At 10 p.m., a light drizzle began falling over Beckett, creating a soft, hazy beauty as the gas streetlamps' glow diffused through the thin mist. Bowen, an assistant of Esingh Stanton, walked around the ground floor and stopped by the projecting window, ready to close the final one. At that moment, a dark figure leapt in and landed steadily on the projecting wall. It was a blue short-haired stray cat! Upon seeing the large, round yellow eyes fixed upon him, Bowen couldn't help but chuckle. "There's no food here." Since detective work often invites retaliation and requires the concealment of numerous secrets, Esingh Stanton's chef and maids are hourly workers who come only for a few fixed hours each day, preparing only a limited amount of food. As a result, they find it difficult to have leftovers after dinner. The blue short-haired cat opened its mouth, but instead of meowing, it spoke like a human: "I am Sherlock Moriarty. I would like to see Mr. Esgar Stanton." Though Bowen was an exceptional one nurtured by the Church of the Gods of Knowledge and Wisdom, his own rank was not particularly high, and his experience was still limited—this was the first time he had encountered a talking cat, and for a moment he was momentarily stunned and dazed. After several seconds, he regained his composure and recalled the blue short-haired cat's words: It said... it said it was Sherlock Moriarty? What a remarkable detective! Not only could it transform into a cat, but control one! Such a power was both strange and deeply unsettling. Bowen quickly calmed himself, did not immediately respond to the blue short-haired cat, and reached out to close the glass window. Only after completing these actions did he lower his voice and say: "Follow me." The blue short-haired cat immediately leapt down from the platform behind the bulging window, its tail held high and moving with agile steps along博文's side and rear, following him all the way to the second floor, where it watched him knock on the door of Esengard Stanton's bedroom. "Is there something wrong?" asked Esengard, who was dressed in a light striped nightgown and enjoying his evening tobacco. Cautiously, Bowen pointed to the blue short-haired cat crouched beside him. "Mr. Sherlock Moriarty is looking for you." Esengard, with his hair slightly gray at the temples and a lean face, raised his eyebrows slightly, glanced down, then stepped back two paces, allowing the blue short-haired cat to stroll confidently into his bedroom. "Go back to your room and get some rest," Esengard instructed Bowen as if nothing had happened, "and rise at the usual time tomorrow—we still have a case to pursue." When the assistant had left, he closed the door and turned to the blue short-haired cat squatting by the armchair, smiling gently. "I didn't expect you to have such a remarkable ability—I was actually worried you'd come straight over." "I noticed that exclamation point," the blue short-haired cat said with a bright smile. It must be said that such a facial expression on a cat is quite unusual, often leaving witnesses with a cold sensation down their spine and their hair standing on end. Yet Ésingar showed no such reaction. He took a draw on his pipe, settled into the armchair, and slowly released the steam with a contented smile. "I have full confidence in your intelligence." "Thank you for the kind words," the blue short-haired cat said politely, extending its paw and bowing slightly. Ésingar watched it closely, gently stroking the pipe as he smiled. "I believe you already understand what has happened." "Although they aren't very strictly monitoring, afraid of being discovered and informing the Night Church and the Steam Church—hmm, once exposed, they'll certainly face their own share of trouble—I believe there must be a half-god among them. This is both logical deduction and a conclusion drawn from feedback I've received, since I've lived on this street for many years. "Therefore, humans and animals entering my house won't be stopped—something you've already anticipated—but when they leave, they will inevitably be trailed and followed. What can you do to break free from them? Ah... the amount of money isn't small; carrying it out will be quite conspicuous. "Let me think. Are you planning to communicate with me so that I deposit the funds into a designated bank account, and then you'll personally organize several people to withdraw the money in batches, simultaneously, at different locations outside of Beckland?" As she said this, Esgarrouth chuckled self-consciously: "This is the best approach I can think of, but the execution will be extremely cumbersome." The blue short-haired cat made no direct reply, merely chuckled softly. "I only need you to lend me an empty room and three candles." "Alright," said Esgarath Stanton without further inquiry, adding, "The price for this share transfer is twelve thousand gold pounds. The buyer is Lady Audrey, the daughter of the Holborne Earl. Now, the costs for hiring lawyers and accountants, plus advertising expenses, totaled six hundred pounds. Additionally, we've paid a 0.5% stamp duty and a 20% Class D income tax—leaving us with eight thousand nine hundred forty pounds." Class D tax refers to income tax on business, financial, and specialized industry earnings. Oh, we still have to pay taxes... over two thousand pounds gone right away... the blue short-haired cat's expression instantly grew slightly stunned. Klein used to be a night watchman, earning a salary exempt from personal income tax. Later, he worked as a private investigator, with income that was hard to monitor, so he never proactively filed tax returns. Then, he became an adventurer—because there were tax incentives for pirate bounty payments, and he simply lacked awareness of tax obligations. Even when Eseng Stanton recently mentioned tax issues, he didn’t give them much thought, assuming the amount wouldn’t be significant. Reality, however, delivered a sharp blow. As for why the previous equity transaction didn’t trigger tax liability, it was due to the Lune government’s policy of encouraging early investments in innovation, which included tax credits. After a brief silence, the blue short-haired cat stirred slightly with its whiskers: “Alright, hand me the cash, and—move it to that empty room. “Is the cash all right?” “I’ve already checked. They won’t make any moves here. This is a serious insult to my intelligence.” "Esgarrouth stood up, holding his pipe," "Please remember to send me a signed confirmation of the transaction by mail later." "It's already on its way," the blue short-haired cat replied, already prepared. Esgarrouth then walked to the safe in the master bedroom, opened it with both password and key, and withdrew stacks of cash, placing them into separate file folders. He then carried these folders to the guest bedroom across the hall. "Please count them," Esgarrouth said as he set down the folders, addressing the blue short-haired cat who had followed. "I trust you," the cat replied, glancing at the folders. Esgarrouth nodded and indicated the cabinet: "There are candles inside." With that, he stepped back to the door, grasped the handle, and smiled: "How you'll leave is truly curious—I'm quite looking forward to what will surely be a splendid 'magic' moment. With a soft click, Esgaroth-Stanton closed the bedroom door, restoring its quiet and stillness. Instantly, beside the blue short-haired cat, a figure in a dark red coat, wearing an old triangular hat, materialized—Caine’s spectral companion, "Seynior," the "Grief-Spirit." He pulled out candles and quickly arranged a simple altar, skipping all introductory rituals and in fluent Elvish, spoke with a low, resonant tone: "Keeper of the seas and the spirit realm, guardian of the Rosedale Isles, ruler of sea life, master of tsunamis and gales, great Cawituvah. I, your faithful servant, beseech your gaze; I beseech you to accept my offering; I beseech you to open the gates of the realm." The wind within the spiritual wall suddenly intensified. Seynior swiftly scraped his skin with his fingernails, drawing drops of blood. As a Sequence-5 Grief-Spirit, every element of his being was imbued with spiritual essence! The gale sucked away the blood, flooding the candle representing the sea deity Cavituwa, causing it to swell and transform into a shimmering, ethereal gate adorned with magical symbols and emblems. After a dozen seconds, the gate emitted a heavy creak and slowly, gradually unfolded. Senyol immediately lifted each cash envelope and tossed them into the gate. When the last coin, the final one remaining in his body, fluttered out and settled upon the altar, the form of the "wailing spirit" dissolved and imprinted itself onto the coin's smooth surface. The coin wavered and rose, following the envelopes, and entered the ethereal sacrificial gate. Without a sound, the mysterious gate closed, and the three candles resumed their normal glow. Only then did the blue short-haired cat seem to regain its sense of self, gazing around in bewilderment and meowing softly. A while later, Esgaroth entered, to find all the envelopes containing cash gone, only three candles burning steadily, and the blue short-haired cat remaining alert, its back arched. As he gazed at this scene, a delivery coach passed slowly along the crossroad at the other end of the street. ………… The same evening, in a building within the Joewood district. With a light drizzle, Thew returned home, wiping his hair with a towel and saying to Fotherse: "Your letter has been sent." Fotherse nodded, silently wondering when his teacher would reply. At that moment, Thew set down the towel and casually mentioned, "Mr. X's gathering has been confirmed—still at the same place, on Friday evenings." Excellent! Now he could inform Mr. World! He had no idea what the fee would be... Fotherse's eyes brightened at this news. Before she could ask any questions, Hugh had already added, "Mr. X has also given him another assignment, reportedly quite lucrative—one to tell him about the people in his life who seem to have unusual luck." "Unusually lucky people?" Firth murmured in bewilderment. "Doesn't that suggest Mr. X has some kind of mental issue? Who would reveal such personal details at a gathering like this? It would be easy to spot someone's true identity." "Who knows? Perhaps he's quite mad," Hugh replied, unconcerned, since he himself had never encountered anyone with unusual luck. Firth pondered carefully, still unable to grasp the true purpose of this assignment, and simply set it aside, intending to pray to Mr. The Fool—when Hugh went to bathe—so that the relevant information might be passed on to Mr. The World, Germaine Sparrow.