Chapter 2 Chapter 2 Bewitching Voices

Human acquaintances must be made through proper introductions—this has long been the etiquette that educated people observe (when necessary) as the norm of the world.In order to atone for my failure to observe this decency in the last chapter, I shall add it at once in this chapter, not to mention that the events described below took place two years later. Let me introduce myself: My name is Paul Bakri - a recently graduated medical doctor, wearing a neat long gown and a tall hat, walking cautiously among cloth bags full of coal and piles of potatoes In the narrow aisle between pallets. This is the situation when I was in a shop in Baihua Lane.The reason I was there was to get the address of a visiting patient.This patient, who was my last call this morning, lived at 49 Nevill Lane—God knows where it is, so I was going to ask the coal shop lady for directions.

"Excuse me—how to get to Nevill Lane?" This Mrs. Gabriel knew the way, and was very enthusiastic to guide me.She clutched my arm—for weeks the creases in my sleeves never faded—and pointed with a trembling index finger down an alley. "That's the alley," said Mrs. Gaborley, smiling. "Just go through an archway. Turn right from Feet Lane, and then you'll find Bulham House." I thanked this kind lady, and I was glad that the day's outpatient mission was finally coming to an end, so I could go back early and take a nice hot bath. Actually I was on someone else's day--poor old Dr. Dick Barna, who was a notorious old urchin at St. Margaret's, who had just boarded a red currant freighter the day before in the Mediterranean. Go on a trip.Although it wasn't the first time I had a morning call, it still felt like a geographical adventure to me.

I walked through Feet Lane and soon came across a narrow archway inscribed "Nevill Lane" and then, like so many tourists traversing London's alleyways, I experienced the same sequence of surprises .At first I thought it was just a dark alley that is common in London, but after I passed through the arch, a row of neat and lively small shops with bright colors came into view—the old-style roofs and walls in warm tones, They stand out against the bright green foliage.In the city center, it is pleasant to see a green tree by chance, but here is not only the shade of trees, but also patches of bushes and even flowers.On both sides of the lane are flowerbeds, old wooden fences, and newly trimmed bushes, which add a bit of elegance to this small place.Then I "met" a group of female workers. They were wearing brightly colored work clothes, and their slightly curly hair shone in the sun, like a cluster of wild flowers swaying among the hedges, adding a bit of vitality to this quiet corner.

The corridor of a flower garden is paved with ring-shaped bricks. I took a closer look and found that it was made of many simple stone inkpots buried upside down in the ground.When I caught a glimpse of the house number engraved on the gate, it was exactly what I was looking for, and I couldn't help but think that this patient might be a literati, or a lawyer, writer, or even a poet. Otherwise, how could he decorate the house with such elegance?Since there was no bell or knocker, I pulled the latch, pushed the door open and walked in. If the scene in the alley brings surprises, then everything in front of you can be regarded as a real spectacle, just like a dream, and it is only a few steps away from the noisy Fleet Street.I was in an old-style garden within a high wall. As soon as I closed the gate of the courtyard, all the sounds and lights belonging to the city were instantly blocked out.I was taken aback by the sight around me: green trees bordered with gold, flowerbeds in full bloom, lupines, snapdragons, nasturtiums in the foreground with spiky foxgloves and lush hollyhocks; Yellow-green butterflies are chasing and frolicking with a plump white cat under the flower.The white cat jumped up suddenly, and its snow-white paws were catching in mid-air; the scenery behind it was also pleasing to the eye: an old old house with thick eaves, giving a sense of vicissitudes.Perhaps while the dandies drove through the alleys in their carriages to have a good time, the gentle Isaac Walton (Lzaak Walton), the famous English biographer of the seventeenth century, was famous for "Gao Ming" "The Angler" and became famous in the literary world.When he quietly left his shop in Fleet Street and crossed Fett Lane to enjoy fishing time in Temple Garden, this house must have existed in this world!

I was so overwhelmed by the otherworldly sight that my hand kept pulling the doorbell's pull cord without noticing it.It wasn't until my sanity woke up at an inopportune moment and reminded me of the purpose of my visit that I noticed a bronze plaque under the doorbell engraved with the words "Miss Orman".Suddenly the door was opened, and a middle-aged woman shot two sharp eyes, looking at me from head to toe. "Did I pull the wrong doorbell?" I regretted it as soon as I said it, so stupid. "How do I know?" She asked back, "Maybe, men often do such stupid things, and then apologize endlessly."

"I'm not the kind of person who goes too far," I argued, "but now it seems that my goal has been achieved-you have begun to pay attention to me." "Who are you looking for?" she asked. "Mr. Berlinham." "you are a doctor?" "yes." "Follow me upstairs," Miss Orman reminded, "Be careful not to step on the paint." Under the guidance of this female guide, I walked through the spacious hall, climbed the elegant oak staircase, and stepped cautiously on a long strip of mats laid in the middle of the staircase.When they reached the landing of the stairs on the second floor, Miss Orman opened a door and pointed to the room inside: "Wait there, I'll go and tell Miss Bellingham that you're here."

"I'm talking about Mr. Burlingham—" Before I could finish my sentence, the door slammed shut in front of me, and I could only hear Miss Orman's footsteps going downstairs quickly outside the door. I quickly realized that I was in an awkward situation.The room I was in was connected to the other, and although the door in the middle was closed, I could still faintly hear the conversations in the next room.It was vague and intermittent at first, but then suddenly burst into a cry of unusual anger: "Yes! I said it! And I'll say it again: Bribes! Conspiracy! You try to bribe me, it's impossible!"

"Calm down, Godfell, that's not the case at all." Another voice said in a low voice.I deliberately coughed a few times, and moved the chair, and the quarrel next door immediately subsided. 00 In order not to pay attention to the movement next door, I curiously looked at the room I was in, guessing the owner's hobbies based on the furnishings in the room.This room is very special, with its lamentable old dignity and personality, but also full of intricate contradictions.As far as the overall tone of the room is concerned, it is a bit poor, with little furniture, and if there is, it is the cheapest kind: a small dining table and three Windsor rocking chairs, one of which has no armrest; White from washing; a cheap cotton cloth on the table, and a set of bookcases—if stacked grocery boxes count as bookcases—these were all the furniture in the room.Although it is slightly poor, it is full of a sense of leisure at home; although it is almost Puritan-style simple style, it does not lose its taste.The yellow-brown tablecloth is matched with the light green old carpet, which is not tacky; the Windsor rocking chair and the dining table are painted in a low-key brown, and it can be seen that the table legs have been finely polished; the dark brown vase placed in the center of the table, Filled with freshly cut flowering branches, this adds a pop of color to the modest room.

But what puzzles me the most is the ambivalence just mentioned.For example, the bookcase is almost a handmade and painted product, but it is filled with ancient artworks and rare archaeological treasures. Even the mantelpiece has been used, and there is a very fine piece of bronze on it—— Not plastic by any means—a replica of the head of the Greek god of sleep, and a pair of Egyptian funerary figurines of Ushapati.In addition to some ornaments hanging on the walls, there are several copper engravings.These precious paintings have signature certificates, all of which are authentic oriental works, and there is also a high-level imitation of a very delicate Egyptian papyrus painting.The contradictions produced by the combination of simple and ordinary furniture and expensive and rare boutiques, shabby appearance and extreme taste are really puzzling.I can't help but imagine: What kind of patient will I be facing soon?A miser living in a secret alley?Or a self-admired, self-proclaimed scholar or philosopher?Or a veritable eccentric?

Just when I was immersed in my imagination, there was another angry quarrel from the next door: "You are slandering me! You clearly mean that I got him away!" "Isn't that so?" asked another. "I just think it makes more sense for you to find out his whereabouts, because that's your responsibility." "What? My responsibility?" The first voice said in amazement, "What about you? What is your responsibility? If you really pursue it, I think you are the most suspect!" "Don't talk nonsense!" Another person yelled loudly, "Are you implying that John was killed by me?"

During the course of this wonderful, intense conversation, I could only stand there silently, listening in amazement.Later, as if I woke up suddenly, I found a chair and sat down, covered my ears with my hands, and stayed quietly for a minute, and then there was a loud door closing behind me. I jumped to my feet and turned around embarrassingly—I knew I must have looked ridiculous.I found a slender, very attractive girl standing at the door.Her hand was on the doorknob.When he saw me, he bowed respectfully to me.Although I only had a glimpse, I found that she fit in very well with the surrounding environment.She was wearing a black robe, with jet-black hair, and two gray-black eyes embedded in her ivory-white face.She stood there like a figure in a figure painting drawn by Terpoch, a painter of the Dutch Baroque period in the seventeenth century. The overall tone is so low, and there are only two colors, black and white.Although she is wearing simple old clothes, she is still a lady, and her brows reveal an aura of getting more and more courageous in the face of adversity. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long," she said sheepishly.As she spoke, I noticed that the corners of her stern mouth softened, reminding me of my embarrassment when I was just caught by her. "It's okay to be a little late," I murmured, in fact glad I had the chance to catch my breath; but just as I was about to say it, the argument in the next room started again. "Didn't I already say that there is no such thing at all! Damn, why do you say that, you are accusing me of collusion!" Miss Bellingham--I took her to be--hurried across the room, flushing.In fact, it was difficult for her. Just when she was about to reach the door of the room, the door was suddenly knocked open, and a short, fat middle-aged man rushed out. "Ruth, run, your father is crazy!" the man yelled. "He is completely crazy! I refuse to have any communication with him." "But he didn't propose this meeting!" said Miss Birlingham coldly. "You're right," the other party was obviously angry, but he continued to argue, "Well, I was being sentimental. But in the end, what good is there for me? I really did my best, and Now I can't do anything for you anymore. You can stay and I'll go out by myself. Goodbye." After bowing abruptly, he glanced at me and walked out of the room quickly, slamming the door closed. "I'm really sorry to show you a joke," said Miss Burlingham sheepishly, "but I don't think you'll be frightened, are you? Please come with me, and I'll show you the patient." , Miss Burlingham opened the door, and led me into the next room, and continued, "My dear father, you have a visitor. This is—" "Oh, nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Bakery," I said hastily. "I'm here for my friend Dr. Barna." The patient was a handsome man of about fifty-five.He was sitting on the bed leaning against the pillows, one hand was trembling, but I still held it enthusiastically, and I couldn't help but feel a throbbing in my heart. "Oh, hello, Dr. Berry," said Mr. Burlingham slowly. "I hope Dr. Barna is well." "Oh, yes, he's not ill," I answered, "he's just gone on a voyage to the Mediterranean in a merchant ship. As the opportunity is rare, I urge him to take the opportunity and set out, or he will change his mind. As for my I'm taking the liberty, but please forgive me." "It's very kind of you to say that," said the other earnestly. "Honestly, I'm very grateful that you got him out. He really needs to take some time off work, poor fellow. Of course I'm glad too." Know you." "You are so kind." I said happily.The middle-aged man then saluted me with the utmost grace a hospital bed could exhibit.After we exchanged the necessary protocol, I started the consultation. I asked the first question cautiously: "How long have you been ill?" I asked it so that he would not see that my client had not explained his illness to me before he left. "Nearly a week," he answered bitterly. "The mail coach was a Mosun hansom, which knocked me down in the middle of the road, opposite the courthouse. Of course, I was at fault for the accident, for the coachman said so." of—I reckon he can't be mistaken." "Is the injury serious?" I asked eagerly. "It's okay, but I have a big bruise on my knee, and I broke out in a cold sweat. You know, I'm too old now, and I can't take that kind of impact." "No one can stand it." I comforted him. "Yes, but I think a twenty-year-old is more likely to fall than a fifty-five. Anyway, the knee is much better now, as you'll see when you check up; and as you can see, I've tried not to Moved it. But it’s not the most troublesome thing, the worst thing, the point is that my temper has become very grumpy, irritable, sometimes as sensitive as a cat, so I can’t sleep well at night.” At this time, I thought of his trembling hand when I shook hands with him just now.He didn't look like a heavy drinker, but—"Do you smoke a lot?" I asked politely. Mr. Bellingham looked at me strangely, made no answer, and finally gave a giggle. "That's a clever question, my dear doctor," he said, laughing, "but no, I'm not a regular smoker, and trust me, it's the truth. I think you noticed my trembling hands, but that's all right , I don’t mind. As a doctor, you have to keep your eyes open all the time to observe! Usually I am very stable when I am on crutches; but as long as I am stimulated a little, it is like a soft jelly, not only trembling but also powerless. And just now, I did have an unpleasant conversation with the same person..." "Dr. Bakery," interrupted Miss Burlingham, "the neighbors have heard it, as a matter of fact." At this point Mr. Branham laughed aloud with embarrassment, and said: "I think my temper is really bad, but I'm an impulsive old man. Doctor, whenever I lose my temper, I always speak directly and a little recklessly." "And you have a very loud voice," his daughter added. "You don't know that Dr. Bakery had to cover his ears when he was outside the door." She glanced at me as she spoke, The dark gray eyes flashed, as if sending me some secret signal. "Did I really yell?" Mr. Bellingham was puzzled, but there was no trace of remorse, and he added, "I'm sorry, dear Ruth, but I promise I won't do it again." That's it. And I don't think that annoying guy will want to come again." "I hope you won't be like this again," said Miss Bellingham. "Dr. Bicky won't mind. Well, I'll leave you alone. Call me if you need anything. I'm next door." Miss Bellingham bowed slightly to me, and I opened the door for her, and she went out.I went back to the bed and sat down, continuing to ask questions.Mr. Burlingham's case was that of an accidental nervous breakdown.As for his old medical history, it has nothing to do with me.But Mr. Birlingham didn't think so, and he muttered: "You know, the accident wasn't the main reason. The reason I'm so weak now is because my body has gone downhill. I've had a lot of trouble over the past two years, but I don't think I can I should bother you with my own private affairs." "No, as long as you don't mind, I'm interested in knowing anything related to your health." I said with a smile. "You don't mind?" he yelled. "Have you ever seen a patient who wasn't happy talking about himself? Actually, it's the innocent listeners who do." "Well, I, the listener, don't mind," I said. "Well," said Mr. Burlingham, "then I'll be selfish and tell you all my troubles. I don't usually have the opportunity to complain to people of my class. But after I finished speaking Afterwards, you must also think that I was justified in declaring war on the gods of fate: just one night a few years ago, before going to bed, I was a very rich and well-placed gentleman, but the next day I When I woke up, I found myself a beggar. For me, this is really unacceptable, can you feel the pain?" "Yes, it's the same for everyone." I agreed. "However, the matter was not over," he continued, "and at this moment my brother, who was my closest and most loyal friend, disappeared. He disappeared--disappeared from the face of the earth for no reason. I think you've probably heard about it, and it was in the papers almost every day in those days." At this, Mr. Burlingham paused, for he noticed a change in my expression.And at the time I did recall the case he was talking about.When I walked into this room, a corner of my memory seemed to be ready to move, and the last few words he said woke me up. "Yes," I said, "I remember it being in the papers. But I don't think I would have been so impressed if my lecturer in forensic science hadn't brought up the case." "Indeed," said Mr. Bellingham with certainty and unease. "What did he say?" "He's worried that there will be a lot of intricate legal issues involved in this case." "My God!" cried Berlinham again, "this man is nothing short of a prophet! Legal matters, so true! But I bet he didn't think what dreadful laws beset me. Oh, yes Yes! What's the name of the lecturer you mentioned?" "Thorndike," I answered, "Dr. John Avenlyn Thorndike." "Thorndike," repeated Mr. Bellingham thoughtfully, as if thinking of something, "I have a recollection of that name. Well, no wonder! I have a friend in the law called Marchmont." , he mentioned this man to me. He said that Thorndike had dealt with a similarly bizarre disappearance a few years ago. The missing person was a man named Jeffrey Blackmore. In the end, Dr. Thorndike was very clever. cracked the case." "I dare say he's interested in your case, too," I said tentatively. "I think so, too," he replied, "but I can't let such a professional waste my time, and I don't have the money to hire him. So I think I'm wasting your time at this moment, too. To tell you these meaningless and troublesome things." "How come? I'm done with my rounds this morning," I said, "and it's interesting what you're saying. But I'd venture to ask, what legal dilemma are you talking about?" "As for that, I suppose you'll be here all day listening to me, and I'm afraid I'll have more to say late into the night. But it's one thing in a nutshell—my brother's will. First, I haven't I have the right to execute this will, because I can't find evidence that my brother is dead; in addition, even if I can execute this will, all his property will fall into the hands of some people who have nothing to do with us. Yes Said, this will is the most absurd design of a deranged man's brain. That's it. Now, do you want to see my knees?" Seeing that Mr. Bellingham answered my question with constant enthusiasm, and finally almost roared out, and his face began to turn purple, I think this topic should be over.So I examined his knee as he asked, and it was nearly healed, and then I gave him a thorough examination; at last I told him some rules of life that he must observe, and I got up and left. When I shook hands with him goodbye, I said: "Remember, no smoking, no drinking, and avoid being stimulated and have a peaceful mind." "You're quite right," he murmured, "but what if someone comes to make me angry?" "Then you can ignore them," I said, "and you can read Whitaker's Almanac, which was founded by the English publisher Joseph Whitaker in 1868 and is Known as the best almanac in Britain and a miniature encyclopedia." After speaking, I walked to another room. Miss Bellingham was sitting at the table in the adjoining room before a stack of blue leather notebooks, some of which were spread out and filled with neat handwriting.Seeing me walk in, she immediately stood up and looked at me with a questioning look. "I just heard you advise my father to read the Whitaker Almanac," she said. "Is that a cure?" "Suffice it to say," I replied, "and in my experience, it's very effective. Because it's very medicinal, and it's a good way to avoid mental stimulation." "But it's hard to say it's a very emotional book." Miss Burlingham continued with a faint smile, "I don't know if you have any other instructions?" "Another well-worn piece of advice - be optimistic and stay out of trouble. But I think you'll disagree with me when I say this." "How come?" she said sourly. "Your advice is very useful. There is no doubt that people of our class are not a happy race, but we don't ask for trouble, and often Please come to me by yourself. Of course, this is not something you can help." "It's a pity that I can't give you more specific help, but I sincerely hope that your father's matter can be resolved as soon as possible." Miss Birlingham thanked me, walked me to the gate, shook my hand politely, and I left. As I passed through the arches, the noise of Fett Lane rushed to my ears with impunity, which was at odds with the stately tranquility of the Old Gardens, and which made the lane all the more filthy.As for the linoleum floors, the gleaming, tacky insurance billboards plastered on the outside walls of the doctor's offices were even more glaring to me.So I diverted my attention by writing a diary.I was busy writing my morning visits when the drunk Adolf came in slyly and told me it was time for lunch.