The greenest city in the United States has already woken up from its slumber. From early morning on the streets of glorious Portland, were already coming into their own the automobiles - unofficial, but recognized by all citizens kings of the streets. In addition to motorists, shopkeepers also did not luxuriate in their beds for long and were already going to work.

Galbraith stood near the grocery store window and, out of boredom, stared at the sign, on which the hand of an unknown artist was somewhat garish, but quite plausible depicted sausages and cheeses, next to which lay a single tomato and a head of cabbage. Combining products like this served two purposes - notified the potential buyer about what he could buy in this place, and also (which was essentially the essence of all advertising art) made him feel hungry and want to buy it as soon as possible.

In the end, Galbraith still could not resist the charm of advertising and entered the large glass doors. Taking a basket from a stack located right at the entrance, he headed deeper into the store - where the merchandiser, invisible to customers, ordered to be laid out all sorts of meat delicacies. Wandering between the shelves, Galbraith shrank a little from the chill in the room - air conditioners were running at full capacity. He wasn't particularly afraid of catching a common cold, but still, with his neck wet from sweat, he couldn't say it was very pleasant to experience such a temperature difference.

Despite the rich assortment presented in this grocery store, Galbraith could not find what he was looking for. He just needed a quick snack on the go with some tasty sandwich, but this shop, unfortunately, only offered food for eating at the home table with the family. Therefore, Galbraith, regretting that he had wasted his time visiting this place, put the basket near cash register and was preparing to leave, when suddenly his attention was attracted by a obese person standing near the department where nuts were piled high in plastic crates. This man, dressed in a gray demi-season raincoat that went down to his knees, looked around furtively and, scooping up a handful of peanuts with his palm, stuck his hand into his bottomless pockets.

Galbraith, being a police inspector, could not help but ignore such a fact of violation of the law. He exchanged glances with the salesman, a young guy who stood behind the counter with a bored look. After that, he quickly approached the lawbreaker and, trying to give his voice as steely an expression as possible, said:

- Come on, young man, show me what's in your pockets!

"Young man"  looked about ten years older than Galbraith himself, but the essence of this appeal was to catch the criminal by surprise, that the inspector was completely successful. Fatso in raincoat turned around in shock and stared at Galbraith with his tiny eyes, which seemed to be trying to hide among the folds of fat on his wide face.

- Who are you to say that? - a man caught at the scene of a crime tried to hide his fear under the guise of rudeness.

- It doesn't matter, - Galbraith answered calmly. - Please put the nuts back.

- What nuts? What are you talking about? - fatso took a step back, still holding his hand in his coat pocket, 

- I don't want to use force, so I look forward to your conscientiousness, - inspector said without raising his voice.

Corpulent and clumsy man cowardly leaned his back against the rack of canned goods standing behind him. Tin cans crashed onto the concrete floor of the store, and the pickpeanut almost slipped on a can of canned pineapple.

- What do you need from me? - losing his composure, exclaimed the man in the raincoat, balancing on one leg.

Instead of answering, Galbraith pulled out his police identifier from his bosom and involuntarily smiled when he saw how the face of the fatso, who was able to maintain his balance in the midst of scattered canned food, stretched out. Realizing who he had to deal with, he put out this unfortunate handful of roasted peanuts from his pocket and was about to leave, but inspector's imperious cry "Stop!" made him freeze in place.

- Your name? Address? Place of work? - on automatic Galbraith uttered the usual patter for such cases.

- Irles... My name is Irles Nacht, - like a guilty schoolboy, this pathetic man began to report.

- In the garden elder, and in Vancouver earl, - inspector sarcastically quoted a some proverb.

It was difficult for Galbraith not to contain his burst of mirth - It was impossible to look at this shoplifter without laughing. When Irles already announced his place of work, Galbraith suddenly heard his name and turned around - in the doorway of the store stood a man who looked to be about five years younger than the inspector himself.

- What, Galbraith, picked up the pickpocket? - cheerfully said that guy as he approached the two.

- As you can see, buddy, - Galbraith answered, trying not to relax in front of the Irles's eyes.

- Hey you, dodderer! - the younger man turned to the thief. - Is it so difficult for you to legally acquire these tiny nuts?

Galbraith tried to hold back his expressive friend, but he had already come close to the fatso shaking with fear and grabbed him by the collar.

- Listen to me, you learner, - he hissed angrily right in the shoplifter's face. - Thou shalt not steal! Weren't you taught this as a kid?

In response, Irles let out a barely audible wheeze, and the younger man squeezed his neck even harder.

- You are a bad geezer! - he continued. - If you don't learn my lesson, I'll gouge your piglet blinkers out!

Having said this, Galbraith's friend put forward the little finger and index finger of his right hand. At the sight of this gesture, fatso's eyes pop out.

- Get over it, you're a policeman! - shouted Galbraith, seriously frightened for the fate of the pickpeanut.

- Do as you wish, - with obvious annoyance said the younger man.

He let Irles Nacht go, who did not fail to take the opportunity to leave the store out of harm's way. Looking after the retreating man in raincoat, Galbraith put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

- God is with him, Pharqraut. Of course, I didn't let him commit the theft, but I didn't intend to put him in prison either.

- How I would like to give him a good-bye kick, so that he learns, lardhead, that stealing is not good...

There was an inner strength in the calm voice of this man. "Like the tiger, lord of the jungle", inspector thought involuntarily.

- You really mean that? - Galbraith pretended to take these words at face value.

- I was joking, - Pharqraut immediately relaxed.

Leaving the chilly room of the grocery store, Galbraith could not help but glance at the salesman. The guy behind the cash register had an expression on his face that was somewhat similar to the one viewer have in a cinema when something action-packed happens on the screen. Apparently, he had never witnessed the spectacle of a shoplifter getting what he deserved before...

- Take a look at this! - suddenly he heard his friend's voice

Pharqraut pulled a newspaper from his pocket and handed it to Galbraith, who immediately took it in his hands.

- Why are you showing me... - inspector looked at him questioningly.

- ...most recent news! - Pharqraut interrupted him. - Don't blink your eyes, do read what and all will be clear.

Galbraith skimmed the text. The story about the accident, presented with characteristic journalistic pathos, after which a seriously injured accident victim was taken to the hospital, did not make any impression on the man.

- Somebody crashed his car, what is so important? - inspector asked, raising his slightly disappointed eyes to his friend.

- And you're just look at his surname, - Pharqraut pointed his finger at the newspaper

Galbraith read it a little more carefully. The victim was a druggist, whose last name is only two letters different from the name of certain English city...

- Huh, what does it matter? I've never met the man.

- Well, but I've know him. Not in a friendly way, of course, but out of duty. Do you remember, two years ago I went out of town to detain one infantile guy?

- Hmm... I recall something. You told me then that the matter was quite dirty.

- What else could there be to do with a little child?

And Galbraith remembered. Yes, there was a case, their police department received a complaint from the suburbs that the neighbour of a certain pharmaceutist was suspected of harassing his minor daughter. Then they sent a van with five policemen there, and also was assigned inspector Pharqraut, with whom he was now having this conversation...

- Well, yes, the bastard was detained, so what? - Galbraith still could not understand what his friend was so excited about.

- It just seems strange to me that some time after this, this girl's father had an accident.

- Ah, you go with the mysticism again. Some kind of spirit, you once said...

- The Spirit of Vengeance, yes, - his friend nodded. - But I think you should visit this gentleman.

- Do you want me to drop my everything case and go to the hospital?

- Don't lie, you haven't been busy for the last week, - Pharqraut rightly noted.

Galbraith had to agree with this statement.

- Okay, all right, for old times' sake... But, let me ask you, what benefit will you get from what I tell you upon my return?

- Benefit? To be honest, I don't really understand it myself. I have this feeling in my heart, you know...

Pharqraut, unable to express his thoughts in a form understandable to his friend, shook his hand and, saying goodbye "You break a leg!", crossed the road and went into a small cafe - apparently, he wanted to refreshment his parched from excitement throat. And Galbraith, sending him a look full of bewilderment, stood with his back to the wall of the grocery store and began to carefully study the newspaper. After studying the note about the accident, he memorized the address of the hospital where the victim was taken and went out to the busy highway. Galbraith thought about what had caused Pharqraut's anxiety. He perceived his friend's words about a certain spirit of vengeance as mystical nonsense, which he himself would never have believed. There's clearly something else going on here...

Galbraith soon decided that it was better not to puzzle over what was beyond his understanding. He simply told himself that perhaps he simply did not have the necessary information, and it was from this circumstance that this a halo of mystery stems. Therefore, not knowing what else to do, inspector decided to strike up a conversation with the taxi driver, but little came of it, because the driver he came across was somewhat gloomy and not particularly willing to chat with the passenger. Therefore, Galbraith, who in response to his leading question about the weather received only a dry "I'm alive and that's the main thing", decided that it would be better to just look out the window.

Finally, the car brought the inspector to the Portland Adventist Medical Center, where the pharmaceutist injured in the morning accident was located. Galbraith paid the taxi driver and headed to the front doors of the hospital. A woman dressed in the uniform of a sister of charity immediately ran up to him.

- Sister, do you know where placed mister Yonce? - inspector turned to her.

- Do you mean the one who was hurt from the crash this morning? - asked the woman.

- Yes, right, of course, - Galbraith said impatiently

- He was assigned to the surgical department, on the second floor.

- I humbly thank you, sister.

- Wait, today is not a reception day!

Galbraith showed her his police identifier and walked decisively into the hospital. The sister of charity followed him with silent dissatisfaction. Going up to the second floor, Galbraith met some doctor and asked him so that he would tell him in which ward the person he needed was lying. Doctor, telling the inspector that disturbing this patient is extremely undesirable for his health, walked him to the necessary door and putting a finger to his lips - apparently it was a sign that Galbraith does not decide to raise his voice in the ward - let him inside.

Galbraith saw a huge ans stocky no longer young man, lying under a white blanket. His powerful chest slowly heaved with noisy breathing. The visitor thought that mister Yonce looked a little like an old bear who was about to go into hibernation. Perhaps the inspector was prompted by the strange facial expression - the left side of the poor guy's face went numb and his mouth ended up twisted into a terrible grimace. 

- Bell's palsy, - doctor whispered to Galbraith.

Inspector did not even turn towards the medic - instead, he quietly approached the hospital bed, trying to step as quietly as possible.

- Mister Yonce, - trying not to raise his voice, he turned to the man lying on the bed. - I'm with the Portland police....

- Police, - suddenly the deep bass of patient was heard, who, without blinking, continued to look at the ceiling.

Galbraith expected to hear at least something else from him, but, apparently, mister Yonce simply reacted to this exciting word and automatically repeated it. After standing like that for a minute, the visitor turned and left the ward.

- We will try our best, but at best he won't really think straight, - said the doctor. - In fact, he was not seriously injured - no injuries were found on his body, but he had serious problems with his mind...

- Can I call from here? - Galbraith interrupted this tirade of little interest to him.

- Yes, of course, the telephone is at the end of the corridor.

It was clear from the doctor's voice that he was pleased to know that the policeman had already finished his visit and would soon leave the hospital. Galbraith walked up to the phone, wondering as he went where to call him so that Pharqraut could definitely answer him. He's definitely not at home right now, he hardly needed anything at the police department right now... In the end, he decided to call the cafe where, as he remembered, his friend had gone after their morning meeting. And he wasn't wrong - Having asked if the owner could call Pharqraut to the phone and received a "Yes, wait a bit", Galbraith perked up. Half a minute later, his friend went to the phone.

- Hello, buddy, is that you?

- Hello. Now I'm in Portland Adventist Medical Center.

- Thank you for fulfilling my whim.

- I don't know if what I say will upset you, but in general, mister Yonce got brain damage.

- My condolences... So you didn't really hear anything from him?

- All he could say was parrot the word "police" after me. It seemed to me that this was because he had some kind of mental trauma associated with this.

- Well, well, if you were a father, you wouldn't be so sad when your... Ahem-ahem...

- It slipped from my mind.

- Ah, you're a holey head. Okay, come on. But wait, how did you guess that I was in the cafe?

- I saw you go there.

- And you thought that I had been stuck here for a long time? Ha-ha, you were totally right.

- Well, good luck with that.

- We shall meet again!

Galbraith hung up. And in fact, while reading the newspaper, he completely forgot about what Pharqraut told him about last year's incident. "Okay", he thought, going out into the street, "I fulfilled my friend's request, so what next"? Inspector asked the sister of charity where the where the public transport stop here...

Having reached the bus stop closest to his police department, Galbraith got off the autobus and, stretching his legs that were numb from standing (all the seats were occupied), immediately directed his feet towards there.