Chapter 4 Chapter 1 Reflection in the Mirror

"Hmph," said Sir Henry Merivale, "you are, then, my nephew?" he continued to stare sullenly over the top of his spectacles with a stern face. He pursed his lips maliciously, folded his big hands on his belly, and sat behind the table, making the swivel chair creak.He took a deep breath and said, "Okay, let's have a cigar and some whiskey? ... Hey, what the hell is so funny? You have a thick skin, what the hell are you laughing at?" Sir Henry Merrillville's nephew laughed in such a way as to openly insult the Sir himself.Unfortunately, this is how the great Sir was treated by almost everyone - including his subordinates in the Ministry of Defense, which can be regarded as a major sore spot for him.It was inevitable that all such things reached the ears of Mr. James Boynton Bennett.

Suppose you are a young man who has just returned from the sea. Your uncle was once a prominent figure in the British Intelligence Agency. Now you go to his office and deal with him for the first time. Despite being sidelined in these peaceful days, Sir Henry Merrillville was not completely idle: there were occasional sports broadcasts and often crisis news in turbulent Europe.James Bennett's father was H.M's brother-in-law, and he was considered a prominent figure in Washington. Before his son sailed across the sea, he told him a lot of family secrets. Here's what old Bennett said: "Don't be polite to him, absolutely not. It's the same in any case, because he doesn't know anything about it. When he speaks at a political meeting, he will casually mention that the Home Secretary has a Big nose, or to describe the prime minister with a horse face, and get into trouble. You may also find him sleeping with his head covered, but pretending to be busy. He likes to fantasize most, and everyone is talking about him, but in fact But no one paid attention to him. His family’s title of baronet has been hereditary since two or three hundred years ago, but he himself is a revolutionary believer who strives endlessly. He has the qualifications of the Supreme Court defense lawyer and physician certificate, but his speech is inconsequential and uninhibited. His thoughts are vulgar and vulgar, and the little girl who works as a typist is frightened by him. He dared to wear only a pair of white socks and no tie, just in public Don't be fooled by his appearance: he always thinks he is as expressionless as a Buddha, and as scowling as a miser. Maybe I should add: "The old man added, "In the field of criminal investigation , he's an amazing talent."

To the astonishment of Sir Henry Merrillville's nephew, it was he who fit the description exactly: behind the large, untidy desk, a two-hundred-pound figure squeezed into the chair, panting, murmuring murmured.His huge bald head was reflected on the windows of the sloppy room, and he looked tall and quiet amidst the hustle and bustle of the Ministry of Defense. Sir Henry Merrillville's large, somewhat shabby room was the oldest part of the old dank "rabbit" that had once been part of Whitehall: it overlooked a corner of the bleak garden, and There is the Victoria Embankment and the Thames.The blue morning light of Christmas week, frosted like fog, now blurred the windows.James Bennett could see the reflection of a row of street lamps on the breakaway railing, could hear the rattling of the windows, the roar of the big bus, and the crackling of the flames in the white marble fireplace. .Apart from this flame, there was no other light source in the room.

H.M. sat bored, flicking his glasses down from his big nose, his eyes flickering.Over his head hung a chandelier with a huge Christmas bell hanging from it. "Aha! . . . " snarled Sir Henry Merrillville, and suddenly, looking suspiciously at him, "young man, I know you're looking at the bell. Don't think I'm all in the room, Hanging some useless stuff, but I'm a worthless guy--damn, that's what they say about me in the hell. Lollybo hung things." "Luolibo?..." "She's my secretary," growled Sir Henry Merrillville again, "a nice girl, but not at all kind to me. I always tell her not to disturb me, because I'm busy; and yet she Put me on someone's phone. I've been busy, bah! But she'll put a flower on my desk, too, and put a bell on the..."

"Well, sir," interrupted James Bennett at the right time, "if you don't like it, why don't you take it down?" Sir Henry Merivale lifted his heavy eyelids, and began to make a "hum-hum" noise like a pulley, with angry eyes.Then, he suddenly changed the subject. "As a nephew, you're a good talker," said he. "You're no different than anybody else. Let's see, you're Kitty's son, aren't you, the guy who married the Yankee..." Henry Merivale Sir spat. "Do you have a job to support your family? Yankees are good at exploiting labor."

"I have a job," James Bennett said, "but, I'm not sure what kind of job it is, I'm always going back and forth between countries, like my father's errands. reason." "What?" murmured Sir Henry Merrillville, casting his eyes upward. "Don't tell me, they've got you involved. It's bad, don't do it! . It will haunt you to death. The Ministry of the Interior is always inexplicably panicking, asking us to protect a warship that doesn't actually exist—I said boy, are you really involved?" James Bennett, drawing a cigar from a case on the table, said: "No, sir, though I wish it were so. What I do is to give interviews to famous people who visit my father's department. Make a cocktail, or help him carry a few old-fashioned news to some foreign ministries of small governments. You are probably more familiar with these clichés: 'The minister expressed his compliments and assured that the questions raised by your Excellency will Get a lot of attention.' ... That's it. It's just a strange fate that I'm in London this time."

He hesitated for a moment before speaking of the prepared topic. "It's because of His Highness Carneyfest, maybe you know him? The guy who controls multiple newspapers." Sir Henry Merrillville knew everybody.When walking through the crowd, his slovenly body can bump into people one by one, so even the noble ladies of the upper class have no patience to apologize to him. "Hey, Carneyfest?..." he opened his mouth and asked, as if the nostrils were irritated by the smoke of the cigar, "of course I know the guy who advocates the Anglo-American alliance. Damn the Japanese, blind their dogs eyes !...Well, man, he also talks in a prime minister's voice, and puts on an old man who runs the world, and likes to slap flattering words on every occasion that might make him appear. Hey, what a slut dog."

James Bennett was startled: "Come on, come on," interrupted H.M., "I have to say, it's news to me. I hope he's one of those guys, that's it." It would have been easier if he had come to America. You see, I think half of his coming to America was actually a political mission. 'A journey of goodwill', that's what he was aiming for. What is an Anglo-American alliance? Of course no one can make it What tricks, however, can make a good impression. They invited him to dinner." Bennett thought of Carneyfest, with his unforgettable soft voice and pale hair, and of him standing at a table Behind the rose, into the microphone, the scene of a flood of clichés, momentarily sullen, "his speech was sent over the radio, and everyone marveled at how wonderful brotherly love is. As part of my job as an errand runner, Just go to that party with him, and take him around New York, too. But seriously, you're describing him as a slutty dog..."

He paused, the unpleasant memory fragments made him doubtful.However, when he saw Sir Henry Merrillville staring at him curiously, he had to go on. "I admit that on those occasions, you will never know what to do, because you have to understand the needs of your master first. The unique foreigner said that he wanted to see American life." James Bennett sighed, Shaking his head slightly, he looked helpless, "Well, you arranged several cocktail parties, only to find out that he wanted to visit General Grant's tomb and the Statue of Liberty. Man can answer the questions he asks about America. That was true until Martha Tate came along..."

Sir Henry Merrillville took the cigar from his mouth.Although his face was still indifferent, his eyes were disturbing. "Hey, what's the deal with Martha Tate?" he asked. "No...it's nothing, sir." James Bennett avoided it casually. "You're trying to..." Sir Henry Merrillville pointed his cigar at him maliciously, "you're trying to interest me, that's all. There's something going on in your little head. I knew it, I I knew no one would come to visit me with nothing empty-handed, haha!..." All the images that had baffled Sir Henry Merrillville for the past two days flooded into his mind at once: flats lined up in a bleak park; parcels rolled up in brown wrapping paper; The flowery, speeding Martha Tate; and the red-haired man in the bar toilet who suddenly curled up and slid aside.Although the murder did not happen, he already had a premonition.He interrupted the thought uneasily.

"Not at all, sir, I'm just answering your question. Since Carneyfest's visit, my father has asked me to send a bunch of thank-you letters to your Home Office. That's the whole truth, nothing at all. .I want to go home early for Christmas." "Christmas?...Nonsense!..." Sir Henry Merivale roared, his back straight, glaring at Bennett, "Nephew, it's the rule to spend Christmas with us." "Actually, I have been invited to go to Surrey. I admit there are reasons for accepting the invitation." "Oh, huh? . . . " Sir Henry Merrillville observed him sourly. "Invited by a girl?" "No, it's curiosity—maybe, I don't know." He looked away again, "Indeed, something interesting is going to happen. Premeditated murder, a bunch of weirdos, including Carneyfest With Martha Tate. It's a friendly society, but abominably, I have some apprehensions, sir." "Wait a minute," Sir Henry Merrivell said to himself, raising his huge body from the chair, and turning on a gooseneck reading lamp with a voice mixed with panting and whining.A green light poured out, reflecting the messy official postage stamps, which were strewn with soot and crumpled by Sir Henry Merrillville's big feet. Over the white marble mantel, James Bennett saw a portrait of Faucher with a sly face.Sir Henry Merrillville drew a bottle, a straw, and two cups from a tall iron safe.No matter where he went, his clumsy steps always seemed to bump into something.Here and now, he is like a myopic orderly, stumbling between desks and safes.He knocked over a set of chess pieces that had apparently been set in some endgame, and a table of lead soldiers, which had been used to try some kind of military strategy.He picked up nothing, thinking of them as useless rubbish, the paraphernalia of his queer, innocent, dead brain. After carefully pouring the wine into the glass as if measuring, Sir Henry Merrillville honked solemnly like a wild goose, swallowed the wine in one gulp, and sat back in the chair as dull as a wooden sculpture. "Now," said Sir Henry Merrillville, folding his hands, "I'm going to hear your story. Mind you, I've got a job, and the fellows standing by the road over there..." He turned his head on one side. , apparently referring to another building called "Scotland Yard" not far down the jetty, "They haven't got the guy in Hampstead with the heliostat on the hill. Let them Do it yourself, don't worry about it. You're my nephew, and besides, you mentioned a woman I'm interested in. Don't you?" "Martha Tate?" "Martha Tate," said Sir Henry Merrillville with a wink of eroticism, "haha, sexy movie chick. I go to her movies a lot." A certain obscenity continued to spread on his face, "My wife doesn't like it. Why do skinny women always feel dissatisfied when you praise the public beauty?...I admit that she is plump and lovely, why not? I know some interesting things about her: I knew his father, an old general, very well. Before the war, he had a hunting lodge near where I lived. She was in a film about Lusazze Porgy Ya's movie, that movie was in Leicester Square for months and I just went to see it a few weeks ago. The only time I saw the movie was old Sandiv and his wife, the woman was still wearing a mink coat Sniffing. She had a hard time with the Tate family. I wanted to take their ride and remind them that Mrs. Sandyford had better not be in public, and go with old Tate's daughter. According to the schedule, old Tate Tate's daughter is going to a dinner party, and Mrs. Sandivau has to attend, and she's disgusted by it..." Sir Henry Merivale again became stern and silent, and moved his hand to the whiskey bottle. "Listen, boy," he said, looking sharply across the table, "you're not hanging on Martha Tate, are you?" "I see what you mean. No," said James Bennett. "I know her. She's in London." "What a blessing!..." Sir Henry Merrillville snarled and moved his hand away, hissing hissing sound from the soda straw, "learn, young people these days have no vitality. Bah !... Well, go on, what is she doing there?" As he spoke, a trace of panic suddenly flashed across his indifferent eyes. "If you know Martha Tate's background," James Bennett said, "she's in London, and it's her first time on stage." "What a coincidence! . . . " said Sir Henry Merrival flatly, his eyelids shrinking. "Yeah, the criticism of Martha Tate here is quite rude, directly accusing her of not being able to act, she had to go to Hollywood. A miracle happened, a director named Carl Wraig caught her and asked her to accept Train her, dress her up, let her hide her strength and bide her time." James Bennett danced and said, "After six months, Martha Tate has become what she is now. This is all due to Reg, or According to the press: a guy named Emery brought her back to life. But, as far as I can tell, she had only one idea: to get the critics in London to take back those criticisms. That's why she's back here, starring in a New film." "Go on," said Sir Henry Merrillville, laughing. "Another queen, huh? . . . She's only going to be a queen. Revenge, eh, who concocted the play?" "That's the whole story, she directs and plays it all by herself. She laughs at the clichéd producers and she laughs at them. She doesn't have direct access to them because she's failed before. So they don't want to praise her anymore. There are a lot of rumors about her, which is not good for her, Emery told me so. Plus, she actually left the studio during the signing, Emery and Ray Ge Qi's roar was useless, but they followed suit..." James Bennett gazed at the lights on the table and recalled another singular lamp.It was his last night in New York, and he was dancing with Louise Carraway at the Kavala Club.He looked over her shoulder, through the foggy gloom, and followed a faint light from the grotesque figures of the other dancers to the seat where Martha Tate sat.Behind her is a crimson pendant, held together with a gilt ribbon.She was dressed in white, leaning on a pillar with one shoulder bluffing.She was drunk, but remained silent.He saw her grinning, her teeth shining against her dark skin.Emory sat next to her, dancing drunkenly, and on her other side was Reg as fat as a barrel and as scruffy as if he needed to shave all the time—he was drinking nothing but examining a cigar. At that time, he raised his shoulders slightly.The smoky room was steaming, and the drummer slowly beat out the deafening drum sound to the tune of the band.He could hear the wild yelling of the fans.In the bulging shadows of the dancers, he saw: Miss Martha Tate picked up a shot glass, only to be knocked over by Emery, the liquid in it splashing across her chest, and she just smiled .John Bohun leaned quickly out of the gloom and offered a handkerchief... "Finally," Bennett continued, his eyes as if hypnotized, "Sinhaz's people said that they would give her a month to avenge her fate, and this is her answer." James Bennett said, picked up the cigar, and traced the words as if writing a poster. The Secret Life of Sir Henry Merrillville frowned, repeatedly pushing his spectacles up and down his great nose. "Excellent! . . . " he said absent-mindedly, "excellent! . . . That character expresses her beauty. Look, boy, with big eyes, dark skin, thin neck, and thick lips, just like Reese in the National Portrait Gallery. The statue of whores during the restoration of the Tuart dynasty. Haha, I don't think anyone has thought of it before. Boy, I suggest you go and browse there, you will get a lot of surprises. The woman called Bloody Mary is a baby-faced Blonde. However, Mary Queen of Scots is almost the ugliest adulterer in the museum, eh!..." He moved his glasses again, "but Martha Tate is very interesting, she has courage, not only Not just against people, but challenges and competitions. Do you know who Jarvis Willa is? . . . Greatest actor in Britain. An independent producer, and Willa has to believe She has the ability to..." "She has, sir," said James Bennett with certainty. "Well, what about the Bohun Alliance, the alliance within the family? Besides, what does this have to do with Carney Fest?" James Bennett replied: "That's how the whole story started. The Bohuns were two brothers who seemed like opposites. I never met Maurice - he was the big brother - of course it was Gossip. Everyone who knew him, except John, was amazed at the fact that he was the author of the play. Martha said: "It's very strange that he should write a play, unless it is a five-act hero." blank verse, but like a light-hearted, slightly erotic, well-answered burlesque in a smart school..." "Dr. Dust," said Sir Henry Merivale suddenly, looking up a little, "John Bohun! Remember! . . . It can't be the same man, boy. The Bohun I'm thinking of is— —No, he's a senior attorney who has given lectures on the political and economic history of the seventeenth century. Are you trying to tell me...?" James Bennett nodded: "Yes, it's the same person. I told you that during the holidays, I was invited to a certain place in Surrey, which was the residence of the Bohun Brothers, known as the White Abbey, near the town of Racehorse ...and then, for some historical reason that I'll explain in a minute, everyone went over there to find some kind of atmosphere. The shambling old pedants even went off to learn paper cutting. On the other hand, John Ash Leigh Bohun has always regarded his theater career as a game, and I don't do much, and he doesn't take much interest in other things. I understand this very well. In fact, John Bohun made an appearance in the United States under the identity of Canifes A close friend and affordable travel companion of His Royal Highness. "He was a man of few words, as he always was. Taciturn, with an umbrella instead of a staff, he was just like an English gentleman. He walked about, looked up at the building, and expressed his interest in it politely. Until now, Ma When Sha Tate arrived in New York from Hollywood, I realized that everything was planned." "So what?" asked Sir Henry Merrillville curiously. "Is there an affair between the two of them?" Of all the commotion, this was the only one that deeply puzzled James Bennett.He thought of the spotlights scattered everywhere in the luxurious center dance hall, which were both dim and disturbing the light pattern.At that time, Martha Tate was standing on the steps of the train station and posing.Someone pulled her dog, autograph books flew all over the sky, and crowds surrounded her; not far away, John Bohun cursed: He can't understand the American masses.Bennett remembers him jumping up from time to time to look over the short man's head;His face was hidden in shadow, darker than Martha Tate's complexion.In the process of killing a bloody path and rushing to her side, he kept staring with a pair of angry eyes. "If it's a lover's tryst," James Bennett said slowly, "that's not the case. The atmosphere is indescribable, just like the sultry weather, it's hard to come up with suitable words to explain it specifically. This This atmosphere surrounds Martha Tate, and in public she appears—how should I say—excited, but isn't. It's most accurate to say that she resembles a canvas, painted those Restoration portraits of hers: quiet, contemplative, traditional...if you know what I mean; she looks fragile up close, but shocking from afar. You can feel it in the air, like a sweltering weather belt. The feelings that come from it. Maybe these words generally refer to sexual aspects, but I have other connotations—some connotations.” Bennett said with extraordinary enthusiasm, “It made her in the past era, I can become the mistress of high-ranking officials, but I can't tell what it is..." "Really?..." Sir Henry Merivale blinked and said with a smile, "Oh, I don't know either. You are doing a good job, it seems that even you are immersed in the information you have collected .” James Bennett admitted honestly: "God knows, I really—wait a minute, everyone has a fixed number of red blood cells," he hesitated. I can no longer be emotionally exhausted and embarrassed by that woman. Do you understand, Mr. H.M.?" "Aha," said Sir Henry Merrillville, with a sneer, "competition keeps alive." "Forget it!... This kind of thing is endless, I bet even Carney Fest has the same look in his eyes. Think about what you just said..." "So, she met Carney Fest?" "She seems to have known Carneyfest when she was in England, and he was a friend of her father. Carneyfest was with his daughter—Louis Carraway, disguised as his secretary— — plus John Bohen, they all stayed in Beaut, a quiet and stylish place. Then, to everyone's surprise, the charming Martha Tate also came to the same place From there, we drove directly to the luxurious center ballroom. People took a lot of photos, including Carney Fest shaking hands with the famous British entertainer Tate, congratulating her for finally letting her name appear on the screen Something like that. He looked paternal, or indifferent, as if it was Santa Claus who shook her hand. And the next day, when her director, Carl Wraig, arrived, the scene was as Victory Yesterday, the news media followed closely, and I began to be surprised—of course it has nothing to do with me, I am just a guard of Carneyfest, but Tate made no secret that John Bohun brought his brother The thing about the written script. It’s like they signed a truce agreement. On the surface, they are quiet, but secretly they are waiting for the battle. The two warring parties are the Tate-Bohun combination and the Regg-Emery combination. Whether we want it or not, we are all messed up by them It's an explosive piece of news, and at the center of it is the always deadpan Martha Tate." Staring fixedly at the lamp on Sir Henry Merrillville's desk, James Bennett tried to remember: when did he first realize this ominous omen—in that completely incongruous combination, Stimulate the discomfort of their nerves.It was sultry again, like the drumbeat of the Kavala club, which seemed depressing in the music. He suddenly remembered: This feeling of unease began to arise from the night when director Carl Wraig arrived. The place was Martha Tate's suite, an old hotel, an old-fashioned suite, as heavy as guilt .The suite was luxurious, with glass prisms reflecting kerosene lights and mixing with the pale light of Fifth Avenue outside the window.Tate's beauty matches the whole room very well.She was dressed in yellow and sat on a gorgeous chair under the lamp.Bohun, a thin, tall-shouldered man in a black-and-white striped shirt, is fiddling with a cocktail mixer.Carneyfest had a kind face, still chattering hypocritically.His daughter sat nearby, smaller than the others; she was silent, intelligent, freckled, an ordinary girl, and her father wanted her to look even more ordinary; Have a cocktail. "Our Spartan English mother," His Royal Highness Carneyfest clearly smelled some morality, was only heard to declare, "knows nothing about it, knows nothing about it!" Not long after, the phone in the house rang suddenly. John Bohun - James Bennett tried to explain to Sir Henry Merrillville - stood up straight, looking sharply at the telephone. James Bennett hurried over to answer, but Martha Tate stepped forward and picked up the microphone.She had a nonchalant smile on her face, and the light had turned her hair brown.She just said "very good" and hung up the phone with the same smile on her face. John Bohun indifferently asked the identity of the caller, and he quickly got the answer. Someone was outside the suite, knocked briefly on the door, and pushed the door open before hearing "Come in".The person who came was short and fat. He probably hadn't shaved for two days. His face was full of anger and he didn't look cute at all.The fat man ignored the rest of the people and asked directly, "What do you mean by going out with us?" Martha Tate introduces: This is Carl Wraig. "That happened almost three weeks ago," said James Bennett. "In a way, that's where it all started. But that's where the problem lies." Leaning forward, he pointed his finger at the Sir Henry Merrillville's table. "Who in the circle would give Martha Tate a box of poisoned chocolates?"

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