Not knowing what to do, the inspector grabbed the last obvious opportunity for him.

- Do you have close friends or classmates? - he turned to Delia.

For some reason the girl was confused by this question. Her cheeks flushed red and she looked down. Galbraith was not a psychologist, but this reaction made him think that the girl was clearly in love with one of her schoolfellows. Finally she decided to answer.

- No, - little girl said briefly and clearly.

- Nothing at all? Okay, not close ones, just your acquaintances?

- Really, no!

Delia's face suddenly sharpened and took on an expression of dissatisfaction. She even stomped her foot.

- Okay Delia, I get it, - Galbraith answered in a soothing tone.

Then he stretched out to his full height and turned to the doctor:

- Well, this isn't good. Apparently, the guardianship authorities will have to be involved in this matter.

- Don't look so glum. We have not yet made a request to search for her relatives. The young lady may not have known her parents' cousins or second cousins by sight, but this does not mean that she is alone in this world.

- You're an optimist, Matt, I've always liked that about you,  but here's a case...

- All is not lost, mister inspector.

- Suit yourself. But still, where should we place her until the circumstances are clarified?

- You can talk to that woman, the witness. They, it seemed to me, knew each other well.

"Nice idea", thought Galbraith, "But where did it go?". The inspector walked to the exit of the house and shouted to the young sergeant who was standing in the yard at the gate.

- Sergeant Saussure, don't you know where that woman went?

- Which one, mister inspector?

- Well, with a scarf on her head....

- You mean Elsebeth Roselieu? She went out the gate and the trail went cold.

- Yes, couldn't be better...

Galbraith turned back, but Delia was not in the hall.

- Matt, where's the baby? - he asked the doctor.

- The girl went upstairs. Said she wanted to change clothes.

- All right. I'll go away for now.

Having said this, Galbraith entered the bathroom, which combined both a bathtub and a toilet. Having done his dirty work, he washed his hands and went back out. During the time that the inspector spent in the bath, Delia had already made her way down to the hall and was now standing next to the mirror. Matt spoke the truth - baby girl changed her dress, and was now wearing blue pants and a beige jacket with a zipper, under which a pink shirt was visible.

- Where you're headed, if it's not indiscreet? - Galbraith was a little surprised by her change of clothes.

The girl, putting the comb on the bedside table, turned away from the mirror and looked at man with some surprise.

- Am I not coming with you? - she asked, shaking her head.

- Well, you know... - the inspector hesitated.

Then an man from Federal Bureau of Investigation approached Galbraith. It seemed as if he had been replaced - now this tall young man gave the impression not of a stern policeman, but of a quiet student at a cadet school. He addressed him respectfully:
 
- Mister inspector, while you were in the bathroom, the telephone rang upstairs. I picked up the phone and was ordered to report to you to come to the police department immediately.

- Curious... Did the caller not introduce himself? - hearing this, Galbraith again prepared for the worst.

- No, but from the voice I determined that the subscriber was aged, - the agent answered obediently.

"It's Schaeymoure, there was no doubt", Galbraith thought with some dissatisfaction. "Is mister chief inspector really so bored that he first calls me to his home, and then the next day to office..."

- Approved, - Galbraith came close to the agent. - Now you listen to me. If I have now been ordered to leave, then I do not dare disobey the orders of my superiors, but I want you let this eat into your mind - if it's in your stupid head the idea to be rude to this girl will come again, I swear what am I will scrape you out from earth. You got that?

- Roger, mister inspector! - the agent answered with such intonation as if he had been told good news.

- Well, way to go.

Man from Federal Bureau of Investigation came out into the yard. Galbraith, gathering his thoughts, went to the bedside table, which stood next to the mirror. His gaze fell on the photograph lying there among some clay cats and artificial berries. This photo captured all three of the this family - mister Yonce in a strict black suit, and on his left hand missis Yonce in a wedding dress. The woman was holding a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes in her arms - Delia, the inspector immediately realized. In the lower right corner was the date - May 20, 1981. It's curious, he thought, it turns out that the spouses decided to sign after the birth of their daughter...

Galbraith, without giving the report in the actions, grabbed this photograph and put it in his jacket pocket. And he turned around when he heard footsteps. Thank God it was Matt. The doctor, sweating profusely, turned to the inspector:

- This guy told me that you are going to the police now, - he said in a somewhat tired tone.  Well, good luck to you.

"It seemed", the inspector thought, "That the doctor meant the man from the Federal Bureau of Investigation".

- Thanks for saying that, Matt, - he said soulfully.

Galbraith shook the doctor's hand and went outside. Delia stood near the gate, apparently waiting to be put into the car. The inspector, passing by her, caught her holy glare. His head over heels - Galbraith had a strange feeling that he was seeing this girl for the last time...

- Then farewell, Delia, - he said briefly, walking next to her and going out the gate

- What, you are leaving me? - the girl took two hesitant steps towards him.

- Stay here, but I need to go to the city. We'll take care of you, - without looking back, inspector said loudly.

"Take care... Lord! If only..." Galbraith did not have time to think through this thought, because, rushing forward, he almost knocked some old woman to the ground.

- Sorry, do you know how to get to the center from here? - In an apologetic tone, Galbraith turned to the nearly unconscious woman.

- Did you are not a local? - she asked displeasedly. - You might have killed me!

Without further ado, Galbraith showed her his police identifier. This paper, like a magic wand, immediately made the old woman bow to the inspector. 

- You can get to the center from here by bus, - the elderling helpfully explained. - You're just in time for...

- Where is the stop? - Galbraith interrupted her.

The old woman straightened her apron and began to talk, blinking her eyes.

- Will you walk along this road, - at the same time she pointed her hand to the left. - Then turn right, go past the tobacco shop, and then go straight. When you hit the concrete barrier, turn left and there will be a bus stop...

- Thanks, - the inspector nodded and started running.

- You'll reach the city in about forty minutes! - the elderling shouted after him, but Galbraith no longer heard anything.

When he got to the right place, he saw the bus standing still and the driver had already the engine. Without stopping running, Galbraith began to frantically wave his arms, giving a sign. Soon he was standing in the middle of the cabin, tightly gripping the handrail with his right hand. Everything he experienced that day was mixed up in his head - analysis of the cryptic passage's incident, breakfast with coffee and sausages, song about nuclear war, drinking sweet coffee from Matt's vacuum flask, conversation with Elsebeth Roselieu - the Yonce's neighbour, training of man form Federal Bureau of Investigation and, of course, the eyes, the dark eyes of a ten-year-old girl, which were forever imprinted in his memory...

⁂

Bang! The gun goes off. On a paper shooting target with a picture of a human silhouette appeared a small bullet hole, and a small cloud of smoke rose into the air.

- Outside the bullseye again! - Galbraith said with annoyance, lowering his target pistol.

- Imagine that you are aiming not at an abstract figure, but at your enemy, - his partner advised him.

Having said that, mister chief inspector Schaeymoure took aim and pulled the trigger. The next shot rang out. The bullet hit the ninth circle.

- Yeah, I have trouble keeping up with you, - the inspector said wearily.

Galbraith, putting his target pistol on the table, glanced at the shooting target, almost completely riddled with bullet holes. Mister chief inspector followed his example. Then he picked up a rag and, wiping his hands on it, said:

- Listen, Galbraith. I understood your health condition and decided to suit your sensibilities.

- An if more specifically? - his interlocutor did not understand.

- With this in mind, you must rest and relax. There will be no tasks until the day after tomorrow.

- I am flattered, but... - the inspector was confused.

- However, it is necessary. We are not machines, Galbraith. Policemen, like all people, also need recreation. I give you permission to spend one day as you please.

- Well, I won't dare to disobey the your order.

He made a somewhat theatrical bow and walked towards the exit from the police shooting range. Already closing the door behind him, he turned around. Mister chief inspector Schaeymoure stood in the same place, continuing to wipe his hands on an old towel. There was something so majestic in his whole posture, that Galbraith was suddenly seized with an almost sacred thrill, and he, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket, resolutely walked away from the station.

After walking a few blocks, the inspector found himself on the avenue and, glancing at the bright neon signs, turned up his collar and headed towards the subway station - now he didn't care whether he met that strange mister Yonce's doppelgaenger there or not. As a matter of fact, this is exactly what happened - as he thought, the subway trip went without any incidents. Having got off at the desired station, Galbraith noticed that he had run out of smoking. Without delaying this matter, he purchased them at the kiosk, which was located right there on the platform. He lit a cigarette and, taking a drag as he walked, headed towards Abbouts st.

His soul felt light and calm as never before. Galbraith even felt like either a messiah or a saviour, who was sent to a well-deserved rest. Everything that had happened all day, in his opinion, was an excellent reason to go to the bar - It's not that there was anything worthy of special attention, it's just that the inspector at the moment wanted to immerse himself in the atmosphere of general fun. It was with this in mind that he went down the steps.

This evening, the basement where the establishment was located was very crowded - despite the fact that by this time there were almost no people on the streets. Galbraith, who still clearly remembered that moment with the heated beer, decided not to experiment with the order and to the bartender's routine question "Brown Horse?" nodded his head affirmatively. Pouring the amber fusel-smelling liquid into his throat, he watched without much interest as the skinny guys jerked all their limbs to the synthesizer music coming from the speaker hanging from the ceiling...

After some time, which Galbraith spent filling himself with cheap booze, he felt completely relaxed and, having already begun to nod off, moved towards the exit of the bar. On the street, for a couple of moments he remembered Delia and his own farewell words to her - "We'll take care of you". He'll probably should have called the police department and asked about the baby's fate, but, firstly, it was already too late, and secondly, the inspector really wanted to go to bed. When Galbraith had almost reached the entrance of his house, a heavy downpour began, and he, squinting from the headlights of cars occasionally passing along the street, involuntarily stopped in place, exposing his face to the streams of cold water.

"Actually, it would be good to die, right here and now", thought Galbraith, looking detachedly at the heavy raindrops falling from the sky. "For me it's better than living to old age, without understanding anything in this life"... But common sense mixed with cowardice persistently told him that no, it's worth die only as a last resort, he can't give up out of nowhere, even if his soul really wants it, because life is a gift of fate that needs to be used as carefully as possible...

When Galbraith entered his apartment, all his clothes were thoroughly soaked with water. Pulling off his tight patent leather shoes from his feet, he stood in his socks in front of the mirror and peered intently at his reflection. It was difficult for him to recognize himself in this creature, soaked to the skin, whose face, under the influence of alcohol, expressed only dull, almost animal indifference.

- Is that really me? - escaped Galbraith's lips. - How did I end up like this?

Continuing to look in the mirror, the inspector thought about how, if something happened, he could explain his condition to others. Well, don’t count an explanation the fact that, on the eve of one whole day of vacation, he decided - probably for the first time in his life - to get drunk until he lost his human appearance? Few will take this excuse seriously. Although, the inspector thought, this is not so scary - the main thing is not to forget that the day after tomorrow him will need to return into the workflow. In the depths of his soul, a premonition of something bad suddenly stirred and ached...

He expected to meet the next morning with a hot head, a stuffy nose and a loss of strength, but what was the inspector's surprise when he woke up in his bed completely healthy. There was certainly nothing to indicate that he had spent the evening in the pouring rain yesterday. Galbraith even specially measured his temperature - 95 °F, the thermometer, unlike self-awareness, could not be fooled. Well, he thought, that means he will spend one day of his vacation in a great shape.

As he sat down to breakfast, he thought that the reason he didn't get sick was because he had drunk at least ten glasses of "Brown Horse" in the bar before - It’s not surprising that with so much alcohol in his body, the cold simply fought back. Galbraith remembered that he simply threw off his wet clothes in the bathroom, without even bothering to wring them out. Thank goodness, there was exactly the same formal suit hanging in his wardrobe - at one time, the inspector specially bought two identical sets, realizing that he, a police inspector, should always appear in public in a manner that inspires respect.

Having put on a new suit, from which there was a slight aroma of cologne, Galbraith looked in the mirror in the hallway - yes, now the thought will definitely not occur to anyone that last night this stern, mustachioed man had the chance to descend to the level of the most disgusting scum of society. He left the house without any plan for further action. Yesterday's drinking session was quite a "relaxation" - if that's how one could describe it. Galbraith have always loathed of gambling or looking for girls of easy virtue - one might say, he was horrified by of the mere thought that such a thing was even possible. So he decided to just take a walk around the city. Shaking off the dust from sleeves, the inspector walked up the street, looking around aimlessly and swaying slightly to the rhythm of a song in his head that he had heard back when he was a student at the Portland Police Academy.