Elias’s steps were a bit lighter as he walked out of the Unicorn Souvenir Shop.
When he had mentioned 28 gold crowns, Red-beard’s face had turned a deep purplish-red.
Don’t forget, he had already paid a 2 gold crown deposit earlier.
Red-beard had never expected this kid to be so shameless.
To bargain further and knock off another 2 gold crowns during the final payment.
Fortunately, the fellow had eventually accepted it.
In Elias's view, he should have accepted it.
After all, Elias prided himself on being a proper gentleman doing proper business; they could continue to cooperate next time.
Whether Red-beard felt the same way was another matter entirely.
Now his pocket only had 26 gold crowns, 11 Shillings, and 8 Fenny.
It was some money, but not much; enough for an emergency.
As Elias's back disappeared around the street corner, the door to the souvenir shop slowly closed.
Inside the basement.
The young shop assistant, who had previously looked timid and subservient, now seemed to suddenly come back to his senses, his brow furrowed into a tight knot.
"Something’s not right!"
Red-beard, who was currently counting the money while cursing Elias’s shamelessness, didn’t even look up.
"What’s not right?"
"This money is real, and that kid didn't have the guts to give us counterfeit coins."
"It’s not about the money, boss."
The assistant put down his rag and turned to look at his employer, his tone carrying a hint of hesitation.
"I just remembered. When I went to buy breakfast this morning, I heard the detectives over at the docks chatting."
"They said the government department only discovered that corpse yesterday evening."
The assistant pointed toward the door.
"But this kid came here yesterday afternoon."
"The timing doesn't match up!"
The air froze for two seconds.
Red-beard's hand, which was counting the money, stiffened in mid-air.
His eyes widened behind his goggles.
"Damn it!"
"Curse him!"
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
The assistant nodded, his gaze certain.
"That bastard scammed me!"
Red-beard erupted in curses.
"What was all that about turning himself in if I didn't sell to him?"
"This was a total bluff! He scammed me into lowering the price out of thin air!"
Red-beard paced in circles twice in place, fuming.
His beard was nearly tied in knots.
The way that kid had spoken made it seem so real at the time.
Who could have guessed?
He suddenly stopped in his tracks.
With a speed visible to the naked eye, he regained his composure, and a smile even tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Sigh! Forget it."
Red-beard waved his large hand, his expression relaxing instantly as if nothing had happened.
He turned and walked into the workshop in the back.
The assistant followed closely behind.
On the dim workbench, two fragmented pieces of white carapace husks lay quietly.
They were the leftover scraps after making the three items.
When he was cutting, he had precisely avoided the texture faults of the shells, maximizing the integrity of these two scraps.
"At least there's this."
Red-beard reached out his rough hand, stroking the two pieces of shell with affection.
"Though he won the haggling, luckily, I didn't lose out either!"
"The buyer might be mistaken, but the seller never is."
...
Hastings Port Passenger Station.
The clamor and chaos here were even worse than at the harbor docks.
The whistles of steam trains, the shouts of porters, and the cries of vendors selling low-quality tobacco blended into a unique industrial noise.
Elias sat on the hard bench of the waiting room, not bothering to appreciate this scene full of the era's character.
He spent 2 Fenny at a station stall to buy a copy of the 《Landon Post》. He didn't buy it to read the news, but rather to cover his face with it.
Firstly to block the light, and secondly to prevent the Seventh Agency from tracing him and catching up.
Like an unrefined vagrant, he rested until the afternoon.
It wasn't until the Hope County train began ticket inspection that he followed the crowded stream of people and boarded that iron behemoth spewing thick smoke.
With a long whistle, the train slowly started.
The scenery outside the window gradually changed from the busy port to desolate countryside, finally heading toward that industrial city known as Hope County.
That was the original owner's home.
Perhaps it was this transmigrator's first anchor in this world.
...
Earlier that day.
Hope County, Central District Police Station.
The iron bars of the detention cell were already somewhat rusted.
At this moment, Arthur Rockland was standing outside the iron door, his brow furrowed.
Standing beside him was the Chief.
The two of them were staring through the iron door at a man sitting inside, feeling troubled.
It was a homeless man who looked to be in his thirties.
His hair was like a bird's nest, black breadcrumbs were stuck in his beard, and his overcoat had three holes in it. He was barefoot on one foot, while the other was stuffed into a high-end leather shoe that clearly didn't fit.
This was the suspect who had played a group of police officers for fools at the Golden Rose hotel.
To catch this fellow, the Central District Police Station had practically mobilized everyone, deploying all informants and detectives; they had nearly checked every rat in the sewers.
Finally, yesterday, the police had pinned him down somewhere in the Hope County sewers.
After catching him yesterday, Arthur and the others had wasted no time in delivering him to the magistrate.
They had thought they could close the case quickly and give an account to their superiors.
Who knew the magistrate would decide the evidence wasn't conclusive enough and ordered him remanded for three days.
Remanded for three days.
This meant that if they couldn't squeeze out any substantial results within three days, they would have to release him.
The trouble lay right there.
It wasn't that the other party didn't want to answer; the homeless man's attitude was surprisingly good.
One could say he... answered every question.
"I'll ask you one more time!"
The Chief took a deep breath and asked aggressively.
"Did you kill the victim, Martin Miller?"
The homeless man sat on the only stool, spreading his hands helplessly.
"Mr. Officer, I've said it many times."
"I only went there that day to steal things. I didn't kill anyone at all."
"Then why did you run?"
Arthur frowned and interjected.
This obviously didn't follow common logic.
The homeless man looked at Arthur as if he were an idiot.
"Officer, that's quite a question."
"I'm a thief!"
"I stole something, and when I heard the police coming, of course I was afraid of being caught by you!"
A closed logic loop.
Impeccable.
The Chief was choked up for a long time, unable to speak.
He grabbed Arthur and turned his back to the iron door, his face full of worry as the two of them huddled together like two prisoners plotting a jailbreak.
"A-hem!"
The Chief made his signature strange sound and lowered his voice.
"This kid’s words make a damn lot of sense!"
Arthur looked at his superior wordlessly.
"Chief, what sense is there?"
"He only stole less than 10 Shillings in cash, walked off in someone else's clothes, and took a few goblets from the hotel."
"All those things added up aren't even enough for a one-night stay at the Golden Rose."
"What was there to be so guilty about? Is it worth risking his life over that little bit of stuff?"
"What are you two talking about?"
At that moment, the homeless man inside the iron door spoke up.
He pressed his ear against the bars, looking curious.
"Let me hear too?"
The Chief snapped his head around and glared at him irritably.
"What were you so guilty about for stealing that little bit of stuff?"
"It wasn't even worth much!"
"Was it worth all that?"
The homeless man froze.
"It wasn't worth much?"
His pitch suddenly rose, his face full of disbelief.
"I saw such a big hotel, the decoration was so luxurious, and the carpets were all wool!"
"No matter what, those goblets should have been crystal, right?"
"They should have been extremely valuable!"
"It seems I miscalculated!"
The homeless man looked chagrined, a genuine expression of regret as if he had missed out on a fortune.
The Chief looked at this scruffy fellow, his already pained face becoming even more haggard.
"A-hem!"
He sighed again and pulled Arthur a bit further away.
"This guy is just a simpleton!"
"With this kind of intelligence, how could he possibly kill someone?"
"And clean up the scene so thoroughly?"
"The county governor’s side probably won't be able to stall any longer."
The Chief pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
"The chief has already applied for three extensions from the higher-ups just because I used the excuse of his secretary's matters to stall."
"If I do it one more time, I’m afraid the chief really will kill me!"
"By then, it won't just be a matter of solving a case!"
Arthur couldn't help but shake his head upon hearing this.
He silently rolled his eyes in his mind.
Thinking to himself, you really do have your ways.
You cry about the pressure every day, yet no one has more tricks than you.
Others solve cases based on clues; you solve cases based on extortion.
Is this why the Chief is the Chief?
Arthur felt he would never be able to learn this kind of bureaucratic wisdom in his life.
"Alright, stop talking about that useless stuff."
Arthur turned back around and looked at the homeless man.
"Tell me again, what did the real killer you mentioned look like?"
The homeless man nodded, seeming bored with repeating this part, but he cooperated for the sake of getting out early:
"Oh, I've said it."
"At that time, I had just climbed onto the windowsill. The curtains were drawn, so I peeked through the gap."
"I couldn't see the person's face clearly; the room was pitch black."
"Anyway, he wore a very expensive top hat and a very expensive trench coat, a normal rich person's outfit."
"He was leaning on a very expensive cane in his hand."
The homeless man gestured as he recalled.
"I couldn't hear what the two of them were saying."
"Suddenly, that man in the top hat—his hand didn't move, and he didn't pull a gun."
"A burst of light suddenly emitted from his hand."
"Then the victim suddenly stood still, unable to move."
"The top hat man pulled out a gun and killed the man with one shot."
"That person rummaged around the room for a long time but didn't take any money."
"In the end, it seemed he only took a few books."
"He stayed inside for a while longer."
"My hands went numb from clinging there."
At this point, the homeless man curled his lip in disdain.
"I reckon he's a fellow thief."
"He's got guts, I'll give him that."
"But his eye for value is even worse than mine!"
"Leaving the valuables behind to take some lousy books?"
Arthur couldn't help but cover his face after hearing this.
Fellow thief?
A burst of light from the hand?
Killing someone just to take books?
In his view, this guy should be sent to the Landon Asylum; even being a specimen there would be better than talking nonsense here.
A glowing hand, killing for books.
What era was this?
"Chief!"
Just as the atmosphere in the detention cell became strained, a hurried set of footsteps and an officer's shout suddenly came from outside.
"What is it?"
The Chief and Arthur exchanged a glance, their hearts sinking.
Had the county governor finally lost his patience?
The two of them quickly walked out the door.
They saw the officer running up out of breath, clutching a document with a red stamp.
"Chief! Inspector Arthur!"
The officer swallowed hard and said with a complex expression.
"Word came from the county governor's side."
"We can release the prisoner."
"Release him?"
The Chief was stunned.
The officer handed over the document.
"The orders from above say the nature of the case has changed."
"Just now, the case has been officially transferred to another department for investigation."
"What?!"
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