Back in the living room, Caine picked up the letter cutter, casually opened the envelope, and extracted the letter from Esengard Stanton. The renowned detective wrote in it: "Your insights have been of great assistance—please allow me to express our sincere gratitude here." "Upon receiving your letter, we immediately dispatched personnel to investigate several key areas and indeed uncovered relevant clues. A number of stray animals that were frequently seen in the neighborhood and well-remembered by residents have recently gone missing." "During this investigation, we noticed an interesting detail: in the four-year-old series of murders, specifically the case involving a single woman with a child—a prostitute—the residents living near the crime scene often mentioned that the most suspect teenager, though reserved and cold, had a genuine affection for animals, particularly a large black dog." "Since the teenager died in the gang conflict, the residents have never seen that dog again." "I'm curious—is the current owner of it someone who committed a series of unsolved murders years ago?" "All of these points were substantiated at the scene of the 12th murder case, playing a crucial role in narrowing down the suspects. If everything proceeds smoothly, once the perpetrator is apprehended, we'll secure the majority of the reward." "My friend, I remember your contributions clearly—I won't forget your share." ...Esgarrouth Ithing seemed a bit skeptical that I knew the true nature of 'the Demon,' so deliberately hinted at certain details. Klein silently murmured this to himself as he folded the letter. Nevertheless, this letter gave him complete reassurance: The official extraordinary beings hadn't made a mistake in their identification! Without additional assistance, the Demon's great hound would inevitably be captured and defeated. As for Stanton's speculation that there might be another patron involved, Caine lacked sufficient evidence to confirm it and could only say it was plausible. "In any case, my task is now complete. What comes next is the Watchers, the Substitutes, and the Mechanical Heart team." Caine pulled out fresh paper, picked up his round-bodied steel pen, and wrote a humble letter to Stanton, ignoring his subtle hints as one would a true, ordinary private investigator. He cut out another paper figure, then stepped out to mail the letter. As he walked to the public carriage waiting point, he felt at ease, thinking: "Now I can simply wait to be paid." "Rapad said he'd attend the Rosel Memorial Exhibition for three consecutive days. I'll have to wait until Saturday to see him again and settle the final payment. I hope by then the bicycle patent has been filed. Oh, the efficiency of the Beckland Patent Office seems to have been consistently poor." "Klein had already planned out today's schedule. With the extraordinary gathering unable to convene and the necessary items unavailable, he suddenly found himself with a brief period of free time—no longer needing to be constantly busy." "Head to the Crag Club this morning, practice with the guns and refine your extraordinary abilities, have lunch there, then find a reputable circus and observe the magicians' performances—perhaps they'll spark some inspiration." He glanced at his gold-case pocket watch, his spirits lifted, and boarded the public carriage. ………… The Crag Club, in the Hillsdon district. Since Klein visits at least twice a week, the staff have all memorized him and no longer require him to present his membership card or the White Frost constellation badge. It was a Wednesday morning, and the club's members were mostly middle-class professionals of established standing, engaged in steady, respectable occupations—rarely coming in on Sundays, holidays, or during afternoon tea hours. The spacious, bright hall seemed unusually empty, with only a few people seated at the corner tea table and sofa area. As he glanced over, Clain spotted a familiar face and approached to greet him: "Talim, the weather today is just splendid—by all rights, you should be at the racetrack." The man in question was Talim Dumont, the noble equestrian instructor who had introduced Clain to the club at Mrs. Mary's request; he had also once brought Clain a business opportunity—protecting reporter Mike Joseph of *The Daily Observer* during his investigation at "The Golden Rose." Talim lifted his head, ran a hand through his brown, short, wavy hair, and smiled warmly. "Oh, esteemed detective, what have you been up to lately? It's been quite some time since I last saw you." "That you've been away from the club for several days...克莱恩 smiled and sat down on the sofa beside Talim: "I've been assisting the police with their ongoing series of homicide investigations. It might not yield immediate results, but the reward is quite attractive, and establishing strong ties with the police department is crucial for us private detectives." All of that was just exaggeration—really, I'm just a fairly unremarkable figure called in for the occasion... he chuckled to himself. Several members sitting behind them were discussing the latest Western Railway and Eastern Baylant plantation stocks, guided by a man who appeared to be a stockbroker. Talim didn't hesitate at all in responding to克莱恩's explanation, merely smiled and said: "Indeed, this is precisely what a busy detective is occupied with." After a few pleasantries, he gradually settled into a thoughtful demeanor. As Klein was about to take his leave for the underground range, Talim suddenly turned to him and said: "Mr. Moriaty, may I ask you a question?" "Go ahead—feel free to charge me a consultation fee." "This one's free, and please just call me Sherlock." Klein laughed heartily. Talim nodded gently, hesitating: "I have a friend who has fallen in love with someone he shouldn't have." Although I've always believed that when someone says 'I have a friend,' it essentially means 'me,' Talim's emotional tone indicates otherwise—he's clearly not speaking from personal experience. He's genuinely at a loss, yet there's no trace of sorrow. With his灵视 activated, Klein leaned back slightly, hands clasped together: "I'm sorry, but I'm not a psychologist, nor am I one of those experts featured in newspapers and magazines who specialize in emotional issues." "My only suggestion is: don't break the law." "Heh, that's just for fun. First, let's clarify—what exactly is the source of 'shouldn't'? Is there an antagonistic relationship between the two families?" Talim glanced at him, sighed, "No, this isn't a tale from *Romeo and Juliet*!" Hearing his reply, a faint, ethereal whisper seemed to echo in Caine's ears: Author: Rosel Gustave... Author: Rosel Gustave... Author: Rosel Gustave... He shook his head, apologized to the old Sha, and smiled, "The work of Emperor Rosel is simply so classic—whenever I hear of love that 'shouldn't' exist, I immediately think of it." "Then, what exactly is preventing them from being together?" Talim paused for a few seconds, then said, "I'll have to keep this confidential. Sorry—just as if I'd never asked." Confidentiality? That's someone of real standing... falling in love with someone of the same gender? Falling in love with someone related by blood? Klein suppressed his strong curiosity and gestured, "Then I can only offer one more suggestion—read more of the emotionally charged bestsellers, like *The Storm in the Manor* and *Love and Jealousy*." Talim moved his lips slightly, then sighed, "Oh, that's really only our last resort. In my view, the emotions portrayed in those bestsellers simply don't feel like they belong to ordinary human beings." "I completely agree!" Klein nodded in resonance. After exchanging a smile with Talim, he rose and headed to the underground range to practice his shooting and extraordinary abilities. By midday, he returned to the first floor and made straight for the self-service restaurant. He had already noticed that today's limited offering was seared duck liver with wine, served with apple slices and buttered bread. Having secured his meal, Caine carried the tray toward the table where Tallym was seated. At that moment, besides Tallym, there was another familiar face—Dr. Alan Cris, the same外科 surgeon who had introduced him to the club as a guarantor. As soon as Caine placed the tray down and had barely sat, he suddenly noticed a cane leaning against the chair beside Dr. Cris. "Alan, what's wrong?" he asked with concern. Standing tall and slender, with a composed demeanor and wearing wire-rimmed glasses, Dr. Cris lightly tapped his right leg. "No, don't mention it—this is just terribly unfortunate! I slipped on the stairs and suffered a serious fracture, requiring a cast for immobilization." "Indeed, quite a setback," Caine agreed, sighing, and then cut a piece of foie gras, dipping it into the sauce and biting into it. The moment it touched his mouth, the rich aroma of the fat spread out, stimulating every taste bud. "I haven't been having much luck for a long time now," Allen lifted his hand to push his glasses up and then rubbed his temple. He then looked at Crane, and then at Talim, hesitating before asking, "Mr. Moriaty, do you have—do you have…?" "What?" Crane looked up. Allen lowered his voice. "You're a well-known detective, so you must have met quite a few people, right?" "Rather satisfactory," Crane replied vaguely, not quite understanding. Allen glanced at Talim again, took a breath, and said, "Have you come across someone like a country healer? No, I mean, someone with real abilities—a seer or a mystic enthusiast. I think—I really feel—that my recent string of misfortunes is rather unusual." "I know many of those are probably fake, designed to deceive, but I simply can't seem to shake off this bad luck. I've tried going to church, making donations, attending Mass—nothing seems to help." "Some accomplished seers or esoteric enthusiasts... you're almost saying it yourself," Caine mused. "Allen, could you elaborate on what exactly has happened to you?" Talim nodded in agreement beside him. "Don't worry—I may be a devoted follower of the Divine, but I'm not dismissive of esoteric matters." Allen sighed with a touch of frustration. "There's so much—like surgical complications, a steam train accident during travel, a thief breaking in at home, and then falling down the stairs at the hospital. Do you think someone might be cursing me?" Hmm, he'd mentioned something similar before... Caine furrowed his brows slightly. As a former night watcher, he immediately thought of a specific kind of sealed object: the *Unlucky Doll*! Was there something like that? He activated his spiritual sight and asked seriously, "Allen, take a moment to reflect carefully—before a series of unfortunate events began to unfold, did you or your family, I mean your family, experience any unfortunate incidents as well?" PS: Requesting monthly support!