Chapter 21 Chapter Twenty

As it turned out later, the angel sent by God was not a slovenly little man, and his hat was sadly of the Continental type fedora, with the brim rolled up over the skull.He arrived at Buhapo Associates at about half-past eleven the next morning. "Mr. Robert," said old Mr. Hasseltine, poking his head into Robert's office, "a Mr. Lankey wants to see you.He..."Rob, who was busy at the time, didn't expect to see the angel of God at this time, and was very used to strangers coming to the office asking to see him, and saying, "Is there anything he can do? I'm busy." "

"He didn't say. He just said if you weren't too busy, he wanted to talk to you." "You see, I'm busy. Carefully ask him what's the matter, will you? If it's not something important, let Neville take care of it." "Okay, I'll try; but his English isn't very good, and he obviously doesn't want to—" "English? You mean, he lisp?" "No, I mean he doesn't pronounce English very well. He—" "You mean, that man is a foreigner?" "Yes. He's from Copenhagen." "Copenhagen! Why didn't you say so sooner!"

"You didn't give me a chance, Mr Blair." "Please come in, Timmy, please come in. Oh, God, do the fairy tales really come true?" Mr. Lan Qi looks like the Normandy stone pillar in front of Notre Dame de Paris, as strong, tall, solid, and equally trustworthy.On the top of that tall and straight stone pillar, there is a friendly face full of integrity. "Mr. Blair?" he said. "My name is Lankey. I'm sorry to bother you"—his English pronunciation isn't very good—"but it's important, I mean, important to you, at least, yes, I think it is. "

"Sit down, Mr. Lankey." "Thank you, thank you. It's warm, isn't it? Perhaps this is what you're treating like summer today?" He smiled at Robert. "That's a British joke about counting a summer day like this Spread.——Translator’s Note) I’m very interested in English idioms. That’s why I came to you.” Robert's heart sank to the bottom like a plumb bob.Fairy tales come true? No; fairy tales are still mythical stories. "How?" he said, struggling with hope. "I run a hotel in Copenhagen, Mr. Blair. The name of the hotel is The Red Shoes. Not because anyone wears red shoes, of course, but because of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale, and you might—"

"Yes, yes," said Robert. "That fairy tale is popular here too." "Ah, that's right! Yes, the great author, Andersen. It's awe-inspiring to have become internationally famous from a very simple man. But, Mr. Blair, I'm afraid I'm wasting your time. I Where was it just said?" "About English idioms." "Ah, yes. Learning English is my hobby." Robert reluctantly corrected his pronunciation. "Thank you. For a living, I run hotels, and my father and my father's father lived on it before me, but for ho--ok? Yes, thank you... For hobbies, I study English idioms. So The newspapers they left behind are collected for me every day.”

"them? " "British resident." "um, yes." "In the evening, after the guests have rested, the hotel bellman brings English newspapers to my office. I am usually too busy to read them, and they pile up; when I have time, I take a copy and read them. .Have I made it clear, Mr. Blair?" "It's very clear, very clear, Mr. Lan Qi." A bubble of hope began to rise.Newspapers? "That's it. A little spare time, reading a little English newspaper, and learning a new idiom—or two—isn't too exciting. How would you describe it?" "Peaceful and content."

"Yes, calm and content. Then one day I took this from the pile of newspapers, as usual, but this time I completely forgot about the idioms." He took a folded paper from his wide pocket. A folded copy of the Ike-Emma was spread out on the table in front of Robert.It was the paper for that Friday, May 10th, with a picture of Betty Kane taking up two-thirds of the front page. "I looked at the picture. Then I read the story in it. And I said to myself this is the weirdest thing ever. Very, very strange. The newspaper said it was a picture of Betty Kane. Kenn?" "Ken."

"Ah, yes. Betty Kane. But it's also a picture of Mrs. Chadwick staying at my hotel with her husband." "what! " Mr Lankey looked happy. "Are you interested? I hope you are. I really do." "Go on and tell me." "They stayed in my hotel for two weeks. It was very strange indeed, Mr Blair, because while the poor girl was beaten and starved in an English attic, Mrs Chadwick ate like A young she-wolf—you don't know, Mr Blair, that girl eats cream that would surprise even me, a Dane—and is clearly having a good time." "yes? "

"And then I said to myself: That's just a picture. Even though it's like she's letting her hair down and going to prom—" "put it down! " "Yeah. She wears her hair up all the time, you know. But we're having a dance, costumes—dresses?" "Yes, masquerade." "Ah, yes, masquerade. She let her hair down. Like that." He pointed to the photo in the newspaper. "So I said to myself: It's just a picture. What are the chances that the picture is different from me, and what would the girl in the picture have to do with Mrs. Chadwick at my hotel, and who was there at that time?" At my hotel with her husband! I tried to rationalize things, but I didn't throw the newspaper away. I didn't, I kept it. Occasionally I took it out and looked at it again. And every time I looked at and I thought: That looks like Mrs. Chadwick. So I kept wondering about it, and even when I went to bed at night, I should have thought about the next day's business, but I couldn't think about it. I found it for it. Explanation: Twins? But no; the girl named Betty was an only child. Cousin? Accident? Duplicate? It may be Mrs. Chadwick. Do you understand my confusion?"

Yes. ""So this time I'm on a business trip to the UK, and I took that Arabic newspaper..." "Arabic? Well, sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted. Please go ahead." "I put it in my bag and I showed it to my friend after dinner one night. It was from my countryman who lived in London. My friend immediately got excited and said : That's now in judicial proceedings, and the women said they had never seen the girl before. They were arrested for this case, and they were going to be tried. Then he called his wife: 'Rita! Lita! Tower! Where's last Tuesday's paper? 'My friend's house has always been able to find last week's paper. His wife brought the paper and made me read the courthouse...of...'

"At court." "Yes. The details of the court attendance of the two women. Then I read that the official trial was in less than two weeks. In fact, now, it is a few days later. So my friend said: You Are you sure the girl is Mrs. Chadwick at your hotel? And I said: Pretty sure. And he said: The papers mention the women's lawyers here. No address, but Milford is a small place, It shouldn't be hard to find him. We can get up early tomorrow for coffee--that's breakfast--and then you go down to this Milford town and tell Mr Blair what you think. So here I am, Mr Blair. You say to me Are you interested?" Robert leaned back in his chair, took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead vigorously. "Do you believe in miracles, Mr. Lankey?" "Of course, I'm a Christian. In fact, though I'm not very old, I've seen it twice myself." "So, you just got involved with the third." "Really?" Mr. Lankey's face suddenly lit up. "That makes me very satisfied." "You saved our bacon." "Bacon?" "It's an English idiom. You not only saved our bacon, you almost saved our lives." "Then you also think, as I do, that they are the same person, the girl who followed my red shoe lodger?" "I don't doubt it at all. Tell me, do you know the dates she stayed at your hotel?" "Yes, of course. Here. She and her husband arrived by plane on Friday, March 29th, and they left—or by plane, I think, but I'm not so sure—on the week of April 15th. One leave." "Thank you. And her 'husband', what does he look like?" "Young, dark, and good-looking. There's a bit of—what's that word? Too ostentatious. Tasty? Is it?" "Glamourous?" "Ha. That's it, flashy. Some flashy, I suppose. I've observed that he's not very popular among the English people who come and go." "Is he on vacation?" "No, oh, no. He's in Copenhagen on business." "What kind of tolerance?" "Then I don't know, sorry." "Can you guess? What is he most likely to do in Copenhagen?" "It's not easy to guess, Mr. Blair. It depends on whether he is interested in buying or selling." "What is his address in England?" "London." "That's clear. Could you please wait a moment while I make a call? Do you smoke?" He opened the cigarette case and pushed it towards Mr. Lankey. "Milford Town 195, please switch to the operator. Mister Lankey, do I have the honor to invite you to lunch? ... Aunt Lynn? I have to go to London after lunch today ... Yes, stop One night...can you pack a little travel bag for me?...Thank you dear. Also, if it's convenient, can I take a guest back for lunch?...Great...OK, I'll ask He." He covered the microphone and said, "My aunt, she is actually my cousin, and she wants to know if you like pasta?" "Mr. Blair!" said Mr. Lankey, with a wide smile on his face, stroking his large waistline. "Ask a Dane?" "He likes it," Rob said into the microphone. "I said, Aunt Lin, do you have something important to do this afternoon? ... because I think you should go to church to fulfill your vows ... the angel you prayed for has come." Even Mr Lankey could hear Aunt Lin happily exclaiming, "Rob! Really!" "Really... no, it's not—it's... very tall, handsome, and pretty perfect for a role like this anyway... You'll prepare a nice lunch, won't you? ... Yes, that's what I'm asking Guests for lunch. That angel of God. " He put down the phone and looked up at the happy Mr. Lan Qi. "Now, Mr Lankey, let's have a beer at the Rose and Crown."