Chapter III.XI

Galbraith noted that there was not a single mark or even a stamp on the thick white paper that made up the envelope - it seemed as if the postmaster had handed the inspector not a real letter, but an element of theatrical props. The only thing that cast doubt on this was that the contents inside could be felt through the envelope.

- Hey, good sir! - a hoarse shout was heard.

Galbraith, who was about to open the parcel, involuntarily shuddered. It turns out that it was a taxi driver who was standing next to his car and, leaning on the door, holding a smoking cigarette in his hand. The inspector was able to get a good look at his face - the man had a short-cropped head, sharp cheekbones and a straight nose stood out clearly on his tanned face. His brown eyes looked at the policeman almost with a fatherly reproach. Galbraith did not perfectly remember the exact features of the mysterious "H. Berneasy", but taking the opportunity to take a good look at the taxi driver standing in front of him, he noticed that he was still completely different from the bald and old man who took him to the vanitas-restaurant.

- What's the matter? - Galbraith asked calmly.

The taxi driver blew a smoke ring from his mouth and flicked the ash off his cigarette.

- Mister foreigner wants to go to the airport or depot now? - the man turned to him slyly.

- Huh, where is this coming from? - the inspector was somewhat outraged that some taxi driver should know better what he needed to do.

- What else can you do if your hotel burns down? Unless you go to another... - the taxi driver began to explain.

- Wait, let me to get my thoughts together, - Galbraith interrupted him and turned away.

For some reason, the inspector was unpleasant in this man’s gaze, but he could not help but notice that there was common sense in his words. With his arms crossed over his chest, Galbraith was lost in thought. This completely random London taxi driver, without knowing it, presented him with a difficult dilemma. Its essence was that the inspector had to decide whether he would capitulate in his mission to capture doctor Baselard, or whether he would continue it to the bitter end. The second option was definitely more difficult, since Galbraith had little chance of finding one unnoticed person hidden in the wilds of the megalopolis. While the inspector was deciding what to do, the taxi driver had already thrown the cigarette on the ground and was getting into the car.

- Well, good sir, think faster, otherwise I’ll leave and you’ll have to get where you need to go yourself, - sitting behind the wheel, the taxi driver shouted from the window.

Galbraith turned around and walked towards the car - he didn't want to let go of this car. Not even because it was so difficult for him to catch another taxi, no - he just subconsciously wanted to lean on someone he knew for at least a little more than a couple of seconds. The inspector felt the situation getting increasingly out of control. When he reached the car, he opened the door and climbed into the back seat.

- You don't know where "Makoto Computerization Institute" is located? - he asked the driver.

He did not remember the address indicated on the business card - only this unusual name left a mark on Galbraith's memory. The taxi driver, hearing the passenger's words, wiped the sweat from his forehead and sighed. Apparently he was trying to understand what the inspector was talking about.

- Good sir apparently means "Mon-Tec"? - after a minute of silence the man asked.

- What kind of place it is? - Galbraith heard this word for the first time.

- There was such an electrical engineering plant, then its owner changed and it was converted into a research institute of electronic technologies, - explained the taxi driver.

- Well, I think I should go there, - the inspector said with some uncertainty.

He remembered that the mysterious morning visitor introduced himself to him as a computer technology specialist, so, putting two and two together, it turned out that the taxi driver indicated the right place, but under the wrong name.

- I didn't even know it was renamed, - the taxi driver said meanwhile, turning on the ignition. - I believed that they left a trademark familiar to people.

When the car finally started moving, Galbraith leaned back in his seat. He made the decision to go to this institute in the heat of the moment - this same taxi driver simply did not give him enough time to think. But the inspector noticed to himself that this action made sense - because if that specialist was actually affiliated with doctor Baselard, then Galbraith had a fairly good reason to visit this mysterious place. "Who knows", he thought, "Maybe that’s there I can complete my mission". Be that as it may, he did not have a plan for further action - he did not know what exactly he would do upon arrival at this institute.

Events developed so quickly that the only thing he could count on was luck. If only because it is not a fact that if he arrives there, he will be able to find doctor Baselard there. But what if luck smiles on him and the person he is looking for is actually located there? The inspector imagined how, seeing the doctor in the corridor, he approached him and declared in an authoritative voice "In the name of the law, you're under arrest". And Baselard, looking at him with a gentle reproach from his small senile eyes, scratched his gray hair and answered him "Policeman of America has no power here in England, so you have no right to imprison me". And, grinning, he will go about his business in some office, leaving Galbraith standing in place with a stupid look...

Suddenly Galbraith remembered that he was still holding the envelope in his hands, which he had never bothered to open since receiving it. The inspector, who did not have scissors at hand, tore the bottom corner and tore the envelope in half. A folded sheet of paper and a small A7 sheet of cardboard fell into his lap.First, the policeman examined the cardboard - on its glossy aquamarine-coloured surface there were red letters of the English alphabet in two rows, each letter was respectively accompanied by a phonetic script and a index number. Galbraith was quite surprised that an unknown person sent him an item of educational equipment for a preschooler. He turned the card over, hoping that there might be something handwritten on the back, but alas, there was nothing more than a tiny inscription "(c) York Medieval Press, 1991" in the lower right corner.