Stop trying to control me, Miss Moriarty!

Chapter 27 The Man with the Crooked Lips

Erin has disliked this guy for a long time.

He slowly increased the pressure on his feet, and the contact area between the man's face and the ground became larger and larger, gradually becoming distorted, and even blood flowed from his nose.

Strangely, although his body was writhing clumsily and he was making suppressed whimpers, he refused to beg for mercy.

Are the bones that hard?

Erin was slightly surprised.

If the Scandinavian prince, the foolish donkey, saw this scene, he would probably be so ashamed that he would bury his head in a pit.

Just then, Charlotte spoke softly, "Madam, please reduce the pressure a little. The current level is probably enough to compress their vocal cords, rendering them unable to speak."

"Oh, oh." Cornelia responded twice, her fingertips tracing patterns in the air, and the invisible pressure enveloping those people instantly lessened by two or three points.

The men next to Erin were like drowning people struggling to climb ashore, their bodies convulsing, gasping for breath, tears and snot streaming down their faces uncontrollably.

The guy he was trampling underfoot was in the worst condition, yet he immediately opened his mouth and began to wail:

"Spare me! Your Excellency! Your Honor!! It's my foul mouth that deserves a beating! It's my worthless eyes that deserve to be gouged out! I'm just a lame stray dog ​​who only dares to hide in the gutter and bark at the moon! I really shouldn't have offended your ears! I know I was wrong, I really know I was wrong! I have a wife and two kids at home waiting for me to earn a few shillings to buy bread... Please, have mercy! Don't treat me like a fart..."

Londoners are just different.

Look at the rhetoric and logic behind their pleading; it's something those Viking descendants from Northern Europe can't even begin to compare to.

"Stop, that's enough." Erin interrupted the uninformed plea for mercy and got to the point: "Five days ago, did you see a guest? He was wearing a gray tweed suit, a bowler hat, and carrying a brown leather briefcase."

Upon hearing these characteristics, the man briefly recalled and then nodded frantically: "I've seen him! I've seen him! That person was very strange, so I remember him very well!"

He added eagerly, "It's been about a month, I think? He came almost every day, at unpredictable times—morning, afternoon, or even midnight. Each time, he went straight to the innermost room on the other side of the river and stayed for several hours, sometimes not coming out until the next day. The last time I saw him… right! That's right, it was five days ago! I remember it very clearly!"

Erin seemed to be deep in thought. He turned his head and looked at the magician who had been standing not far away.

The latter was startled by his sudden gaze and quickly bent down again.

"..."

At this moment, Erin also noticed that the place had been filled with an atmosphere of fear.

What's going on?

It makes it seem like I'm some kind of villain.

"Sir," he tried to make his voice sound gentle, "would the Golden Sparrow Pavilion allow someone who is improperly dressed to enter?"

The magician at Jinque Pavilion quickly shook his head, his attitude respectful, but his voice was trembling with nervousness: "Honorable guest, this is absolutely impossible!"

He emphasized, "Jinqueting has strict dress codes, so please rest assured!"

Thank you for clarifying things.

Erin began to think seriously.

The story of "The Man with the Crooked Lips" in the original novel was actually a misunderstanding.

Neville St. Clair discovered by chance that begging could be an easy way to make money without working. From then on, he would go to the opium den every morning, disguise himself as the beggar "Hugh Boone", and then change back into the respectable gentleman at night.

One day, Mrs. St. Clair, who happened to be on the street, spotted him and, after a series of misunderstandings, called the police. The police who arrived later arrested Neville, who was disguised as "Hugh Boone," on suspicion of murder.

It wasn't until Holmes figured out the key to the matter that the truth behind this amusing incident of "I killed myself" came to light.

Unlike the opium den in the original story, beggars were not allowed to enter the Golden Sparrow Pavilion at all...

And then there's that strange timing of its appearance.

He tried again, just to see if he could find someone else: red hair, black eyes, a crooked mouth, and a noticeable scar on his upper lip...

"Isn't this the Crooked-Mouth Hugh Boone you're talking about?" the man immediately interjected. "He's the dealer at the casino downstairs! Come to think of it... this guy hasn't shown up for several days..."

After he finished speaking, he looked to his companions for help.

"That's right, that's right, that's right! What he said is all true, and we can all testify to it."

...Croupier?

A knowing glint flashed in Erin's eyes.

Casino dealers work in three shifts, which perfectly explains why Mr. St. Clair's appearances are so unpredictable.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Having reached this conclusion, Erin was in a very good mood and readily moved his foot away.

He thought for a moment, then took out two ten-pound notes from his wallet and tossed them over casually: "This is the reward."

The man lying on the ground instinctively grabbed the falling banknotes.

He paused for a moment, looked at the money in his hand, then looked up at the boy who had already turned and left, and blurted out instinctively, "Th-thank you?"

"You're welcome." Erin said without turning his head, his tone indifferent.

"The clue has been found." He returned to the three ladies and began to recount, "I didn't see that familiar dealer on the second floor just now. Sure enough, he's disappeared too. The timing is exactly the same as Mr. St. Clair's. I suspect there's some connection between the two."

Charlotte paused for two seconds, then nodded slightly: "That's possible. Let's go check that room first."

After they had gone some distance, the magician quickly took out a communicator and sent a message to the contact person whose contact was labeled "Mrs. Burts".

The corridor on the third floor wasn't long, but the atmosphere was somewhat subtle amidst the faint, decadent music playing on both sides.

Charlotte finally spoke, commenting on Erin's behavior: "Mr. Adler, I must point out that the way you obtained the clues just now is far from what a detective would do."

"Miss Holmes, I must remind you that I am only a temporary assistant."

Erin smiled nonchalantly. "Besides, looking at the outcome, that gentleman provided the clue, I paid him accordingly, and he expressed his sincere gratitude. It was a fair deal, wasn't it?"

Aysa couldn't help but speak up: "Adler, you're just making excuses."

"Alright," Erin readily admitted, then quickly countered, "But when dealing with bastards, violence is often the most effective method. Or do you have some other, better way, Miss Watson?"

Aysa opened her mouth, wanting to refute.

Having served in the military, she knew very well that what Erin said was true in a similar environment.

She turned her face away and stopped talking.

Cornelia's gaze swept back and forth between the three of them, filled with curiosity.

The group soon arrived at the door at the end of the corridor that the man had mentioned.

No light shone through the crack in the door, so it was clear that no one was inside.

Charlotte went up and tried to turn the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge.

"It's locked."

"I'll do it, I'll do it!" Cornelia, who had been eager to try, immediately stepped forward.

She stretched out her hand and hovered it above the keyhole, her fingertips shimmering with a faint emerald light. The metal spring inside the lock was instantly activated by magic, producing a soft "click" sound.

"Alright." She withdrew her hand and proudly raised her chin.

"As expected of you, madam." Erin immediately understood and added a compliment at the right time.

Upon entering, the room was completely dark, with only the lights from the Southwark district across the river providing some illumination.

Charlotte turned on the magic lamp. The room's furnishings were basically the same as the previous one, only slightly larger.

"Shall we split up and look for clues?" Erin suggested.

"it is good."

While the three were focused on finding clues, Erin was just dawdling. He knew perfectly well that the key clue was on the windowsill, and since the room wasn't big, they would find it eventually.

Cornelia quickly approached the windowsill and exclaimed, "Here! Here! Come quick!"

The other three quickly gathered around her.

She pointed to the corner where the windowsill meets the wall: "There's bloodstains here. Although it's been wiped clean, you can still see traces! And the window frame—only this part of the metal has severe wear!"

Charlotte bent down to examine it closely.

There are barely noticeable dark brown residues at the joints of the stone sill.

One area along the edge of the metal window frame was worn exceptionally smooth, even slightly dented.

—It must have been caused by prolonged friction from something soft yet tough.

"Madam, the clue you found is crucial."

She first offered a compliment, then straightened up and looked around again: "Compared to the previous room, this room is too clean, as if it has been thoroughly cleaned."

Cornelia, who had been praised repeatedly, was now completely immersed in the feeling of solving the case.

"Could it be that croupier named Hugh Boone who murdered Mr. St. Clair?" she suggested. "He then dumped the body in the Thames and forged a letter to mislead Mrs. St. Clair."

Upon hearing this, Charlotte subconsciously followed this line of thought and began to deduce the reasoning.

First, the motivation…

Crime of passion? Murder for money? Casino dispute? All of these are possible.

The timelines overlap, and Hugh Boone's escape after committing murder... isn't entirely illogical.

In this way, the whole thing seems to have a reasonable explanation.

"That's certainly possible. Let's go next..."

Her words came to an abrupt end there.

wrong.

Charlotte's gaze fell on Erin.

Why did Adler specifically ask "whether beggars could enter" beforehand?

Also, if he knew Hugh Boone, even if he didn't know the name, the way he asked the question was strange.

Then she looked at the unusual wear and tear on the window frame.

That letter, the handwritten letter Mrs. St. Clair showed her, leaped out from the corner of the palace of thoughts.

"Honey:

Please don't be afraid of me not being by your side. Believe me, everything will be alright. A terrible mistake has been made, and I need time and opportunity to atone for it. Please wait patiently for me to come home.

"Love, Neville"

If this were truly a forgery by Hugh Boone, would he have used such strange phrases as "a grave mistake has been made" and "atonement"?

"Where are we going? To the casino?" Asha asked when she noticed that Asha had suddenly stopped talking.

Charlotte's gaze drifted to the riverbank, and she shook her head: "No, let's go to the riverbank."

.

Even though it was almost noon, a thin mist still lingered on the surface of the Thames, and the turbid water surged and churned, carrying a faint smell of decay.

Charlotte stood near the stone steps on the riverbank, looking up at the back of the Golden Bird Pavilion building, and pinpointed the room they had just been in.

"Miss Holmes, have you discovered something?" Erin's voice rang out in the wind, tinged with appropriate doubt.

Charlotte raised her arm and pointed to the wall area directly below the window: "The color of the wall going vertically downwards is slightly different from the surrounding area, and the brickwork is also more worn."

Cornelia and Aysa also looked over, and it seemed to be true, but what did that mean?

"These seem to be traces left by climbing." Erin's tone shifted from doubt to contemplation.

"That's right." Charlotte's voice was clear and calm: "Combined with the abnormal wear and tear on the window frame inside the room, it proves that someone has been using the unevenness of the exterior wall and ropes to enter and exit the room through that window for a long time."

"Why didn't he use the main entrance?" Cornelia asked curiously.

She asked the same question that Asha wanted to ask.

"Madam, the answer will be revealed soon." Erin's voice carried a sense of sudden enlightenment: "It seems that the truth is already very close."

Charlotte closed her eyes, rapidly piecing together all the fragmented information in her mind, and continued, "Let's start from the beginning. Mr. St. Clair has been appearing at the Goldfinch Pavilion irregularly but frequently for the past month; and the croupier 'Hugh Boone' also works at the Goldfinch Pavilion, and both of them have recently disappeared."

"More importantly, Mr. St. Clair's appearances and departures were completely irregular, spanning all hours of the day, yet subtly coincided with the casino dealers' shift schedules."

Erin naturally picked up the thread: "I think... perhaps we went down the wrong path from the very beginning. Is it possible that Mr. St. Clair and Hugh Boone were, all along, the same person?"

Charlotte turned her head to the side, and although neither of them could see each other's eyes, their gazes seemed to meet in the air.

"That's right. That room wasn't the crime scene, but a dressing room. Mr. St. Clair entered the Goldfinch Pavilion as his original self, put on makeup and changed into his dealer's uniform in the room, then left the room through the window to start working as Hugh Boone. After finishing his work, he would climb back into the room, change into a presentable suit, and go home."

No wonder he's Sherlock Holmes.

She had only provided a negligible amount of help, yet she had managed to uncover the truth.

However, what happened next was beyond my control.

"So, what exactly caused his disappearance? And what do the 'grave mistake' and 'atonement' mentioned in that letter refer to?"

Erin poses a question, guiding the story towards its final stage.

Having lost his prophetic perspective, he genuinely couldn't figure these things out, but for Holmes, it was probably just a minor issue.

Charlotte's mind was more active than ever before, and her speech quickened accordingly: "The amount of blood on the windowsill was not large, not like a fatal wound. It was probably an accidental cut while climbing, but Jinqueting specially sent someone to clean it up."

"Perhaps he encountered some kind of mishap here, such as witnessing something he shouldn't have seen, getting involved in some trouble, etc., and thus had to escape through the room, accidentally cutting his hand in the process. That letter should have been sent to Mrs. St. Clair after he confirmed that he was safe."

Following her train of thought, Erin gradually understood everything: "Yes, although the Thames is a swift river, Mr. St. Clair's swimming skills allowed him to escape via the water. So, what he meant by atonement is..."

"Police station!" Erin and Charlotte exclaimed in unison.

"The closest police station is the London Metropolitan Police," Charlotte said, her pace quickening again. "Mr. St. Clair will most likely go there to file a report!"

Erin's expression and tone turned serious: "This is probably bad news. We need to hurry."

"That's right." Charlotte took a step forward.

"Wait...wait, wait, wait..."

Cornelia looked completely bewildered: "I barely understood what I said before, but didn't the fact that the gentleman went to the police station mean he was safe? Why is it bad news?"

Asha thought so too.

Erin turned to her and explained, "Madam, not all London police officers are paragons of justice like Inspector Lestrade. The existence of Goldfinch Pavilion might be a secret to ordinary people, but surely the police station on the same street wouldn't know?"

Charlotte added, "And there's still no news about Mr. St. Clair; he's most likely been detained or even tortured by someone in the police department."

"oh oh."

Cornelia's mouth gaped slightly, her eyes filled with amazement. She understood everything, but that's why she found it incredible.

Whether in self-evaluation or public perception, she is already a genius among geniuses in London, but surprisingly, she couldn't quite keep up with the two men's train of thought.

She quickly followed, glancing at Adler and then at Holmes, her little head turning back and forth.

Finally, she leaned closer to Watson, tugged at her sleeve, and whispered, "Have they always been so in sync?"

Asha's expression was particularly complex beneath the mist.

This is completely different from her usual self, who always asks questions at crucial moments.

Charlotte and Adler seemed to share some kind of intellectual resonance; their conversation about the case flowed so smoothly that Charlotte felt superfluous.

After a long silence, Asha finally answered truthfully: "This is their second formal meeting."

"Oh... um?"

Cornelia was completely stunned, her mouth agape: "...Huh?"