Chapter 7 Chapter VII

On a bright and cool Monday morning, Grant drove to Wigmore Street. It was still early and the street was silent.Wigmore Street guests don't stay in town for the weekend.The florist weaved last Saturday's roses into a Victorian bouquet, letting the petals that were past bloom gently gather together.The antique shop moved the flimsier rugs to the other side of the window, away from the overly eager gaze of the morning sun. When you go to a small restaurant to drink coffee, you can only serve it with stale buns. The store is very angry with people who ask for a fresh scone.The clothing store took off the sign of last Saturday's special price and exchanged it for the original price.

Grant was on his way to visit Tistor's tailor, and he was a little disturbed by the intricacies of the case.If Tistor's coat had been made by London tailors, it would have been as simple as asking them to identify the button as indeed the button they used to make their coats, especially Tistor's.Not that this would solve the case, but it would be much closer.But Tisdu's coat happened to be bought in Los Angeles. "My old coat," he explained, "was too heavy for the climate over there. So I bought a new one." Reasonable, but too tricky.If the coats were made in a tailor shop in London, anyone could walk into that shop at any time in the next fifty years and ask them what kind of buttons they had on their coats, and they would tell you without difficulty and kindly (as long as they know you). But who's to say that a garment factory in Los Angeles will remember what kind of buttons they sewed on a coat half a year ago!In addition, this button needs to stay here for the case, and it is unlikely to be sent to Los Angeles.The best way is probably to ask them to send a sample of the buttons used on the coat.If they remember!Grant's greatest hope was that the coat would automatically appear.Perhaps someone would recognize a discarded overcoat as Tistor's, with a button missing, and that would be the perfect solution.Tisdu was wearing that overcoat when he drove away.This is Officer Williams' contribution to judicial justice.He asked a farmer who had seen the car at the Weedmarsh intersection shortly after six o'clock on Thursday morning.It was about six-twenty, he recalled, but he wasn't wearing his watch.He doesn't need a watch.He always knows the time, whether the sun is out or not.He said the man's car slowed down as it bumped into a herd of sheep he was driving.He was pretty sure the driver was a young man wearing a dark overcoat.He wasn't sure he'd recognize the man, wouldn't swear to God—but he'd identified the car.It was the only car he saw that morning.

Williams' other contributions were less delightful.He reported Jason.Hamer did not spend the night at the hotel in Sandwich which he confessed to.In fact, he never lived in Sandwich at all. So yesterday Grant skipped the Sunday dinner of good sirloin and bacon, and walked out of the dining-room without complaint to call on Mr. Hammer.He was found in a pinkish-tinted suite in the Devon apartment in a purple silk dressing gown, with a cropped mustache and music scores strewn around him. "I rarely get up this early," he remarked, moving loose papers from a chair to make room for Grant. "Chriss does piss me off a little, though. We're good friends, Inspector. Some people find her difficult, but me, I don't. Why? You know why? Because we both know we have nothing. It's worth it, and we're all afraid of people finding out. People are cheap, you know. If you play like a millionaire, people will come and lick your shoes. But once you show them you seem like Without much confidence in themselves, they'd be like a swarm of ants climbing a dying wasp. I knew Chrissy was bluffing when I first set eyes on her. No one knows more about bluffing than I do. I just bluffing made it into the US and it was bluffing that got the publishers to release my first song. They didn't know I was bluffing until the song was a hit, but at that point they felt like they were being fooled It seems like a no-brainer. Have a drink? I know, it's a little too early. I usually don't drink until lunchtime myself, but drinking is the next best thing to sleeping. And according to the contract, I have two songs Songs to be written. For—for—" His voice trailed off—"for Kong's new film." Then he went on abruptly: "Ever try to write a song when you're totally uninspired? No, of course you Tried it. I can tell you it's pure torture. And, after all, who's going to sing it? That Harold woman can't sing at all. You've heard Chrissy sing "Sing to Me Sometimes" ? "

Grant had. "That's what it's called making a song come alive. I've written better songs, I admit. But she can sing that song like it's the best in the world. If it's spoiled by airy Harold, What's the point of writing a song?" He hurried around the room just to move the stack of papers here to another place that was also inappropriate.Grant watched him with interest.This man is what Marta calls "the kettle of self-indulgence" and what Judy calls "the smoldering."For Grant, it was neither.He was just one of those uncommon specimens of a human race, from some wretched corner of Europe, who believed himself to be constantly exploited and persecuted by others, combined with self-pity, ill-educated, emotional, and callous.It's not good-looking, but it is undoubtedly very attractive to women.Grant remembered like Marta.Harold and Judy.The two women, Cyrus, are so different, yet both think he is special; both interpret him as a reflection of their own personalities.He clearly has a way of treating all kinds of people in all kinds of ways.

He was kind to the disliked Marta, one thing was for certain: Marta was no ardent defender of inactive admirers.It can be said that he has been "acting a play" all his life.Just now he acted quite hard.Is he acting now too?For Grant? "I'm sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but there is indeed something important. You know we're investigating Miss Clay's death.In the course of the investigation, it is necessary for us to know the whereabouts of everyone who knew her, regardless of his identity or the possibility of involvement in the case.Well, on Thursday, you told the local police that you were spending the night at a hotel in Sandwich.During our routine investigation, we discovered that you did not live there. "Hammer fumbled blindly at his score without looking up.

"Where did you live that night, Mr. Hammer?" Hammer raised his head with a faint smile. "Did you know?" said he, "that's ridiculous! A charming gentleman, in a manner of utter friendliness, who drops by at breakfast-hour, apologizes for disturbing you, and hopes you will not be inconvenienced, But as the inspector of the police station, he had no choice but to ask you if you could kindly help out with some information, because the information you gave last time was not as correct as you imagined. It’s so wonderful, and this is how the case should be handled. And you always Ask and get answers. Maybe they'll break down and cry because your kindness is too much for them. Like mama's pie. What I want to know is if this works in the civilian areas, Or do you only use it in high-end areas?"

"What I want to know is where you lived last Wednesday night, Mr. Hammer." "Sir, I guess it's the style of the high-end district. Honestly, if you are talking to Jason from ten years ago, you have to take me back to the police station and try to scare the shit out of me. Okay, just like the cops in other countries. They are all the same, they only know about embezzling money." "I'm afraid I don't have the same personal experience with policemen all over the world as you do, Mr. Hammer." Hamer grinned. "Sharp tongue! Brits must be cornered to be so rude.

But make no mistake, Inspector.I have never had the bad luck of the police.As for last Wednesday night, I was in my car. "You mean you didn't go to bed at all?" " "That's exactly what I mean." "Where is the car parked?" "Parked right on the edge of a meadow beside a road with hedges as high as the houses. What a waste of England's land. The meadow by the road is about forty feet wide." "Are you saying you slept in the car? Are there any witnesses who can corroborate your account?" "No. I didn't stay there on purpose. I was too sleepy and lost to drive any further."

"Lost! In East Kent!" "Yes, it's the same everywhere in Kent, if that's the thing. Have you ever tried to find your way in England after dark? It's much better in the desert at night. You see a sign saying 'so-and-so somewhere two Mile and a half', and you think: so and so is almost there! Long live Britain, long live the sign post! Then you walk half a mile and you come to a three-way junction with a beautiful sign post on the middle green, Every goddamn sign on it has at least three place names on it, but can you guess if any of them are so-and-so? Someone will pass by to give you directions before you decide, but no one has. Last time anyone passed by was Thursday the previous week. No house, nothing but a vacant lot, and a sign advertising a circus show last April .So you have to choose one of three roads, and after passing two signposts that don't mention such-and-such a place at all, you see a sign that says: So-and-so, six and three-quarter miles. So this Do it all over again, and start four miles farther than the last time. Then do it again! Wait until so-and-so treats you like this six or seven times, as long as you can find a corner to stop and sleep, what do you Didn't care. So I stopped and slept right where I was. Anyway, by that time, it was too late to go to Chris's place."

"But it's not too late to go to the hotel and find a bed." "If I knew where the hotel was. Besides, after seeing a few hotels here, I'd rather sleep in the car." "I noticed you're growing a beard very quickly." Grant nodded at Hammer's unshaven chin. "Yes, sometimes twice a day. If you're going to be out late. How about it?" "You were clean-shaven when you arrived at Miss Cray's farmhouse. How could that be?" "I have a razor in the car. No way, when you have a beard like mine." "So you didn't have breakfast that morning?"

"No, I was going to have it at Chris's. Actually, I don't have breakfast. Just a coffee, or orange juice. In England it's orange juice. My god, your coffee - how the hell do you think those people make coffee?I mean women.That's really..." "Don't talk about coffee, let's get down to business, shall we?"Why did you tell the police you spent the night at Sandwich? " Hamer's expression changed subtly.Until now he had been easy and cooperative in his responses; the lines of his broad, usually good-natured face were relaxed and kind.The relaxed air was gone now, and he was becoming wary and—as if—hostile. "Because I didn't feel like something was right and I didn't want to be involved in it." "Isn't that unusual? I mean, you're able to realize there's a crime before people know there's a crime." "It's nothing surprising. I heard Chrissy drowned. I know Chrissy swims like a fish. I also know I was out all night. And the cop used a 'you are Who, what are you doing here' looked at me." "But the policeman didn't know at the time that there was more to the drowning case than an accident. He had no reason to look at you that way." Then he decided to put aside the fact that Hamer had lied to the police. "Also, how do you know where to find Miss Clay? I know her hermitage is kept secret." "Yeah, she ran away without saying a word. Giving everyone all kinds of excuses to avoid seeing each other, including me, to be honest. She was tired and not too happy with how her last movie turned out.I mean when it was filmed, because it hasn't been released yet. Conn didn't know how to photograph her.He was a little in awe of her, but also afraid that she would find someone to replace him.You know. If he called her 'Kid' and 'Chocolate' the way old Joe Myers used to do in America, she'd have a good laugh and work for him like a nigger.But Kong En always put on airs and couldn't let go of the figure of a big director, so they couldn't get along well.So she was fed up, tired, and people suggested that she go on vacation somewhere else, and she seemed indecisive, until one day, when everyone woke up, she was gone.Bundle - her housekeeper - also said she didn't know where she was, but she hadn't asked to forward the letter and would be back in a month, so no one thought there was anything to worry about.Just like that, no one heard from her for about two weeks, and then last Tuesday I met Marta.Harold, at Libby.At a sherry party at Simmons' house - she's going to be in his new play - she told me she caught Chrissy buying chocolates in a shop in Baker Street on Saturday - Chrissy was in between filming Can't resist the temptation of chocolate! —and she spent a long time with Chris, trying to find out where she was hiding.But Chris didn't reveal anything.At least she thinks she doesn't.She said: 'Maybe I'll never go back.You know, the Roman man who grew vegetables with his own hands and was obsessed with the harvest, so it went on forever.I helped pick the first cherries of the year to be sold at the Covent Garden market yesterday, and trust me, an Oscar is nothing compared to this! "'Hammer chuckled under his breath: "I understand what she's saying. "He said affectionately: "So, I went straight from Simons' house to Covent Garden to find out where those cherries came from.It was an orchard in a place called Bird Green.So early on Wednesday morning, I set off for the bird green.The place was not easy to find, but I found it around three o'clock.Next I must find the orchard. And the people who work there on Fridays.I was expecting to ask Chrissy directly, but no one seemed to know her.They said that when they were picking cherries early on Friday morning, a woman drove by, she stopped to look, and then asked if she could help pick.The old guy who owns the orchard says they don't need paid helpers, but if she wants to enjoy herself that's fine. 'She picks well,' he said, 'and will pay her next time. ’ And then his grandson said he had seen the lady—or thought he had—at the post office in Leadstone one day recently—about six miles away.So I got to Leadstone but the post office clerk was 'home for tea' so I had to wait till she came back.She said the lady who had sent 'a whole pile of telegrams' - it seemed Chris had sent so many they hadn't read them in their entire lives - lived in Medley.So I set off again in the darkening sky to find the way to Medley, and ended up sleeping on the road.Sleeping rough or not, I did a much better job of investigating than you did this morning, Inspector Grant! ' Grant grinned happily. 'Really?I'm almost done. He got up to go. "You must have a coat in the car at the time, right?" " "good." "What material is that coat?" "Brown tweed. What's the matter?" "Is it here now?" "Of course." He turned and walked to the wardrobe embedded in the corridor from the living room to the bedroom, and opened the sliding door. "Go through all my clothes. If you can find that button, you're smarter than me." "What button?" Grant asked, responding with involuntary quickness. "There's always a button of some sort, isn't there?" said Hamer, looking into Grant's with a pair of small pink-brown eyes that rolled warily under lazy lids, with a confident smile. Grant found nothing in the closet.He left, not sure how much credibility Jason Hamer's claim had, but what was certain was that he "couldn't find a way to get him."In this way, the hope of the police fell on Tistor. Now when he pulls over to the side of the road on this cool and clear morning, he can't help but smile when he thinks back to Jason's clothes he saw yesterday.Jason's clothes didn't come from Stacy and Blake's.As he was thinking about it, he pushed open the store door, and what he saw was a dark, small, and shabby interior. At this moment, he could almost hear Jason's laugh.British!They have been running a business for 150 years, but they can only manage it like this.The counter at the beginning of the store may still be used today, and the lighting has never been changed. But Grant felt very sympathetic.This is the UK he knows and loves.Fashions will change, dynasties will decline, and the sound of horseshoes on the silent street will become the horns of thousands of taxis, but Stacey and Blake still uphold the usual calm and capable, tailor-made for calm and capable gentlemen Clothes. There was no Stacy or Blake in the shop now, but Mr Quimley--Stephen.Mr Quimley (and not those Mr Roberts or Mr Thomas) . As soon as he saw Inspector Grant enter, he gave himself up to the Inspector's orders.Yes, they used to be for Robert.Mr. Tistor makes clothes. Yes, those outfits included a dark coat worn with an evening gown. No, these are definitely not the buttons used on that coat.They never put those buttons on any coat they ever sewed.They are not used to buttons of that grade.If the Inspector may pardon Mr. Quimley for saying so, the button was, in his own opinion, so unpopular that no tailor of any class would bother to use it.To be honest, he wouldn't be surprised at all if the button was foreign. "Maybe from America, huh?" Grant suggested. Maybe.Although he said so, in Mr. Quimley's eyes, this button was definitely from the United States.No, he certainly had no reason to make that inference.Purely on intuition.Maybe not right.He hoped the Inspector would not take his opinion to heart.He also hoped that Tisi Duo was not suspected.A very nice young man indeed.Grammar schools--especially the older ones--turned out young men of high character, usually better than those of the second-rate state schools.Families with a grammar school tradition—generations attended at the same school—have an enduring character of the country warrior that can only be matched by some of the best public schools. It was Grant's opinion that Tistor, a young man, had nothing to do with the permanent character of a country warrior, but he refrained from arguing with him, only to reassure Mr. Quimley that, as far as he knew, Tistor had hitherto been There will be no trouble. Mr Quimley was delighted.He's aging, and his confidence in today's younger generation is often shattered.Maybe each generation will think that the growing next generation lacks the standard of value in behavior and spirit, but in his opinion...ah, anyway, he is old, and the tragedy of the young people weighs more on his heart than Once upon a time. This Monday morning was a dark morning for him, a utterly dark morning, because of thinking about everything and Christine.The light and brilliance related to Clay turned to dust at this moment.It may be years, even generations (Mr Quimley's mindset is in terms of generations: the result of running a 150-year-old store) before a star like her reappears .She has something special about her, doesn't the Inspector think so?Amazing traits.It is said that her family background is not good, but she must have been well-bred.Like Christine.Someone like Clay couldn't have come in and out of the rock, it just couldn't.God must have a purpose. He wasn't a fan of what he called himself, but he hadn't missed a single Miss Cray movie since his niece took him to see her first feature film.At the time he completely forgot that he was in a movie theater.He lost himself in joy.If this newly invented medium can produce something with such tension and content, people really need not regret the loss of Bernhardt and Douce. Grant walked out of the store and back into the street, amazed by Christine.Clay's talent is so widely admired. It seems that the focus of the world's attention is on the building in the Gordes cemetery.It was a strange place to be for a lace-maker from Nottingham.Not unusual for a world-class icon. "They put him in the incinerator as if he was—" Oh no, he shouldn't have thought of that.It's horrible.Why hateful?he does not know.Probably because it's a remote suburb, he thought.In fact, it also makes sense. Maybe less sad.But a person like Clay who has flashed across the world with a ray of light deserves a cremation altar that is a hundred feet high.Something spectacular.A Viking-style funeral.Not a suburban incinerator.Oh my gosh, if it wasn't sentimentality, then he was getting weak.He started the car and drove into the traffic. He had changed his mind yesterday about attending Clay's funeral.The part of Tistor’s testimony was in the normal investigation, and he didn’t think it was necessary to participate in a mourning scene that he could have avoided in the first place.Only now did he understand how grateful he was not to be at the funeral, but then (as Grant) he began to wonder if he should.Whether it was because his subconscious wished to stay out of it, which influenced his decision.Not so, he concluded.There is no need for him to study the psychological state of some unknown friends of Christine.He had seen a representative sample of it at Marta's house, but hadn't benefited much from it.The gang stubbornly refused to let go. That's when Jimmy started talking again, hoping they'd dance to the flute.But Marta refused to continue talking about Christine, and even when they returned to the topic many times, they couldn't continue, not even Jimmy's tongue-in-cheek.Lydia, who is always in the business, reads everyone's palm prints. When the horoscope is not at hand, palm reading has always been her auxiliary tool (she gave a very sharp reading of Grant's personality, and warned him in the future. A wrong decision will be made in the near future, "This statement is not too easy for anyone to go wrong", this is his reaction at the time), until one o'clock in the middle of the night, the hostess took a lot of effort to put They rushed to the gate like sheep.Grant lingered a little longer, not because he had something to ask her (he had already got the answer he wanted from the conversation that night), but because she had a bunch of questions that she was eager to ask him.Is Scotland Yard joining the investigation into Christine's murder?What went wrong?What did they find?Where is the suspicious place?Grant said, yes, they joined the investigation (there is no need to hide that part), but so far only at the suspicion stage. She sobbed delicately, not muddling too much mascara on her face, and briefly described how she admired Christine as an entertainer and a woman. "A very remarkable person. There must be extraordinary qualities to overcome her inherent shortcomings." She listed those shortcomings one by one. Then Grant took his leave and went out into the warm night with a sigh of humanity - and a shrug of it. But even human nature occasionally has some flat sides.Grant approached the street slowly, and stopped suddenly, with a look of joy and welcome on his brown face. "Good morning!" he called to a small gray figure. "Hi, good morning, Mr. Grant," Erica said, walking across the sidewalk to him.She gave him a simple smile, but seemed pleased to see him, with a schoolboy primness that couldn't hide it.He noticed that she was wearing "in town" clothes, though not much better than her country clothes.It was clean, of course, but it seemed to be seldom worn, and the gray suit on her, while undoubtedly "good," looked scruffy.The hat on her head was meant to match the dress, but it was equally sloppy to match. "I didn't know you'd be in town." "I won't. I'm here for bridges." "Bridge?" "But they don't seem to have any ready-made. Measure it for a long time beforehand. I have to come back another day. All he did today was put a lot of clay in my mouth." "Oh, go to the dentist. I see. I thought bridges were only for older women." "The stupid thing he put in my mouth last time didn't stick. I always had to pick it out piece by piece in the taffy. Last winter 'Fly' fell over a hurdle from a post and I fell several times. A molar. The whole face is swollen like a turnip. So a bridge, that's what the dentist said." "The name doesn't match the reality, it's called flying." "In one way it is. But in other ways it's not sure. He was almost across Kent when they caught him." "Where are you going? Anywhere, can I give you a ride?" "I guess you wouldn't want to show me scotland yard?" "I would, very much. Only I have an appointment with a lawyer at Temple's in twenty minutes." "Oh. Then maybe you can drop me off at Casper Street. The nurse has an errand for me." Yes, he thought, as she got into the car and sat next to him, it must be the nanny.No mother would choose such a dress.It must have been ordered direct from the tailor, like a school uniform. "A gray flannel suit with a hat." Despite her independence and determination, he sensed that she was a bit lonely. "It's great," she said. "Even though it's not very tall, I still hate walking in it." "What's not tall?" "My shoe." She held up a foot, showing him a very plain half-heeled shoe. "The nanny thinks that this pair of shoes is the most suitable for going into the city, but I think it's scary and I can't walk steadily." "You get used to it after a while, and you have to obey the taboos of race." "why? " "Because it's more miserable to be a maverick than to wear a badge of conformity." "Oh, I don't come into town very often. You don't have time for an ice cream with me, do you?" "I'm afraid not. Save it for the next time I go to Siover, will you?" "By the way, you'll be back. I forgot. I saw your victim yesterday," she added casually. "My victim?" "Yes, the one that passed out." "You saw him! Where is it?" "Dad took me to the 'Ocean' for a luncheon." "Doesn't your dad hate it there?" "That's right. He said he had never seen so many disgusting smoked herrings in his life. I think the smoked kippers are a bit strong, but not too bad. The melons are very tasty." "Did your father tell you that the priest was on duty there?" "No, the captain said it. He doesn't look very professional. I mean Mr. Tisto, not the captain. Too nice, too caring. A professional waiter never looks too caring to really care. And He forgot to put a spoon in the ice cream he brought up. But I think you must have bullied him hard enough that day." "I bullied him!" Grant took a deep breath, and then expressed his hope that Erica would not get carried away by the handsome young man's plight. "Oh no. Not at all. His nose is too long, and besides, I love Tojar." "Who is Tojar?" "Of course it's the animal trainer." She turned to him suspiciously. "You really haven't heard of Tojar?" Grant said that was probably exactly the case. "Aren't you going to the Olympia at Christmas? You should be! I'll tell Mr. Mills to reserve the seat for you." "Thank you. How long have you liked this Tojar?" "Four years. I am very dedicated." She must be, Grant agreed. "Drop me off in front of 'East''s office, will you?" she said, in exactly the same tone as when she declared her devotion.So Grant let her off next to the cruise liner with the yellow funnel. "Travel by boat?" he asked. "Oh no. I'm going to walk around these offices and help the nanny collect pamphlets. She likes that kind of stuff. She has never been outside England, for she is afraid of the sea, but she likes to sit still and wander.I helped her capture some great Austrian mountain views this spring on Regent Street.She is also very knowledgeable about the many spas in Germany.Goodbye and thanks for the ride.How will you let me know when you come to Siover again?Let's go eat ice. ""I will ask your father to bring you a message.is this OK? " "Okay. Goodbye." She walked into the office. Grant continued on the road to meet Christine.Clay's lawyer and husband, in a better mood.