On a Tuesday morning, the weather remained the typical cool of this season. Crane tightened the collar of his wool coat, put on his hat, and opened the door. It was a simple trip to the mailbox at the end of the street to deliver a letter to Detective Stuart—though the distance was not great, he felt it necessary to dress so neatly and formally. Having just recovered from a cold, he decided to wrap himself in layers for good measure. Perhaps due to the strong winds that had blown all night, the air in Beckland was unexpectedly fresh, and without realizing it, Crane slowed his pace, savoring the rare morning clarity. As he passed by the house of Gerhard, he heard the creak of the rounded window opening, and instinctively turned to look. Standing at the window was Mrs. Doris, wearing a black plush hat and a thick gray-blue scarf; her complexion had grown paler than before, and her posture had grown more hunched. "Good morning, Detective Moriaty. Thank you for looking after Brody these past days. He says you're a good person, doesn't he, Brody?" The elderly Mrs. Dorothea bent down and picked up the black cat with its emerald-green eyes. Brody, using all four paws, struggled vigorously in her arms, and finally leapt down, landing lightly on the windowsill. Yet he didn't leave there—he circled back and forth, constantly rubbing his head and sides against Mrs. Dorothea, never once looking at Caine. Was the cat issuing a 'good person' card? Caine chuckled to himself, and sincerely smiled, "This is a joyful occasion, and even more delightful is that Mrs. Dorothea, you've finally recovered and been discharged from the hospital." After a few pleasantries, he rose to bid farewell, smiling and continuing on toward the end of the street. Just a few steps ahead, he heard Mrs. Dorothea calling from behind, "As soon as Erwin returns, I'll have him pay you!" ...Am I really taking on this assignment just for the money? Klein's smile suddenly stiffened, and he only half-turned, waving a hand to indicate he had heard. As they moved away from the Jürgen home, his expression grew more serious, faintly tinged with a sigh. He had just used his spiritual sight to examine the energy field of Mrs. Doris and found the situation not very promising—partly because of her age, and partly due to the damp, cold climate and poor air in Beckland, which were particularly detrimental to respiratory conditions. Mrs. Doris should make it through this deep autumn and winter without major issues, but beyond that, the outlook became uncertain. To live several more years, she would likely need to move south, to the Dics Bay area. Unfortunately, Mr. Jürgen probably didn't yet have the means to make such a move—nor had I myself visited Dics Bay. Klein mumbled a few remarks, found the mailbox, and slipped the letters inside. This would be the prelude to the performance. Later that evening, he would again go to the Harvest Church as a detective, completing the final preparations. After picking up a dish of Dixie pie for breakfast, Crane returned along the same route, quite leisurely. Before he even reached the entrance to his home, he noticed a finely decorated carriage parked outside, with two ladies wearing black hats adorned with ribbons anxiously ringing the bell. Servants and bodyguards were scattered around, as if on guard against something unforeseen. Mrs. Staline... Mrs. Mary... they must have an urgent matter to attend to. Crane, holding the paper bag with the Dixie pie, approached and smiled warmly. "Madams, this should be breakfast time." Turning to see Sherlock Moriarty, the detective, Mrs. Mary visibly relaxed. "Mr. Detective, you'll have to help me." In Crane's spiritual vision, the detective's anxiety, tension, and fear were genuine—there was no pretense. He nodded and pointed toward the front door. "Let's go in and discuss it." As he spoke, he glanced at the landlady, Staline, and noticed how her demeanor had changed dramatically compared to the previous two days—now subdued and listless, as though disinterested in everything around her. What had happened? Staline was usually quite showy, yet she clearly cared deeply about life. Klein produced the key and opened the door. Before he had even sat down, Mrs. Mary hurried to say: "Moriati Detective, I've received a threatening letter!" A threatening letter? Klein set down the Daisy pastry, clasped his hands, and asked, "What does it say?" Mrs. Mary turned to look at Mrs. Staline, noticing that she wasn't as enthusiastic as usual, and then said, "The letter requires me to treat the factory's emissions fairly during my air pollution investigation, to acknowledge and highlight their contributions—otherwise, it will make me as insignificant as the doll that came with it... The doll's head was removed, and its arms and legs were broken." Mrs. Mary seemed to recall the sensation of opening the letter, her voice trembling slightly, "This is the first time I've encountered something like this. I don't know if it will come true. I don't know whether serving as a member of the investigation committee will entail enduring such treatment. I don't know..." Madam, perhaps Emperor Roscel had once said that the most profound forms of hatred between people are only two: either one kills the other's parents, or one undermines the other's livelihood. Mr. Kline nodded seriously, "My recommendation is to file a police report." "In his view, Lady Mary is now a commissioner of the Kingdom's Atmospheric Pollution Investigation Committee, a position and status entirely different from before. The police will surely take her threats seriously. Moreover, this involves the formulation of key national policies—not a matter of ordinary concern—so they are likely to transfer the case to the extraordinary members of the Church's organization, aiming to resolve it swiftly. Given Lady Mary's status as a devoted follower of the Goddess, the Night Watchers are a natural choice. In that case, even if Sir Caine wishes to secure a modest fee, he won't be drawn into the matter. 'I've already taken these steps, yet it still doesn't bring me peace,' Lady Mary said, pressing her lips together. 'Do you know what they say? That the threatening letters are composed of clipped words from newspapers, and the dolls are the kind that can be purchased anywhere—so it's difficult to trace the sender within a short time. And they've only assigned a single police officer to protect me! Oh, Goddess, are they really treating a helpless citizen's plea this way?" Madame Mary paused, gazing at Crane with earnestness: "Detective Moriaty, I believe you can assist me—not only because of your performance in that case, but also due to Michael's recognition, Alan's praise, and Talim's commendation. Moreover, I know you made outstanding contributions in the series of murders. Don't worry—I will compensate you generously." Your words made me feel pleased, yet something feels off... Unless the police have been compromised, they should have transferred the case to the Night Watch. With such extraordinary means—like divination—the letters composed merely from words on newspaper clippings would inevitably attract scrutiny. Either the sender has already been apprehended, or they’ve managed to interfere with the divinations—either way, the Night Watch would have to formally and significantly intervene. In either scenario, this doesn’t match the current handling of the case. Crawford didn’t immediately respond to Mrs. Mary. Instead, he carefully analyzed the anomalies evident in the situation. The room grew unusually quiet, and the silence unsettled Mrs. Mary and Mrs. Staline unexpectedly. At some point, Crawford had pulled out a coin and began making it jump and roll between his fingers—a habit he adopted when deeply concentrating. Suddenly, the coin leapt into the air and settled steadily back onto his palm, landing with the reverse side up. Klein was now surprised. He had consulted about whether this matter posed any danger, and the answer was that it did not. If there were indeed such a threat—despite the letter-writer having almost no strength—the situation might still create some level of risk, certainly not be entirely without consequence. Would it simply be a mere form of intimidation? Or... suddenly, Klein thought of another possibility and smiled. "Mrs. Mary, don't worry. Go back in peace. Should anyone contact you within the next couple of days to discuss having this matter reported to the public, to reveal the true nature of the factory owners and ignite public outrage, then you will be safe." Klein had just realized that this entire letter threat might be a carefully orchestrated scheme—his own initiative—designed to galvanize public sentiment, harness their anger, and thus facilitate the smooth progress of the air pollution investigation, ultimately making the resulting legislation more favorable to himself. This explanation now made sense of the police department's current response. "Why do you say that?" "Madam, frowned slightly. "This is my reasoning," replied Kline with a smile. "What if none of the things you've mentioned happen within two days?" asked Madam, pressing further. "Then I will provide protection," said Kline sincerely. "After all, there's really no danger..." he added mentally. After reassuring Madam, he went up to the gray mist to verify, and found the same result as before. By then, his Daisy pie had already cooled. ........ Madam returned home, a little nervous and uneasy, wondering whether to invite Staline to stay for a few days and accompany her. At that moment, her butler informed her that Mr. Hibert Hall, the eldest son of the Earl of Hall and chief secretary of the Committee on Air Pollution, had come to visit. After entering the living room, Mary夫人 had not yet opened her mouth when the handsome, golden-haired gentleman stepped forward to say: "Madam Mary, I've heard about your ordeal. This is not just a disgrace to Beckland—it is a national shame. I am deeply sorry and sympathetic. 'Rest assured, every member of the committee will stand with you!' "Thank you for your kind words," Mary夫人 replied gratefully. Hibert Hall paused thoughtfully: "Madam, I would like to invite journalists to cover this story—tell the public about your experience, about those disgraceful actions, and show how those who have been polluting Beckland's air have been behaving with such arrogance, showing not a single gesture of remorse. "I beg you to agree to my request." ...It was exactly as Moriati the detective described... Mary夫人 found herself momentarily at a loss for words. ...After breakfast, having rested a while, and with nothing else to do, Crane entered the realm of misty haze, preparing to make a divination regarding the origin of the biological toxin bottles. This time, he showed no delay at all.