first of these notes is a simple transcription of poetry from The Merchant of Venice . In the empty space at the end of chapter three he has pencilled the famous passage beginning âThe quality of mercy is not strainâd,/ It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven/Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessâd:â and so on. Anyone can memorize poetry, but this man goes on quoting for nineteen lines. Indeed, I am almost inclined to think he has played a part in that play. To quote at such length suggests a man in love with the language of the theatre, and unable to stop before he has finished the cadence.
âThe second marginal note is truly in a margin, next to a paragraph discussing the role of George W. Bush in beginning a war which has resulted in the death of as many as six hundred thousand Iraqis. The note reads thus: He might play Macbeth if he could but speak the lines without stumbling. Death colours all his acts, and his only defence is ignorance .
âThat the murderer is a male is suggested by the handwriting, which is elegant but assertive. The style, on the whole, is an American style of handwriting, yet the spelling is British. The word colour , for instance, is not spelled with a u in America, and defence with a c is British usage. This suggests that he first learnt cursive handwriting as a child while living in North America, and that he spent his later years in Britain, or at least somewhere in the British Empire. That he also was educated in Afghanistan is suggested by the impress of four words on the back of the dust jacket, as if he had used the book for a support as he wrote something on another sheet of paper. Those words are in Pashto, the primary language of Afghanistan. It is true that Pashto is also spoken in some other countries, but to a much lesser extent. More might be learnt by translating the words, which I cannot do.
âThat the book was purchased at Hatchards in Piccadilly is indicated by the booksellerâs cash receipt that I found tucked between two pages in the middle of the book. The receipt indicates the book was bought last Saturday. That it was bought no earlier than last Saturday I also know because I telephoned the store and learnt that that is the first date they sold it. I was aware it was only recently published because I have been looking forward to its appearance in the bookstores myself.
âThat he rode the train from London is suggested by the long handwritten passage from Shakespeare. It begins fluently written but ends in a jiggle of letters. Evidently he began writing at a station stop but before he could complete the passage the train resumed its journey, and consequently the letters of the last half of the passage are spidery and hard to read. Towards the end of the book I found a small strip of paper used as a bookmark, obviously torn out of some publication. In fact, it was torn from the Hereford-London train schedule. I have a copy of that schedule here in my pocket, in anticipation of my journey to London next week to see my doctor. The several lines of print visible on the bookmark scrap exactly match those on the last page of my schedule.
âThe bus ride is only an educated guess. The bus is the usual mode of public transport for most who travel by train to Hereford and must journey on to Hay. He might have hired a taxi, but I think that unlikely. He has gone to great lengths to remain anonymous and unremarked, and would not wish a taxi driver to remember him. He might even have ridden a bicycle from Hereford. I have wondered why he did not drive to Wales. It occurred to me that either he had no car, or had a car that was too easily remembered. He wouldnât wish to rent a car, for that would be a matter of record. By contrast, a train journey is an anonymous journey.â
Sergeant Bundle looked both stunned and pleased. He was shaking his head, almost in amusement.
I felt stunned and not pleased. A terrible sense of
âThe second marginal note is truly in a margin, next to a paragraph discussing the role of George W. Bush in beginning a war which has resulted in the death of as many as six hundred thousand Iraqis. The note reads thus: He might play Macbeth if he could but speak the lines without stumbling. Death colours all his acts, and his only defence is ignorance .
âThat the murderer is a male is suggested by the handwriting, which is elegant but assertive. The style, on the whole, is an American style of handwriting, yet the spelling is British. The word colour , for instance, is not spelled with a u in America, and defence with a c is British usage. This suggests that he first learnt cursive handwriting as a child while living in North America, and that he spent his later years in Britain, or at least somewhere in the British Empire. That he also was educated in Afghanistan is suggested by the impress of four words on the back of the dust jacket, as if he had used the book for a support as he wrote something on another sheet of paper. Those words are in Pashto, the primary language of Afghanistan. It is true that Pashto is also spoken in some other countries, but to a much lesser extent. More might be learnt by translating the words, which I cannot do.
âThat the book was purchased at Hatchards in Piccadilly is indicated by the booksellerâs cash receipt that I found tucked between two pages in the middle of the book. The receipt indicates the book was bought last Saturday. That it was bought no earlier than last Saturday I also know because I telephoned the store and learnt that that is the first date they sold it. I was aware it was only recently published because I have been looking forward to its appearance in the bookstores myself.
âThat he rode the train from London is suggested by the long handwritten passage from Shakespeare. It begins fluently written but ends in a jiggle of letters. Evidently he began writing at a station stop but before he could complete the passage the train resumed its journey, and consequently the letters of the last half of the passage are spidery and hard to read. Towards the end of the book I found a small strip of paper used as a bookmark, obviously torn out of some publication. In fact, it was torn from the Hereford-London train schedule. I have a copy of that schedule here in my pocket, in anticipation of my journey to London next week to see my doctor. The several lines of print visible on the bookmark scrap exactly match those on the last page of my schedule.
âThe bus ride is only an educated guess. The bus is the usual mode of public transport for most who travel by train to Hereford and must journey on to Hay. He might have hired a taxi, but I think that unlikely. He has gone to great lengths to remain anonymous and unremarked, and would not wish a taxi driver to remember him. He might even have ridden a bicycle from Hereford. I have wondered why he did not drive to Wales. It occurred to me that either he had no car, or had a car that was too easily remembered. He wouldnât wish to rent a car, for that would be a matter of record. By contrast, a train journey is an anonymous journey.â
Sergeant Bundle looked both stunned and pleased. He was shaking his head, almost in amusement.
I felt stunned and not pleased. A terrible sense of
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