Chapter III.VII

Waking up the next day, Galbraith noted with great displeasure that while he was sleeping, bedbugs again covered him from head to toe. There is nothing to do, he thought, and ran to the bathroom. Not so much for the sake of washing, but for the sake of getting rid of parasites under running water. After rinsing off, the inspector did not brush his teeth; he even forgot to dry himself with a towel. Approaching the window, he looked at the road and froze, but this time not because he was fascinated by the sight of the cars - the fact was that right under his window sill on the sidewalk below stood a certain young guy in a red shirt. Galbraith immediately suspected something was wrong - it seemed to him that this person had been standing there for some time, and clearly in such a convenient place to monitor the room where the inspector himself was now staying.

Standing by the window, Galbraith looked down at the young guy. He could not see his face, which was hidden behind the wide-open newspaper. Yeah, the inspector thought, the guy is pretending that he just stopped to read an interesting note, the most commonplace spy trick. Suddenly, as he was thinking about this, the mysterious stranger lowered the newspaper, and Galbraith was able to examine he a little more carefully. The scout - Galbraith had no doubt that this was not a random passer-by - had long black hair that curled slightly into curls at the ends. This guy's nose was slightly turned up, and his facial features gave him a vague resemblance to the pretty face of young Japanese popstars. After analyzing all this, the inspector remembered that he had seen exactly the same face on the plane when he was flying to London. It seems that it was exactly the same frail guy with whom he was sitting then with the old man... Galbraith unfortunately forgot what that fellow traveller was wearing, but it didn’t matter - after all, is not the clothes that makes the man, and the man's clothes - who, if not the policeman, should know this!

Having made sure that this guy had not noticed him from the street, Galbraith walked away from the window and headed back to the bathroom. Now he washed himself properly, not forgetting to brush his teeth. Then he picked up a razor - he wanted to shave. Alas, the inspector abandoned this case for the umpteenth time because, without calculating the effort, he rubbed too hard on the cheek and ended up cutting the skin. The blood flowed in a thin and seemingly endless red stream... "Yes, apparently it’s not my destiny to shave", thought Galbraith, leaving the bathroom - he needed to find cotton wool and alcohol to stop the bleeding. He found neither one nor the other in the suitcase. And he even remembered why - when he was packing for the trip, he was told that he should never take alcohol with him, otherwise he might be stopped at customs.

Galbraith called the concierge to the room and, while he was waiting for him to arrive, went to the bathroom again and put his cheek under the stream of water. He knew it wouldn't do much good, but at least the cold water dulled the pain somewhat. Soon there was a knock on the door and the inspector went to open it. However, instead of the concierge - an old man in a blue tailcoat - a young parlourmaid answered his call.

- I'm sorry, mister Galbraith, - she began hastily right from the doorway. - But mister Tibor won't be able to come today.

Having quickly uttered these words, she immediately fell silent, and at the same time shuddered, as if someone had pulled her from behind. The inspector tried not to pay too much attention to it.

- Why? - Galbraith asked out of politeness.

- He was taken to the hospital last night, - said the woman and shuddered all over again.

- Are you will continue to say with one word at a time? - the inspector said somewhat dissatisfied.

This twitch of the interlocutress was already starting to get on Galbraith’s nerves. What was the reason for the parlourmaid’s state of mind was unclear to him, but the fact remained that she behaved somehow strangely, which is why he himself had a not very pleasant feeling at that moment.

- Mister Tibor was diagnosed with cancer symptoms... I do not want to elaborate on this, - the parlourmaid said this in a tone that looked like she was about to cry.

- Okay, let's not talk about it, - the inspector reassured her.

The woman continued to stand on the threshold, and Galbraith noticed that at the moments when she spoke, her neck visibly inflated, like a bellows. There must be something wrong with her lungs, he thought to himself.

- Could you bring some cotton wool to my room? - he turned to her after five seconds of silence.

- Sorry, please speak clearly, - the woman batted her eyelashes.

- I called a man here to bring me cotton wool. I cut myself, - Galbraith said it loud and clear.

The parlourmaid listened to him, continuing to bat her eyelashes like a noctambulant. With every second her neck inflated more and more, as if it were a balloon that was about to burst. Galbraith wondered why she had such strange behavior...

- Cut yourself further! - the woman suddenly shouted rudely.

- Excuse me, do you mind? - Galbraith, surprised by her sudden outburst of aggression, tried to control himself.

- This is not a pharmacy to be dragged all sorts of medicinal muck for you! - the parlourmaid shouted with hatred and left his room.

- Wait, where are you going?? - the inspector called after her.

- Do not address me for such things! - came her scream from the corridor.

Closing the door behind her, Galbraith thought that apparently this parlourmaid was either a child or concubine of the concierge - the inspector couldn’t find another reason for her aggression, and he didn’t really want to - he had long ago realized that guests are not welcome in "Stait of Snow Lake" hotel. He had to take a handkerchief from his suitcase instead of cotton wool - not the cleanest, but at least something - and with its help try to do something about the cut. Having stopped the bleeding in half with grief, Galbraith decided that he had enough of sitting in this room, in which the bed was a complete anthill, the staff was inadequate, and the interior is far from luxury class. The inspector began to pack his things, but when he began to look for where he had put his spare shirt, there was another knock on the door, and he again had to go open it.