whose mind was always elsewhere.They can be eager to talk to you, agree with you, compliment you on your clothes, give advice, but their real attention is on how to cook tonight's fish, where you left the laundry bill, Or wondering whether the inlay on the right front tooth is well done-anything, it can be anything, except the subject of the conversation at hand. She seemed impressed by Robert's seemingly expensive car, and invited him in for a cup of tea - obviously there was no question of whether it was the right time to invite someone in for a cup of tea.But Robert would not agree--even for a cup of tea--until he had confessed his purpose.He tried his best to explain his identity, but she was as unaware as a duck listening to thunder: All her energies were now absorbed in what biscuits to prepare for tea.Even the mention of her niece didn't seem to affect her busy mind in the slightest. "Quite a weird thing, isn't it?" she said. "Take her and beat her. What do they think it's okay to do? Please sit down, Mr. Blair, come in and sit down. I'll just..." Then a blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the house. An urgent, high-frequency, desperately continuous scream made people breathless. Mrs Tills threw down the bag in her hand angrily, bent over and shouted into Robert's ear, "My teapot," she shouted. "I will be right back." Robert sat down and looked around, wondering again why Betty Kane liked being here. The front hall of Mrs. Wuyin's house was a drawing room: a living room full of human warmth.But here, it was evidently the best room in the house, reserved for those guests who were not yet acquainted with the doorman's room; the real living space of the people in this room was the narrow, untidy room at the back; The space where the kitchen and the living room are mixed together.And here was where Betty Kane chose to stay.Is it because she made friends? Is it a girl? Or a boy? After a while, Mrs. Tiers returned with a tea tray.Robben was a little surprised at her swiftness at this moment, but he fully understood after looking at the things in the tea tray.Mrs Tills didn't take the time to choose in the kitchen, she brought out both biscuits.At least, he mused as she poured the tea, the woman offered an explanation for one of the doubts in the affair: when the Wuyins wrote to urge Betty to come home at once, her aunt did not immediately send a telegram to the telegraph office. Informed Betty that she had gone back two weeks ago.The fact that Betty had left a fortnight ago was probably not as important and practical in Mrs Tills's day-to-day life as the jelly hanging out to cool on the kitchen window sill. "I'm not worried about her," said Mrs Tills, as if answering his thoughts. "Though they wrote from Ellsbury, I knew she would turn up. My husband was rather apprehensive when he got home--you know, it takes him ten days a week every time he goes out; he is The Weezy folks—worked like hell; and I just said wait, she'll be back in good shape. Yeah, back almost fine." "She said she was very happy here." "I guess so." She said vaguely, not as delighted as Robert had expected.He glanced at her, and immediately understood that her mind had drifted elsewhere.If where her eyes rested was where her mind was going, she should be hesitating whether his tea was strong enough or not. "What did she do while she was here? Did she make friends?" "Well, no, she's in Laboreau most of the time." "Laboreau!" "Well, I said that most of the time is actually not fair. She will help with some housework in the morning, but the house is so small and I am used to coming by myself, so she doesn't really have much to do. Besides, she should be on vacation, yes wrong? Poor thing, schoolwork must be killing me.I don't understand what all that homework does to young girls. The daughter of Mrs. Harrop is not good at writing her own name yet, but she is married to a third son of a nobleman; maybe it is the third son's son," she said doubtfully. "I forgot.she……" "What was she doing when she was at Laboreau? I mean Betty." "Most of the time is watching movies." "Movie? " "In Rabolo you can see evening from morning. Some big theaters open at ten-thirty and change shows in the middle of the week. There are about forty theaters like this. You can really change from one to the other. until you get home." "Is that what Betty is like?" "Well, no. She's quite sensible. Usually she'll go to the morning show, which is cheaper; then, she'll take the bus." "Take a bus ride. To where?" "Well, anywhere she wants to go. Mr. Blair, have some more biscuits, they're just out of the box, fresh. She's been back at Norton Castle. Norton is a country town, you know. Everybody comes Rabelo, because it's big, but Norton—" "Then she won't come back for lunch?" "What? Oh, Betty. No, she's out for lunch. You know, we all have big dinners at home, and my husband usually works away all day, so when she comes back, dinner is always ready and waiting." She. I'm proud of it, preparing a nutritious dinner just for my..." "What time is that? Six o'clock?" "No, my husband usually doesn't come back until after seven thirty." "I guess Betty was home long before that, eh?" "Most of the time. My husband got annoyed once when she came home late from an afternoon show—a little too much fuss. What's the harm in going to the movies? But after that, she took care not to be later than him." go home. That was when he wasn't on business; if he was, she was less careful. " It looked like the girl had been left unsupervised for a fortnight, free to come and go, no one asked, and only her pocket money for the holidays.What sounded like an innocent two weeks would be so innocent to most girls her age.Watch a morning movie or go shopping in the morning; then have a light lunch; take the bus to the countryside in the afternoon-a beautiful and happy holiday for a young girl, and taste the freedom of being uninhibited for the first time. But Betty - Kane is not an ordinary teenage girl.She was a young girl who had calmly narrated a long and careful story to the police.The teenage girl also claimed to have been beaten mercilessly.So how on earth did Betty Kane spend her time alone? "Do you know if she ever took the bus to Milford?" "No, of course they asked, but I didn't say yes or no." "them? " "Police." Of course; he had almost forgotten that the police were going to investigate everything Betty Kane said as far as they could. "You're not a policeman, I remember you saying that." "No," Robert reiterated: "I am a lawyer representing the two women suspected of detaining Betty." "Yes. You told me. I guess they need a lawyer, like everyone else, poor thing. Ask questions for them. Mr. Blair, I hope I've given you the answers you want." In fact, he drank another cup of tea, hoping that she would tell him more or less what he wanted to know.However, what we are talking about now is just the content that is constantly repeated. "Do the police know that Betty has been out all day by herself?" he asked. She thought about it seriously. "Then I don't remember," she said. "They asked her how she spent her time, and I said most of the time I went to the movies or took the bus, and they asked me if I went with her, and I said—well, I must admit I lied; She goes. I don't want them to think I'm letting Betty hang out by herself. Of course, there's no harm in going out alone. " What an inexplicable logic! "Did she receive any letters while she was here?" he asked as he got up to leave. "Only letters from home. Well, yes, I'll know. I've got all the letters. They're not going to write to her anyway, are they?" "Who?" "Those who kidnapped her!" Rob had literally scrambled back into his car and headed for Labolo. He couldn't help wondering whether Mr. Tills had to be away from home for ten days at a time because of his work, or whether he was fighting for a job that required such travel in order to run away from home or avoid suicide. In Laballo, Blair sought out the largest garage and local auto service station in the area.He came to a small office with a guard at the entrance, knocked on the door, and went in.A man in a ticket inspector's uniform was working through papers on a desk.He glanced at Robert, didn't ask what's the matter, and went on with what he was doing. Robert began to say that he wanted to see the person who handled the bus business in Milford Town. "The schedule is on the wall outside." The man said without looking up. "I didn't come to ask for a timetable. I know the times. I live in Milford Town myself. What I wanted to know was if you ever used double-decker buses to run that route." There was a long silence that lasted until Robert was about to speak again. "No." The man said. "Never?" asked Robert. This time there was no answer at all.The ticket inspector made it clear that he had no intention of speaking to him again. "Listen," said Robert, "this is important. I'm a partner in a law firm in Milford, and I..." The man looked up at him. "I don't care if you're the King of Persia or anything. There are no double-decker buses on the Milford line! What else do you want?" He was talking when a technician appeared by the door behind Robert. The technician hesitated, as if he didn't know whether to go in or not.But he finally picked himself up and started saying what he had to say. "About that part going to Norton, am I..." Robert squeezed past him and wanted to leave, but suddenly felt that the hem of his clothes was ripped, and it was the little technician who asked him to wait for him for a while.Robert walked out of the office and lingered by the car to wait.It wasn't long before the technician showed up. "Are you asking about the double-decker bus? I can't contradict him directly, you know: in the mood he's in, I might get fired. Do you want to rent and use the double-decker bus, or just want to know if the double-decker bus is in Run on that route? Because there are basically no double-decker buses on that route, at least not for transportation, because the route is full of—" "I know, I know. They are single-decker buses. What I want to know is whether double-decker buses have ever been used on the Milford line." "Well, you know, that line doesn't exist in principle, but one or two times this year the old single-decker buses broke down and we had to replace them with double-deckers. Sooner or later they're all going to be double-deckers, but to There are not many passengers on the road in Milford Town, and it is not cost-effective to use double-decker buses, so the old single-decker buses will still be used for that line. And..." "You've been a great help to me. Is it possible to know which days the double-decker buses run on that road?" "Well, of course," said the technician, his tone seemed a little bitter. "This company has to record everything. But the files are there"—he nods in the direction of the office—"as long as he's in there, there's nothing he can do about it." Rob asked when he would have a chance. "He usually leaves work at the same time as I do—six o'clock. But if that's important to you, I can walk a few minutes late and check the log book after he's gone." It was still a long time before six o'clock, and Robert really didn't know how he would spend the time, but he had to wait until six o'clock. "Well, then, I'll meet you at Bell--that's the tavern around the corner--about a quarter past six. how?" That would be great, said Rob, great. He left the depot to try his luck at the tavern, hoping the bartender would accommodate him outside of business hours.