Chapter III.III

When the jammed latch finally deigned to make concessions to the human and released the inspector to freedom, Galbraith was already so tired that he did not unpack his things, but immediately went to the bed. Having undressed, he reached under the blanket and noticed with irritation that the sheet was burned by a cigarette, and the duvet cover had a hole. Pulling the blanket over himself, he thought about asking tomorrow for his bed linen to be changed. Be that as it may, the inspector was so tired after the flight that as soon as he closed his eyes, he immediately fell asleep.

In his dream, Galbraith found himself in a room somewhat similar to a hotel in a country cottage - a well-furnished room with many pieces of furniture, of which the carpets on the walls immediately caught his eye, a shelf with antique sabers, a huge wardrobe with books, decorated with stucco a fireplace (in which for some reason there was a crumpled sheet of paper lying around) and one window, curtained so thickly that the only source of light in the room was a small stearine candle standing on the lacquered top of the table, at which Galbraith himself sat on a simple wooden chair. Opposite him he saw mister chief inspector Schaeymoure - who was dressed in a cream-coloured sweater, under which one could see the collar of a white shirt, decorated with a silk tie. He kept his hands under the table, making his whole figure seem stooped, although Schaeymoure was far from a frail man, which slightly confused Galbraith, who looked straight into the interlocutor’s face, but the weak candlelight did not make it possible to properly examine the features of his face.

For some time the two of them sat motionless opposite each other, intently peering into each other's eyes. In the silence that stood in this place, some vague tension was felt, as if each of the interlocutors was about to attack the other, but could not decide. When the quiet became completely unbearable, Galbraith turned his gaze to the wall where hung the antique sabers and daggers - not because he was going to take possession of the weapon, but because he wanted to break this onerous eye contact for a minute. But suddenly, as if noticing this movement of his eyeballs, mister chief inspector gaved his voice, and Galbraith had to look up at his interlocutor again.

- From the height of my life experience, - Schaeymoure began in his usual impartial tone - I see how far you are from the true state of affairs. If you don't mind, I'll share with you some of my thoughts regarding your challenge.

The soft, senile voice of mister chief inspector had a calming effect on Galbraith. For a while, he began to trust him, completely forgetting how suspicious the place where the two of them were at the moment was. The inspector did not object to Schaeymoure's words and, without further questions, accepted his proposal with silent submission.

- The case you are currently investigating, - the interlocutor continued. - Has an unusual purview. The question it poses goes far beyond methodological and legal problems. I believe that the issues involved in this case are in an area that the police most often do not think about, - at these words he paused.

Galbraith, listening to Schaeymoure, only now noticed that the facial muscles of his interlocutor never contracted, despite the stream of words spewed from his lips. Cheeks, cheekbones and lips of mister chief inspector were completely motionless, as if he had not spoken at all. Galbraith tried to look at his eyes in order to understand something, but the darkness in the room hid everything except the trembling pale light of a candle, the light of which allowed him to see only the surface of the table and the jaws of the sitting on the other side man. 

- It's about faith, - continued mister chief inspector. - But not the Lord God, as you might think, and a delinquent.

This estimation of Schaeymoure was so inconsistent with the usual worldview of his interlocutor that Galbraith immediately wanted to ask the question that had been on his tongue from the very beginning of their conversation, but as soon as he tried to open his mouth, he suddenly noticed with horror that his tongue seemed to stuck to the sky and he cannot make a sound. Galbraith immediately fell into a panic, not understanding what was happening. And the senile voice continued to be heard from behind the tightly closed lips of mister chief inspector, which gave the impression that it was not a live voice, but a recording on a magnetic tape, played by a invisible in the darkness cassette recorder.

- Doctor Baselard committed a crime, - Schaeymoure continued. - I admit that this is an irrefutable fact. But has the thought ever occurred to you, that he did his deed for your own sake? Just like a whale cannot live in the ocean without plankters, so a policeman cannot exist in a society without a perpetrator.

Galbraith felt uneasy from these words. To the panic that gripped him was added an irrational feeling of shame, as if he was uncomfortable with the fact that, as it turned out, the whole world revolved around his modest person, even if it was a world of cruds and criminals. Looking away from his interlocutor, he suddenly noticed that the curtain hanging in front of the window was sticking out a little forward, as if it was pulled over a large object, the size of a man. With his eyes bulging, Galbraith peered into the curtain for several seconds, and although he was unable to see the exact outlines in the darkness, the thought immediately arose in his head that, in addition to him and mister chief inspector, there was another person in the room, who for the time being did not decide to show himself on the eyes.

- There must exist in the world constabulary and coffins, before whom they are obliged to perform their service, - Schaeymoure's even voice came. - In the crime of doctor Baselard lies your serenity, and in his person - salvation.