Since he got older, Miller Carter, who could have worked all night, also showed signs of fatigue. Under the light that had just been hung in the living room, the gray on his temples became more obvious.
"Sir, the police station said everything is fine, but Detective Evans has already participated in the investigation organized by the police, so he should not be able to investigate the things in the basement." Wearing a dark blue formal suit, he had recently graduated from valet to
Angelo, who had become a butler, was standing upright in the empty and messy living room, speaking at a normal speed to his employer.
Mr. Carter, who had been waiting for news and was afraid that the police would expand the investigation, slowly took out a custom-made silk scarf from the side pocket of his suit vest, gently rubbed his eyes that were already filled with light bloodshot eyes, and said in a low voice:
"I understand, let's leave things like this in the basement for now, but in other places, you must keep an eye on the workers, don't tell anyone about what happened today, and finish the house as soon as possible."
"Yes." Angelo gave a simple salute with a respectful attitude, and then quickly retreated, leaving the quiet environment to his employer, who was preparing to arrange the carriage for today.
As a businessman with a relatively strong family background, Miller Carter would definitely not let himself live in a house that was being renovated. He had already booked a private room in the West End that fit his status, but he only had time to sleep every day.
will return there, and most of the time he will stay in his newly purchased mansion and company, supervising the decoration of the house.
Looking at the young servant walking away, the elderly Mr. Carter also grabbed the gold-encrusted cane he kept at hand, stood up shakily, and prepared to take a breath of air-conditioning in advance.
Just when the old gentleman, who put his hands on his cane and used all the weight of his body with his thin hands, was about to stand up, he suddenly felt a lazy impulse and wanted to just wait for the servant to come back and help him up.
Alas, he is still old... He looked at the newspaper beside him that he had always ignored, grabbed it casually, spread it out gently, and started to make time with the help of the relatively stable light.
But just after reading it for a moment, the old gentleman seemed to have found something that attracted him.
Sherlock Moriarty, Master of Criminal Investigation from Lundborg University, native of Jianhai County...
Another private detective from Jianhai County, his knowledge is no less than that of Mr. Evans, and his identity does not need to be formal.
In just a few seconds, Mr. Carter put away the dusty newspaper. His withered-skinned fingers carefully folded it in half along the axis of symmetry, ready to put it into his suit jacket.
Suddenly, there was a sound of familiar footsteps outside the door. Mr. Carter looked up and saw a familiar outline, and recognized that it was Angelo, who was acting as his temporary butler.
His slightly cloudy eyeballs stopped for a moment, and then responded quickly. Apparently he had made some judgment, took out the newspaper that had not been put into his pocket, and said to the tall young servant:
"Tomorrow, no, the day after tomorrow, help me contact this Detective Moriarty."
"Okay, sir." Angelo's familiar hands took the newspaper handed to him by his employer and put it into his coat with a respectful attitude. "Sir, the carriage has arrived."
Mr. Carter, who had completed all arrangements for the day, successfully got up with the help of his servants without much effort, and walked alone to the private carriage in the courtyard outside the door.
Maybe those policemen will come back to do something else. If we ask the detective to come over tomorrow, even if they find something, it won't be easy to deal with... Miller Carter took one last look at the mansion behind him.
Then he looked away, letting his servant support him and boarding the carriage.
............
That's all I can do today. I didn't expect that no matter what I did, I would encounter an "audience"... Klein, who had left the East District and changed back to his usual clothes, now walked out of the place where he was sitting just now.
He hired a carriage, tapped the chain-blade cane in his hand, and slowly walked into the apartment door in front of him.
The strange thing is that this time he did not see Boss Aiglon who had been sitting at the front desk. In the entire hall, only the light from the gas lamp on the front desk swayed leisurely.
Feeling a little surprised, Klein then took out the pocket watch on the front of his shirt, opened it with a snap, and glanced at the current time.
It was already eleven o'clock, no wonder... He slowed down, stepped lightly, and even used his "clown" ability to walk up the stairs almost silently, his cane hanging in the air.
The lights in the corridor were still not bright enough, and the decorative paintings on the walls on both sides looked a little scary at the moment, as if the characters in the paintings really sealed unknown souls. No matter how he looked at it, Klein felt that someone was watching.
Hold yourself.
He couldn't help but quicken his pace.
Suddenly, he saw a light hanging in front of him. When he looked carefully, he found that it was Mr. Aiglon, whom he had not seen at the front desk just now.
Maybe it was because there was another middle-aged man in police uniform standing next to him. The expression on this man's face was extremely unhappy, and he exuded a cold aura everywhere.
I really don’t know why, but this gentleman never seems to like me very much... Klein, who was a little surprised by this but not nervous, adjusted his expression and quickly walked up to him.
Anyway, he has been using the face of Sherlock Moriarty in Backlund. He is confident that no one can discover his true identity.
Of course, he still had to be surprised. After all, even when he came into contact with Detective Zerrell, he had put on a certain disguise. If he was really exposed, the person who came to see him would definitely not be an ordinary police officer.
However, looking at the police inspector's armband, we can't rule out whether it is an official extraordinary person who has assumed another identity... Klein, with a hint of surprise on his face, has already stood in front of Mr. Aigron.
in front of me.
Following the routine he had seen, he first glanced at the police officer slightly panicked, and then with a calm voice, he asked Mr. Agron, who was holding a lantern in his hand and with impatience written all over his face:
"Mr. Agron, what is going on? Why are you and this police officer standing at my door?"
Unexpectedly, Klein's superb acting skills did not seem to impress the landlord. Instead, he raised the corners of his mouth sarcastically, then quickly suppressed it, and said in a deep voice in an annoyed tone:
"How do I know? You should ask the police officer."
After saying that, he glanced at the police inspector next to him who was half a head taller than him, and said in the same low voice:
"Mr. Fassin, he is back. Can I go back and rest?"
Wearing a black and white checkered uniform, the police sergeant known as Mr. Fassin withdrew his penetrating gaze from behind Klein, nodded slightly, and said gently:
"Of course. Thank you for your help, Mr. Aigron. I will explain the rest of the situation to Mr. Moriarty myself."
After receiving a positive reply, Mr. Aigron stopped staying, knocked away Klein who was blocking him, and left directly, taking away the last light.
As the lanterns gradually faded away, in the dark corridor, only the crimson debris scattered by the red moon outside the window was left, giving the shadows, paintings, and even the two living people here a layer of shadows.
of monsters.
"Oh, don't be afraid, Mr. Moriarty, I'm just here to ask you something." Sheriff Fassin, who had a serious expression and an ordinary face, with only short hair that was still conspicuous, smiled gently and pointed with his left hand to the side.
Wooden door, "I think we can go inside and talk."
Klein, who was secretly sizing up the police chief, was stunned for a moment, then politely made a gesture of invitation, took the initiative to open the apartment door for the police chief, and walked in.
He did not put down the cane in his hand, but changed to a more natural movement, moved a chair from another direction of the room, and placed it opposite the sofa.
Bang.
Sheriff Fassin didn't seem very attentive, and the sound when he closed the door was a bit loud.
He stroked his short hair, looked around at the layout of the apartment, and sat down opposite Klein, the only single sofa in the apartment.
"Haha, don't be nervous, it's just a normal inquiry. This is my ID."
Seemingly sensing that Klein across from him was a little nervous, Sheriff Fassin took the initiative to show his ID and handed it to Klein, who was sitting on the chair and seemed a little embarrassed.
Since Mr. Aiglon has let you in, can it still be fake?
In other words, even if it is fake, how could it not even have something of this level... Klein, who probably had a certain degree of control over the situation, calmly took the ID wrapped in leather armor and scanned it roughly
One glance and I returned it.
"Of course I trust your identity. What questions do you have to ask me?"
Sitting on the sofa, Sheriff Fassin's movements became somewhat leisurely unconsciously. He changed his posture, raised his left leg above his right leg, leaned forward and said:
"Have you met a man named Zerrell recently? You were seen with him."
"I want to hear you tell me the reasons in detail, preferably the truth."
It turned out to be Zerrell... Klein frowned, and his right hand subconsciously held up his higher hairline after the disguise. His expression was tangled, and he paused for a long time before slowly exhaling:
"Yes, I did accept the employment of that detective."
As he spoke, he paused again, as if something was blocked in his throat, and his brows became more and more wrinkled. It was not until he hesitated for a while that he continued, and his tone even gradually became a little excited:
"But, he just asked me to help him get rid of some gangsters. Before I even had time to ask for the reward, the detective had disappeared. Later I heard about him in a bar in the East District.
There seems to be something disgraceful, but it has absolutely nothing to do with me."
Because this really invested a certain amount of emotion in Klein, it seems to be a convincing argument for ordinary people.
Just like this Sheriff Fassin.
His body, which was already leaning forward, moved further forward, and he clasped his hands.
"Then why did anyone see you leaving the detective's body and running away?"
What!
How could there be someone else at that time!
Klein suddenly broke into a cold sweat behind his back and almost shook his body. It was only thanks to the ability of this "clown" that he did not make any obvious movements. He raised his eyebrows and was about to speak, but found that the scene in front of him looked like
Separated by multiple layers of thick glass, it became blurry.
Sheriff Fassin in front of him also smiled mockingly, no longer gentle.
All this is so familiar, as if I have returned to that night in Tingen.
Watching the police chief's face in front of him dissolve and reorganize little by little, and the strange fleshy sprouts that appeared to be under the skin squirmed back into place, a handsome man with black hair and blue eyes was looking at Klein with a smile and said softly:
"It's best not to open the door to strangers at night."