After filling out the recommendation forms, Alan and Talim left the Crag Club. Today was not a weekend; each of them had two surgeries in the afternoon, and one of them had to teach the young son of the Count of Conner horsemanship, so that the newly come-of-age young man wouldn’t be embarrassed during the autumn season of Beckland’s social life. Klein watched the red-jacketed footman and the beautiful dressed-up maid make several rounds before finally receiving his membership card and a badge engraved with the symbol of the White Frost constellation. “Membership fee: fifty pounds. There are still three and a half months left this year. Annual fee: four pounds,” the red-jacketed footman placed the two items before Klein. Klein produced the cash of seventy-seven pounds that Mary Gale had given him and counted out fifty-four pounds. The amount beyond the membership and annual fees was Mary’s first payment—she was very satisfied that Klein had quickly identified the mistress of Dorlag Gale and had taken photographs of her. A membership fee of fifty pounds…Mrs. Mary truly is a generous lady! While Klein watched the butler and the maid verify the authenticity of the banknotes and confirm the exact amount, he recalled Staline Summer’s private introduction: Mary’s father was one of the co-founders of Coym Company, holding a twenty-percent stake. Originally a modest enterprise that barely made a profit, the company rapidly expanded and grew into one of the top ten firms in the capital region within its industry, thanks to the increasing demand for smokeless coal and wood charcoal as pollution in Beckland worsened—Mary’s personal wealth consequently surged. The only issue, however, was that when she married Doralg Gail, the company was still relatively unknown, and her father, when bestowing the shares as part of her dowry, did not treat them with special protection as a bequest. Instead, he opted for the more contemporary practice of “bequest return” under a will. The first model treats the dowry as an independent, separate asset of the wife, with ownership belonging solely to her and not to the husband—indeed, even the right to use it is subject to the wife's discretion. In the second model, the dowry is considered part of the household estate, but the husband must establish a valid will committing to pay his wife a claim equivalent to two to four times the dowry amount when he dies before his spouse, before distributing the remaining estate according to normal inheritance rules. This effectively secures the wife's standard of living. If Mary files for divorce without evidence of Dolag's betrayal of their marriage, the shares in Coyim Company will be divided equally between the two parties. Kline recalls that Staline remarked with clear admiration: "Merely these shares are currently worth nearly twenty thousand gold pounds, not to mention other assets. Mary is truly a wealthy woman. Once divorced, she will undoubtedly become a sought-after match among many men in Beckettland, including several noblemen." "This amount is merely enough for 'Justice' Miss to assassinate Ambassador Beckland twice..." Suddenly, Caine recalled something, noticing the red-mantled footman and the well-dressed maid bowing to him: "Mr. Moriaty, welcome to the Crag Club." Only upon hearing this did Caine pick up the membership card and the white frost insignia before him. The former was made of a sturdy, flexible cardstock, resembling a card bearing Caine's name and the date of his enrollment. Once Caine pressed his fingerprint onto it, the membership card became valid. The latter was the Crag Club's distinctive insignia, named after its founding in early November, corresponding to the constellation of White Frost—on the front, it featured a symbolic emblem and the number '192,' while the back bore the inscription 'Sherlock Moriaty.' "So the Club currently has 192 members?" Caine asked casually. "Yes, we do not accept members without a recommendation." "The male servant in the red jacket smiled warmly and introduced, 'On the ground floor, you have a self-service restaurant, a bar, a library, a table tennis room, meeting rooms, and a card room—all available free of charge. You can also sample food and beverages at no cost. On the second floor, there are 16 lounges and two small meeting rooms, also free to use as long as there is availability.' A well-dressed female servant pointed toward the back and said, 'There are two tennis courts on the lawn, fully free of charge, and two indoor shooting ranges beneath the building—just pay the rental fee for the equipment.' 'If you're not satisfied with the buffet, you may choose your own meal—we have a dedicated chef, and you'll only pay for the ingredients.' 'Full board, full accommodation, full entertainment—no wonder this is a premier club,' thought Clarence sincerely, expressing his gratitude to Mrs. Mary. He smiled gently and said, 'Please send someone to show me around and help me get familiar with the premises, then assign me a lounge room for a nap during the afternoon.' 'Certainly,' the male servant in the red jacket made a polite gesture." After getting familiar with the atmosphere of the Crag Club, Caine entered the lounge and carefully studied its layout, noting that it resembled a modern hotel room—said to be in the Tiss style. He needed to think about how to handle the evidence of Dorag's extramarital affair tomorrow; the flash from the camera was simply unbearable. That meant only one photograph opportunity—yet doing so would surely drive him out of the club. He had to devise a more secure plan. He would wait for the newspapers, hoping to gauge the progress of the Ian incident through the news coverage and thus determine which three days needed protection. Caine paced back and forth, deep in thought. At that moment, he suddenly felt a sharp pang of unease, his entire body tightening. Was this the "Clown's" intuition? Yet nothing specific came to mind. He sensed the air around him growing thick and heavy, as though a storm were gathering. The sensation soon faded away, as if nothing had happened at all. Was there a danger approaching? Yet when I was first attacked by Myrtille, I hadn't experienced anything similar... Curious, Cline pulled out a coin and consulted it to see whether he would face an attack in the coming days. The answer was negative. After a few seconds of reflection, Cline drew the curtains, pretended to nap, and walked backward four steps, entering the gray mist. He sat down and pondered for a long time, then murmured softly: "I will face significant danger in the coming days." As he repeated these words, he tossed the coin again and watched it swirl down, landing gently in the palm of his open hand. This time, the king's head was facing up—positive! This confirms it! My reaction just now truly was a premonition of imminent danger... Cline narrowed his eyes and leaned back against the chair. He found himself deeply puzzled. Neither the seer nor the clown had ever displayed such abilities before. Even when they could foresee danger, it was only when the threat was directly before them, right beside them. There wasn't a single person near me... Given that my readings have been disrupted and misled, this matter must involve higher-level sequences—very likely one of Beckland's assistants. Yet somehow, this has actually triggered my foresight? That doesn't sound scientific, nor mystical. There must be other underlying factors at play, though I haven't yet been able to discern them. Kline glanced around, the gray mist stretching endlessly, the deep red still and serene, the palace standing as timeless and unchanging as ever. He settled his curiosity, temporarily setting aside the question of why, and focused instead on the impending assault. He cast his divinations several times over, only to find that he could confirm a major threat in the coming few days—but not narrowed down to three days, two days, or even within five hours. In other words, his insights remained rather vague. In his dream divinations, he saw Ian, wearing an old coat, standing on the street, with elegant gas streetlamps behind him and a hazy red moon in the distance. Nothing else. "How is this to be interpreted?" Klein mused, only able to see it as a prelude to danger. He didn't delay further, immediately returning to the real world, leaving the Crag Club and rushing to the Hillsdon branch of the Beckland Bank nearby to withdraw the remaining 100 gold pounds from his account—the 1,000 pounds granted by 'Justice' had not yet been settled through clearing and reconciliation, and the corresponding information had not yet been issued; the account status remained unsynchronized. In theory, this created a gap: Klein could withdraw the 100 pounds, then go to a different branch later to withdraw more, exploiting the time lag in account synchronization. But this was only theoretical. To avoid such incidents, banks had numerous regulations for bearer accounts: first, they strengthened the transmission of similar messages between local branches; second, they limited the amount of cash withdrawals per transaction, capped at no more than 500 pounds; third, if the last withdrawal had not taken place locally, a telegraphic inquiry was required. Klein encountered the third condition today. Marić’s gaze passed beyond him, settling on his back, where he gave a slight nod. “Good,” he said, “she’s agreed.” Ah? Kline stared in astonishment, only seeing the door panel and the air around it. He silently activated his spiritual sight, yet found nothing. Marić tucked the hundred pounds into his coat pocket and said indifferently, “You may now return. She has already begun protecting you—subtly.” If I hadn’t consulted my divinations beforehand, I’d have certainly thought you were con artists… Kline glanced around, then made a show of gritting his teeth and turning to leave. On the way, he alternately opened and closed his spiritual sight, constantly scanning the outside of the windows, but still failed to spot the bodyguards he claimed to have. Back at 15 Minsk Street, Kline closed the door, entered the bathroom, turned on the tap, and washed his hands. The sound of running water ceased. He shook off the droplets, wiped his palms with a towel, and then looked up at the mirror, studying his current appearance. At that moment, he saw himself suddenly sway in the mirror, transforming into a woman dressed in a black court gown. Her hair was a soft golden hue, her eyes a clear blue, and her features refined, though her complexion was unusually pale. She wore a small black soft hat, lifted her skirt, and slightly inclined her body to pay him a bow. This...克莱恩 could not conceal his astonishment, and deliberately stepped back, pressing against the wall. He had just realized that this might be the bodyguard he had hired for one thousand pounds. The image in the mirror quickly faded, and once again he saw himself—everything returned to normal.