"What?" Toller, resembling a brown bear, started, glanced at Caine, then at the guest room, and surged inside with a surprising agility befitting someone of his stature. He pulled back the white cloth covering the body, examined it carefully, and exhaled in relief: "Better than I expected. This isn't such a serious issue after all." Perhaps I should draw my revolver and send Senator Menard five magic bullets to see just how serious things really are... Caine muttered under his breath, pointing toward the door. "Then I can go on without you, right?" "No!" Toller shouted suddenly. "Wait just a moment." Caine frowned, asking, "Why?" Toller explained seriously and earnestly: "We must prevent unforeseen complications. We'll need to speak with Mrs. Shellen and secure our statements before I send you back to Zoth Lane." If a corpse that has been dead for over ten hours can come back to life, what else might happen? What if I leave now—what then will I do? Tol quietly added to himself. "Well," Caine rubbed his temple. "Find me a quiet room to rest." Having only been promoted yesterday, his overall condition was still unstable—he had just performed several rituals, used two sigils, and had been significantly startled. Therefore, he needed to meditate promptly to stabilize himself. Currently, Caine was unusually vigilant about losing control. Tol fastened the white robe and seemed noticeably more relaxed. "No worries," he said, leading Caine into a guest room near the sunroom and pointing inside. "Moriati Inspector, you can rest assured—no one will disturb you. I'll go find Lady Xuelin first." Caine nodded slightly, watched Tol leave, then closed the door and drew the curtains. In the dim, tranquil room, he walked slowly to the armchair, settled in comfortably, and allowed his body to sway gently back and forth. Indistinct spheres of light layered and accumulated in his mind, the hum at his ears and the throbbing in his head gradually fading away, one by one. Once his condition stabilized, he opened his eyes, gazing at the outlines of the bed, cabinets, and other furniture outlined against the darkness, and calmly reviewed his previous attempts: "A few more flamboyant jokes had yet to receive a clear response..." "Perhaps I haven't fully mastered the power of the 'Clown' potion, and some lingering negative effects remain... of course, it's also possible that the mere act of playing the part has been less significant than I thought." “…I’m not particularly inclined to play the role of the clown, but since I’ve chosen this path of the sequence, I’ll have to press on, regardless…” “Actually, everyone in life has moments when they become a clown—there’s no need to be overly resistant…” “I need to figure out what the core elements of the clown’s role truly are…” As various thoughts surged and surfaced, Caine suddenly produced a half-penny, its hue a warm bronze. He habitually sought to determine whether John Meenan’s death was influenced by the extraordinary. Perhaps this was simply part of his professional routine… Caine shook his head, smiled slightly, and his gaze deepened as he repeated quietly: “John Meenan’s death is influenced by the extraordinary.” … Clang! The coin, the half-penny, shot out from the armchair where Caine had been resting. It rolled and shimmered in the dim light. Tap! It landed precisely in the center of Caine’s palm, the numeral ‘half’ facing upward. "Negate... that is, John Maynard's death was not influenced by any extraordinary factors... He seems to have died suddenly while in profound joy... Since the deceased holds the upper hand, I shall refrain from using any Chinese idiom to mock him." Kline set aside the coin, his mind growing still and quiet within the deeply darkened room, nearly dozing off. Drip. Drip. Drip. With the steady, rhythmic tapping, Kline smoothed his clothing, donned the soft hat bearing the police insignia, and slowly rose from the armchair, walking calmly toward the door. As his right palm just touched the handle, a vivid image suddenly flashed into his mind: Chief Toller, resembling a brown bear, stood outside, adjusting his collar, clearly agitated and helpless. Kline turned the handle and opened the door slowly and deliberately. Toller appeared before him, adjusting his collar and said: "Very sorry to have kept you waiting so long." "We've spoken with Mrs. Shelton, taken her statement, and you can now return to Zoth Lane." "I'm truly sorry this has delayed your valuable time." Klein didn't ask about the reason for the other's current demeanor, but instead smiled and said: "Mrs. Shelton confirms she was with Mr. Menaud last night?" "Yes. She explained that under the influence of a large amount of alcohol, she and Mr. Menaud were unable to control themselves, and upon discovering his sudden death, she became extremely frightened. She made a quick exit from the room and retreated to her own suite. For now, we don't have sufficient grounds to charge her with any crime—only that we need to keep her under certain restrictions and allow her to remain under observation until further autopsy results are available." Tolle described this in detail. Klein slightly tilted his head, his expression sharp and amused. "Are you explaining this to whom?" Tolle paused, then offered a wry smile. "Yes, I don't need to explain anything to you. I've been driven mad by Madame Menard, so I've ended up saying all this." "Madame Menard has returned?" Klein asked, surprised. "Yes, unfortunately, today's steam train experienced an anomaly—it wasn't delayed at all," Tolle replied with a touch of humor. Klein didn't press further. After checking that his personal belongings were complete, he followed Tolle toward the staircase and down to the ground floor. "The court-style long gown currently trending in Beckett this year..." Klein, who regularly browses the magazine "The Woman's Taste," suddenly had this rather out-of-place thought, then spotted a woman being protected by several gentlemen. The woman wore a black gown, her skin smooth and fair, her brown hair flowing like a waterfall, and her warm brown eyes—pure and gently vulnerable, like those of a deer in the forest—inviting one to want to protect her. Mrs. Xerun... Klein suddenly recalled the film she had starred in, the one known for its more intimate, slightly unpolished moments. She quickly raised her right hand, pressed it to her mouth, and cleared her throat twice. He professionally tapped his left teeth twice, then used his "clairvoyance" to observe the gathered guests. Madam Meunard had some minor health issues; her aura was somewhat thin... one could clearly perceive her anger and resentment from her emotional hues—this aligned perfectly with her outward demeanor. Ah, Madam Xuelin's emotional hues indicated rational thought and composure—blue—yet this contrasted sharply with her visibly anxious, fragile appearance. Indeed, someone capable of thriving in social settings was far from a mere "white rabbit." Her physical health was excellent. After completing his assessment, Sir Kline was about to withdraw his gaze when suddenly he noticed Madam Xuelin quickly lifting her head, glancing toward him, then immediately lowering it again, appearing hesitant and trembling. If I hadn't been able to see the colors of your emotions firsthand, I'd have been completely fooled by your performance... You should seriously consider a career in acting. Mentally muttering to yourself, Klein didn't linger and joined Chief Toller as they walked out of the Meadard议员's home, taking the police-arranged carriage back to Zothlan Street. After the captain was replaced, he continued his shift at the Charnes Gate and took the opportunity to draft a reimbursement request by hand. Unhurried throughout the night, Klein returned to the ground in the morning, receiving the breakfast that Rosan had purchased for him. "I really like this pie!" he praised. He had already paid for the breakfast in advance. "Really? Then I'll try it tomorrow!" Rosan responded with delight. ...Klein's mouth twitched slightly, focusing intently on his milk and pie. By 8:25, he yawned, suppressed his drowsiness, and made his way to the nearby shooting club. He had already arranged to meet Dr. Dast Guerrierian of the asylum at this time a few days prior. Thump! Thump! Thump! In the small shooting range, Cline and Dast each aimed at the targets, firing a full magazine of bullets. Tinkling and clinking, Dast shook out the spent casings, then turned his head with interest to observe Cline. "You're more confident now than before." Of course, I've now reached Sequence 8 and possess practical combat abilities... Cline mentally mirrored his facial expressions and body language, deliberately adopting a self-assured posture. "Because I've fully mastered the power of magic potions within just under a month." Dast gave a barely perceptible shrug. "That's certainly something to be proud of, but it doesn't need to be mentioned all the time." "Hey, as an 'audience,' you haven't seen through my act at all... So it seems the 'clown' has a rather restrained ability to engage the audience. Klein smiled thoughtfully and then asked, "How has Hude Egen been lately?" "...He's truly gone mad." Dast said, pausing for a moment. "I've tried various ways to probe him, and indeed, he's completely lost his grip. I'm considering prescribing medication tailored to his condition—perhaps we can treat him." As a Sequence 7 'psychologist,' pretending to be mentally ill... Even with some treatment efforts, this still falls short of the core elements of the magical remedies' names. This is a vague and incorrect use of the 'role-playing' method. Being mad isn't particularly surprising. Klein pondered a moment and then asked, "Before he went mad, has anyone else come into contact with him? Have you looked into that?" "No one outside the hospital staff—the doctors, patients, nurses, and support staff—has ever met him," Dast replied confidently. Klein hummed. "Earlier on, though—had anyone visited him? Or did he ever leave the asylum for a while at a time?" To uphold his initial promise, Klein had not specifically inquired about Hude Egen's condition in the earlier visits. Dast pondered for a while before speaking. "Besides members of the Psychological Alchemy Circle, no more than five people have visited him. One of them came three times; her name was El." Before Klein could ask further, Dast continued on his own. "But Hude Egen mentioned that El was a pseudonym. Her real name is Larnus."