Upon considering the possibility of the demon dog owner, Caine immediately adjusted his strategy and provided a detailed account of how he first met Esengard-Stanton through the series of murders. He also proactively mentioned that Esengard-Stanton had assembled a team of detectives to investigate the case and successfully secured partial rewards. "In that engagement, although I only offered some ideas—using the professional terminology of the private detective industry, that is, provided consulting advice—I was still regarded by Mr. Stanton as having made the most significant contribution, which is why I received the largest share of the reward," Caine concluded. The two officers on duty swiftly recorded these details and asked whether anyone could verify the information provided. Caine named several private detectives—Stuart, Kaslanara, and others—along with their addresses. "Very good, Mr. Moriaty. Your response is thorough." "One officer paused with his pen and asked, 'How long were you at the Eschenburg-Stanton home today? I mean, from the moment you entered until we discovered you there?' Without consulting his lawyer, Jurgen, Klein thought for a moment and replied, 'About two to three minutes.' This was based on his personal impression. Another officer raised an eyebrow and said, 'Several neighbors can confirm that you entered the Eschenburg-Stanton home around 2:10 p.m., and we arrived at the scene at 2:28 p.m.—that means you were inside for approximately eighteen minutes, not just two to three minutes! 'What were you doing during that time? Why didn't you leave or call for help?' For eighteen minutes? Klein suddenly furrowed his brows. He felt as though he had only stood there, silently facing the officer, for barely a minute and a half—yet it had seemed to stretch into eighteen minutes. Was it the strange sensation of being watched that had disrupted my sense of time, or something else? Was it the other person's exceptional ability? If indeed he were the owner of the demon dog, he would at the very least be a sequence 6, probably a sequence 5. While Klien pondered, Jurgen leaned forward, preparing to accuse the police of leading the questioning. This wasn't quite sufficient grounds—he simply wanted to break the rhythm of the interrogation, postponing the clearly unfavorable question. At that moment, Klien raised a hand, rubbing his temple. "Everything I just said is true. In my personal perception, I entered the house of Eschenburg-Stanton only two to three minutes ago." He emphasized: "Yes, in my personal perception." The two officers exchanged a glance and jotted down this detail. After a brief silence, the officer who had just asked the question said: "During those eighteen minutes, a servant who had been out returned and rang the doorbell, but received no answer. He then looked inside through the projecting window and saw the bodies scattered all over the floor and you standing at the doorway of the living room. 'He was terrified—he rushed franticly to the police station to report it—and several passersby and some residents can confirm this.'" "I don't see any body inside the living room—Mr. Eshing Stanton should still be alive, right?" One officer tapped the desk with his pen. "That's one of the things we're particularly puzzled about. The entire house shows only signs of struggle in the living room, and the windows are tightly shut, having remained closed for several days—something very typical in Beckland during autumn and winter. Yet, strangely, both the attacker and Mr. Eshing Stanton left that room without any trace of pursuit or movement. We've found no clues anywhere else in the house or in the surrounding area, not even a single drop of blood." Before allowing Klein to speak, he continued, asking himself: "You must be thinking about the living room door and the main house entrance, but several people confirm that there was no chase, no hostage taken, no one carrying a body away." Perhaps the actual incident took place in the middle of the night? Perhaps they even walked through the walls? Klein silently offered other possibilities in his mind, and silently prayed: "May the goddess protect Északg and the detective Stanton from adversity." ——The Night Goddess is the Queen of Adversity and Fear. After the interrogation, Klein was taken to a small room, while police officers followed Jurgen the lawyer to address the collection of letters and evidence at No. 15 Minsk Street. It wasn't until late in the evening that Klein was finally granted release, with a bond of fifty pounds. "That's much higher than last time—most private detectives find it difficult to raise such a sum so quickly," Klein remarked, as he adjusted the collar of his woolen coat upon leaving the Hissak police station, expressing his frustration to Jurgen. Jurgen remained as professional and composed as ever: "The circumstances were favorable to you last time, but this time, several points of doubt now point directly to you." As he gestured for the hired carriage to stop, he turned seriously to look at Crane: "Holmes, I'm your lawyer. Before you answer the police's questions, you should have some exchange with me—even just a glance. Don't assume you're fine and just start speaking at random; untrained ordinary people often leave themselves vulnerable in their words." This... I've already grown used to crafting stories and solving problems on my own... Crane recalled what had just happened, and chuckled lightly. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind." Yurgen said no more and got into the carriage. Crane sat opposite him, reflecting on the incident involving Detective Eshingen Stanton's attack. As he thought, he suddenly heard a rumble from his stomach. It had been half an hour past the usual dinner time... Crane pulled out his gold-case pocket watch and checked the time. He didn't intend to waste any more energy preparing a meal, and began considering which restaurant might be worth the visit. At that moment, Jürgen raised his eyelid and said, "I've already had my grandmother prepare a three-course dinner." "How could I possibly do that?" Klein paused, then smiled, "Mrs. Doris's cooking is always something one looks forward to." ... When the two returned to Minsk Street in the Joewood district, the sky was completely dark, and the glow of the gas streetlamps was even brighter than the faint, hazy red moon overhead. After having dinner at Jürgen's lawyer's home and patting the cat, Klein walked through the cold, damp air back to the outside of the house at number 15. He habitually checked the mailbox, pulling out a recent copy of the "Becland Evening Post." Holding the newspaper, he opened the door and stepped inside. As he placed his walking stick down, he suddenly felt something was off. His intuitive sense of divination told him that strangers had been in his home! Could it be the police who had come to collect evidence? Klein scanned the room with alert eyes, and suddenly noticed a letter placed on the coffee table—where there should have been only the newspaper. Klein remained ever on the alert as he entered the living room, drawing close to the coffee table, the entire process silent and unremarkable. He glanced at the letter several times before first donning his black gloves and then carefully opening it. Inside the envelope was a thin sheet of paper, which, when unfolded, immediately revealed a deep crimson hue to Klein's eyes, accompanied by a faint scent of blood. On the paper, blood had solidified into words: "Y'all will all die!" Was this truly the master of the demon hound? Was he seeking vengeance against those who had lost their subordinates? How remarkably unassertive—why not directly target the watchful night wardens, the very ones responsible for the clean-up operations? Klein's mind tightened with a flurry of thoughts. Yet he quickly dismissed his concerns. It's the most natural choice to begin revenge against someone who can actually be dealt with—just as he has been in Beckland for several months, never once considering seeking out Inz. Zangweil, yet constantly pursuing Larn Uls. After circling the room once more, Caine gradually finds this situation somewhat puzzling: "Doesn't he fear being watched by official powerhouses with such a conspicuous form of retaliation? Is this part of his magical medicine requirements? "Or perhaps, after Esgarrouth. Stanton's detective escaped, he realized he could no longer quietly eliminate his targets one by one, and thus had to resort to an alternative strategy—though that alternative seems rather insignificant? "Moreover, when he was at the Stanton detective's home, he clearly had me locked in his sights, constantly observing me—why didn't he act then? Does he really still regard me, a mere private detective, as someone to be cautious about? "No, this simply cannot be... He knows I am a special one." It’s possible that, due to the side effect of the universal key causing me to lose my way, I’ve actually met the demon hound face to face. It saw my appearance and form, though I had made certain efforts to conceal myself. I didn’t know whether the demon could see through that disguise. “Perhaps, after that incident, it conveyed my image to its master in some way.” “Yet at the time, I couldn’t even defeat the hound—I had to flee in embarrassment. What could it possibly have been concerned about? Unless it was also mindful of other matters, such as Észak-Stanton, who was hidden nearby due to injury? “It wrote to me so boldly and formally—did it assume that as a wild extraordinary being, I would certainly be too hesitant to seek official assistance?” Kaine checked the house thoroughly, making his way up to the second floor. When he opened the door to the bedroom, another letter caught his eye. This letter lay quietly on the desk, as if it had been waiting for a long time. Caine picked up the envelope, gently unfolded it, and saw a line of dark red letters: "You are the next one." The next one... what a bold claim... Caine couldn't help but remark. At that moment, he suddenly felt a strange sense of awareness, lifted his head, and looked out the window. Across the way stood several two-story houses, each glowing with light. The glow from the gas streetlamps cast alternating zones of light and shadow on their exteriors. Suddenly, within those shadowed zones, the shadows began to ripple and twist, forming a distinct silhouette of a black figure dressed in a crisp tailcoat. The figure raised its right hand, formed a gun shape, and pointed it directly at Caine, then tapped him lightly. Immediately, it retracted its arm and blew gently across the "gun barrel." Then, without a sound, it slowly fell backward, dissolving once more into countless disconnected shadows.