At that moment, Lamu felt like the whole world was falling apart, and at first he tried to refuse to believe this fact, but there was still a glimmer of hope in his heart, because he knew that the Indian police often made mistakes, and maybe they took everyone else for Rajit, which was not impossible.

But then he received a call from the newspaper, who confirmed the police information, because another reporter from the Times office was also at the scene and he witnessed the tragedy.

Rajat had actually finished working at the newspaper the day before, and was scheduled to take yesterday's train back to Hyderabad from Karachi. At that time, India's railway system was all run by the British, and it was operated strictly according to a predetermined timetable, and there were very few mistakes. But this time it happened that something went wrong, and the train from Karachi to Hyderabad was cancelled that day, and the next train did not depart until midnight the next day.

Rajat actually had another option at the time, which was to take a local coach, but Rajit had a severe problem with motion sickness, and the thought of bumping around in the thick smell of curry for seven or eight hours made him shudder to think about it. So he had to stay in Karachi and wait for the midnight train the next day.

The next afternoon, while wandering the streets, Rajat happened to meet a newspaper colleague who was also stranded in Karachi, and at the urging of the other party, the two of them went to a famous Turkish restaurant in Karachi for dinner, which Rajat might never have dreamed would be his last supper.

Rajat was not usually a drinker, but that day, at the instigation of his colleague, he made an exception and drank a glass of locally produced absinthe.

It is a prestigious strong distilled spirit, dating back to ancient Greek times, with absinthe as the main ingredient, but also spices and herbs such as fennel and cloves, which are flavored according to the local flavors. The ancient Greeks believed that this wine could cure hepatitis because it had a calming and analgesic effect after drinking, and it was used as a medicine in Roman times until the Middle Ages.

In the early 20th century, the wine was added to the bark of the cinchona tree, which was once used by the French Army as an anti-malaria medicine for soldiers in the trenches of World War I. Because absinthe has a special herbaceous aroma, in the early 20th century, the wine had countless fans around the world, many of whom were world celebrities.

Absinthe was once extremely popular in Europe and the Americas, threatening even the market share of wines. So the major vintners united and began to encircle and suppress absinthe. They claim that the herbs in absinthe can cause hallucinations and seriously endanger human health, and that the wine also contains some mild toxicity, which can kill people if they are overdosed. Among thousands of absinthe lovers, there will always be a few cases of health problems caused by excessive drinking, but these exceptions have been regarded as "ironclad evidence" by businessmen, and after a group of bought experts, countries around the world, starting with Switzerland and continuing to the United States, have banned this alcohol.

However, the Indian colonies did not ban the sale of this spirit, because malaria was raging in the hot Indian peninsula, and absinthe did have a good anti-effect.

The alcohol content of this wine reaches 45 degrees, which is nothing for Europeans who are used to drinking spirits, but Rajette has only drunk some wine at most, and has never tried a strong wine of this degree. As a result, after two cups, Rajat was a little upset.

Insisting on finishing this dinner with his colleagues, Rajat wanted to go back to the hotel and lie down before going to the midnight train. Just as they were leaving the hotel, the colleague suddenly wanted to go to the bathroom, and the colleague told Rajit to wait for him at the door of the hotel first, and then he would send Rajat back to the hotel. At this time, Rajat was a little drunk, and he also wanted to go outside to get some fresh air, so he agreed to his colleague's request.

While Rajat was waiting on the sidewalk, a black sedan sped up from the intersection, and I don't know what happened to the driver, the car suddenly crossed the middle lane, and then rushed straight towards Rajat across the road. The poor young man, who had lost his ability to react because of the effects of alcohol, stood stupidly and looked at the oncoming car, as if he had not yet understood what was happening. In full view of the public, Rajat was hit to the ground by the car, and then the two-ton body ran over the young reporter, and finally the car crashed headlong into the exterior wall of the hotel, and the force of the impact was so violent that the front of the car crashed through the brick wall and rushed into the hotel. The colleague who had just come out of the bathroom when Rajat was killed witnessed the tragedy through the glass door of the hotel.

Lamu had forgotten how he had arrived in Karachi, and by the time he began to remember, he was standing in the morgue of the Karachi police station, facing the broken body of his best friend. Rajt's body had been turned beyond recognition by the wheels and the scraping of the chassis, but Lamu could discern the familiar face of his friend from the scarred round face.

Lamu didn't cry, he didn't even shed a single tear, he just stood silently in front of Rajit's body, staring at his best friend's slightly open eyes. Lamu remained in the morgue for a full hour, until an impatient caretaker forced him to leave, closing Rajat's eyes with his own hands and saying goodbye to his best friend with Hindu etiquette.

Two days later, Lamu took Rajit's body from the morgue when he left Karachi in a truck from nowhere with the coffin containing Rajit's body.

For the next year, Lamu was almost silent, and he did not return to work at the spice shop or to the colonel's house. Only the landlord of the rented apartment receives a letter from out of town every month, and the place of the letter changes from time to time, but the contents of the envelope remain the same, which is half a hundred rupees issued by the Reserve Bank of India, and the other half will be received the next month, which is exactly two months' rent for the room they rented, which is the only proof that the mixed race is still alive. (This was a popular method of mailing in India at the time, and when Indians had to mail banknotes, they would send half of them first, and then send the other half after the other party received them, which was an effective way to prevent theft along the way.) ）

One day, a year later, a well-dressed young gentleman came to the apartment, and it took a while for the landlord to recognize this man as Lamu, who seemed to have made a fortune outside.

Lamu didn't say much to the courteous landlord, he just thanked the landlord for keeping their room for that time, and then Lamu said that he had decided not to renew the lease and that he had come this time to pick up the belongings left in the room, as he was going to move to a northern state.

Lamu bought a second-hand box truck and removed all the personal belongings from the room, most of which were relics of the Hudsons. This was his last appearance in Hyderabad, and no one ever heard of Lamu since, and the half-breed disappeared from this world.

About half a year later, at the RAF recruiting office in Mumbai, a chubby young Briton handed in an application form with the name Rajat in the name field. Hudson, now twenty-five, was a noble citizen of the British Empire.

He carried with him his high school diploma and a full set of identity documents issued by the colonial government, as well as a letter of recommendation written by Mr. Fox, a retired colonel of the British Army.

The officers of the recruiting office did not doubt the identity of this young man in the slightest, this face was of British descent at first glance, although there was a slight difference between himself and the photo on the identity document, but the photo looked like it was taken several years ago, and as soon as a person gained weight, the shape of his face would naturally change. It should be mentioned here that at that time, most of the European identity documents did not have photos on them, and most of them just pressed a few fingerprints and knocked the official seal of the management department.

Recruitment conditions for British colonial troops have always been relatively relaxed, as they served far from home and did not require tedious screening work. This Rajit. Mr. Hudson's résumé looked flawless, so after passing a basic medical examination, he became an honorable RAF soldier.

Hudson worked very hard in the army and soon won the favor of his superiors, and after half a year, he was promoted to corporal, managing a logistics team.

In the eyes of his boss, Rajit. Hudson was a good soldier, and he was quick-witted and valuable, he always had a way to get some rare goods from outside, and he was very sociable, and almost every officer in the base had taken advantage of him.

Hudson's ranks began to rise steadily, and it took him only five years to rise from an ordinary non-commissioned officer to a second lieutenant in the Royal Air Force, a temporary wartime rank that made him a member of the officer class.

"Honestly, it was a real eye-opener for me, Major Randolph." Jürgen put down the page of the report.

"Where the hell did he go then?" Randolph asked, frowning.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Colonel, I don't really understand your question." Jürgen raised his eyebrows.

"After taking my friend's body out of the police station, where did this Lamu go?" Randolph had a puzzled look on his face.

"That's all I have to say, Lieutenant Colonel, and please be patient as I go down." Jürgen smiled and bowed to Randolph.

PS: Thank you for your support, continue to ask for a monthly pass, there are still more than 400 votes from the previous one, I don't know if I will be able to catch up before the end of the month.

It seems that today's votes are not up to the goal of adding more.,I can finally take a day off.,Four days in a row is a record that has never been seen since the book was renewed.,I can't believe I can do it.。

Continue to inform, I hope you will tell each other, from today to the end of the month, for every 200 monthly passes added to this book, a special chapter will be added, in order to recover the ranking, the author is out of the way.

We look forward to your continued support.