Part 1 The Joker Chapter Two Hundred and One – Enquiry
Against the wall, looking across the corridor into the ghostly blackness, Klein instinctively held his breath.
What was the captain doing? What was wrong with the Captain? Was he drinking blood? He’s showing pre-signs of losing control? One thought after another came to him, his mind a jumbled mess, unable to produce effective thought.
After ten seconds or so, Klein gritted his teeth and used the Joker’s control of his body to move silently to the stairway.
Then, with a deliberate increase in his pace, he walked back to the door of Mrs. Sheridan’s bedroom.
Into the line of sight, Klein saw the captain stood there, with black cloth layers wrapped around the seal “3-0271”, expression stoic, gray eyes, clean face.
What he had just seen seemed to be a hallucination.
Out of the corner of his eye, Klein saw that there was no new abnormality in Cohen Leigh’s body, and it was still the same as it was just a moment ago.
He secretly took a breath and opened his mouth to ask:
”Captain, how do I confirm if those servants are in a sleeping state? It seems impossible to accurately tell by relying only on psychic vision, they will have different emotional reactions due to dreaming, taking on corresponding colors.”
Dunn Smith held the “Psychic’s Mirror”, remained silent for a few seconds, and said in a hoarse voice:
”I’m sorry, I forgot, I’ve made too many mistakes tonight.”
”You don’t have to check, I’ll confirm.”
He lifted one hand and pressed it to his brow, then closed his eyes, letting ripple after invisible ripple ripple toward the other rooms, toward the first floor.
Whether he was asleep or not was clearly visible to the Nightmare.
Klein watched this scene in a daze, slowly lowered his eyes, biting the inside of his lip.
Captain, you just really just want to detach me ……
What the hell are you doing, do you know what you are doing ……
He snapped his head around and looked out the window, only to see the Crimson Moon hanging high, seemingly unchanged for millions of years.
After a moment of calm, Crane, under cover of picking up the tarot cards, revolver, and half-height silk bowler hat, examined the bodies of Cornley and Mrs. Sherron more closely.
They remained as they had been at the time of their deaths, their skin turning pale with a touch of bruising at a rate faster than normal.
It was a bit strange, they seemed to be missing something …… not something concrete, but some kind of feeling …… Crane muttered to himself wordlessly, only to feel the cool breeze blowing at the broken window make his sweaty hairs stand on end.
At that moment, Dunn opened his eyes and said in a low voice:
”All still dormant, just a few close to awakening.”
”That’s good, that’s good ……” Klein looked at the captain, not knowing himself what he was replying to.
Dunn looked around the room and said:
”You get rid of the items at the scene, then go to the nearest police station and get someone over here, well, make a trip back to Zoltan Street on the way and get Frye to help.”
Klein gave the captain a deep look and nodded with his teeth clenched:
”Uh-huh.”
With Dunn’s help, he made quick work of the scene and took the front door out of Mrs. Sherron’s house.
Crossing the garden to the outside, Crane couldn’t help but look back again, only to see the small building still creeping silently into the darkness, without a hint of light.
Turning heavily, he quickly located the nearest police station, based on his impressions-a common sense that every night watchman must remember.
When, when, when, Crane knocked on the iron door.
It was not long before the policeman on night duty, carrying a horse-lamp, crossed the tiny courtyard, pulled open the gate, and examined it suspiciously:
”Can I help you?”
Klein, unable to squeeze out any expression, and with a sullen face, produced his credentials and displayed them open before the policeman’s eyes:
”There’s been a serious murder at No. 15 Olsnerstrasse; get your companions over there at once to help!”
The policeman lifted his lantern, scrutinized the ID, then folded his legs together and raised his hands in salute:
”Yes, sir!”
With this matter disposed of, Crane returned in a hired carriage toward Zoltan Street.
Along the way, he sat in the darkened carriage, his thoughts both disorganized and fugitive:
Cohenley is dead ……
I remember he was just engaged …… His parents are still alive ……
What on earth was the captain doing ……
Did he thirst for blood ……
Or, has another purpose ……
The fact that his memory is still so bad and not significantly better means that there are no pre-signs that he’s out of control!
But he’s known about “playing the law” for some time now, so does the lack of improvement in his memory also indicate that there’s something wrong in the shadows ……
No! The captain must still be figuring out how to play the “nightmare”!
…… By the way, one of the main reasons for Cornelius’ death was the seal “3-0271”, which the captain gave him ……
What I was thinking! At the time it was the inevitable choice!
It was the captain who suggested the use of the seal “3-0271”. ……
Calm down, calm down, you can’t think, you can’t wait before the situation worsens!
I’ll send a letter to Ms. Daley to see if she knows what this situation means. Even if she doesn’t know the exact answer, she’ll certainly understand the dangers involved and inform the sanctuary in time. ……
That should nip the problem in the bud and get the captain back to normal!
No, there’s not necessarily something wrong with the captain, maybe I’m misunderstanding something, let’s see what Ms. Daley has to say ……
……
By the time the hired carriage arrived at 36 Zoltan Street, Klein had already thought out his response and made his decision, no longer as flustered and overwhelmed as he had been before.
He climbed up the stairs with heavy feet to the entrance of Blackthorn Security, took out his key and opened the door.
The familiar arrangement in front of him, the familiar scene, made his mood much more peaceful, just like how he felt every time he went to the captain when he had something to do.
Taking a breath, Klein made his way to the night watchman’s recreation room and saw Frye reading a book in solitude under the glow of a gas lamp.
He looked sideways at Klein, concern and tension evident on his cold, grim face:
”What’s happened?”
”Where’s the captain and Cornley?”
Klein replied in a low voice:
”Cornley is dead, at the hands of Mrs. Sherron, and we’ve all made a mistake ……”
”The captain is there guarding the scene and has asked you to go over and help.”
Before departing, Dunn confided the specifics to Frye, telling him that if they didn’t come back within two hours, they would immediately shoot a telegram to the Sanctuary, and likewise, because they had to apply for the sealing object “3-0271” to enter the Charnis Gate at night, Loyal, who was on duty in the watchman’s room, also knew exactly what mission they were about to carry out –According to the internal rules of the night watchman, in order to open the Charnis Gate at night, the captain’s permission must be obtained, and if the captain is present, only the captain can enter.
Frye was baffled for a moment, sighed lowly, and drew a Crimson Moon on his chest.
He put on his coat and hat and headed for the door, suddenly speaking in a low voice as he brushed past Klein:
”You don’t need to beat yourself up, making mistakes is something that can never be avoided.”
”We always trust our teammates.”
”Well ……,” Klein closed his eyes, his vision all but seeming to blur.
He and Frye first headed underground to let Loyal know, then locked the doors of Blackthorn Security and rushed to Mrs. Sherron’s house on Olsner Street.
By the time they had carried back the remains of Cornley and the grisly body of Mrs. Sherron with half her head missing, it was well past midnight.
Dunn, in his thin black trench coat, stood in the doorway of the “morgue” and stared into it in silence for a long time before turning his head sideways and saying to Crane:
”You go home first, you just went through a fierce battle, must be very tired.”
”Okay.” Klein didn’t push back.
He pursed his lips, glanced at the captain, and quietly left Blackthorn Security, taking a rental carriage back to Daffodil Street.
With the same process as last time, he easily entered his bedroom, literally unlocking the door.
Drawing his ceremonial silver dagger, Klein created a spiritual wall that blocked off the room, then sat down at his desk, spread out the paper, lifted his fountain pen, and eagerly wrote:
”Dear Ms. Daley:”
”I found that the captain has been a little off lately, he is quietly …… in the mission.”
Writing here, Klein suddenly stopped the pen, his head went blank, not knowing how to pick up afterward, how to describe.
Snap!
He violently dropped the pen, grabbed the paper in front of him, crumpled it into a ball, and then heavily pounded the desktop.
Amidst the echoing sound of the thud, Klein closed his eyes and reached up to cover his face hole for a long time without moving, as if he had turned into a statue.
After a full five minutes of this, he sighed and lowered his right hand, using his spirituality to ignite the ball of scrap paper from earlier, watching it turn to ash and land in the trash.
Organizing his thoughts, Klein spread out the new paper and dropped his pen to rewrite:
”Dear Ms. Daley:”
”We just finished a mission and grieved the loss of one of our teammates, as described here ……”
”…… At that time, it occurred to me that my current level of psychic vision could not confirm whether the servants were asleep or not, and that divining them one by one would be very troublesome, so I walked back, intending to ask the captain for advice, and at this time, through the reflection of the mirror, I saw the captain half-lying next to the corpse of Coenley, with dark red around his mouth with blood.”
”I’m not sure what happened or what state the captain was in, so I hope you can give me the answer.”
……
After writing, Klein read through it with a heavy heart and folded the letterhead.
Then, he set up the ritual and turned on his psychic vision, summoning Daley’s messenger and summoning the eerie face with no eyes, no nose, and only a mouth.
Looking at the bright red tongue filled with irregular fangs that was spat out, and at the five tiny pale fingers at the tip of the tongue, Klein passed the letter over in silence.
When everything was back to normal, he sat down again and resumed writing the letter.
This time, he was going to question Mr. Aztec:
”…… During a recent mission, something unusual happened to my supervisor; he detached himself from me and half-plopped down next to the corpse of his teammate, with dark red blood smeared around his mouth.”
”Has anything like this ever happened in your memory? How can I help my supervisor?”