The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 418: Blank Letter

The hangover was terrible.

In addition, the ground was shaking all night, and the howling of men and women could be heard constantly in the tavern and outside the tavern - what else could one do at night except drinking, or drinking too much?

There's nothing I can do.

The result of the men and women going together was that Roland, Kingsley and Rose did not get a good rest.

This is a more unique way of welcoming people in Inns Town than being forced to drink too much.

At noon the next day, the three people who had overslept pushed open the door drowsily and saw each other who were equally drowsy: especially Kingsley - this gentleman was extremely unaccustomed to such a "dissolute and decadent" life. Compared with the party in West Manlis, it was obvious that the people in the mountains were more wild.

As long as a woman lifts her skirt, you can tell what she will do next by whether there is a man next to her.

There is no peace.

Drowsiness, headache.

"I think I should put plugs in my ears." The detective said sternly, enduring the acid in his stomach and the burning pain in his throat: "... or put plugs in their ears."

Roland yawned. "You can sleep in a warm and comfortable room, Kingsley. People need to know how to be content."

"If my father knew how to be content, this day wouldn't be here." Judging from his behavior, Kingsley is definitely a man of a dissatisfied family - a rich young man who is dissatisfied with his father or mother and escapes to live the life he pursues.

But he mentioned his father from time to time, and he could not hide his pride.

Mixed emotions.

crunch.

Rose opened the door.

She didn't take off her clothes when she went to bed yesterday, and Roland held her in his arms and put her on the bed.

I vomited once before.

I feel uncomfortable all over now.

"…Good day, both of you."

"Good day, Miss Booze." Roland tucked the blanket in for her. "If you get cold, you'll have to stay in your room all day."

"Your song yesterday was so beautiful..." The unkempt girl scratched her head, still not coming back to her senses from her daze - until she saw a long, old face with a playful look in his eyes.

Then she screamed, covered her head, turned around and ran back to the room.

He slammed the door shut.

Twenty minutes later,
The three of them packed up and went downstairs to have lunch.

There was no one in the pub except old Moore, who was fiddling with the half-black, half-white rag and sweeping the bar in boredom.

"Look, the heartthrob is coming down."

"Your performance yesterday was equally wonderful." Roland tapped his cane and sat down closest to the bar. "I heard from a friend that you put six cigarettes in your mouth at once and smoked them all in just one minute."

"Any old smoker who's not afraid of death can do this job," waved Old Moore, and went to the stove and picked up a few trays with bread and vegetable soup, a small bowl of bacon, some light yellow sauce and two bottles of light whiskey.

He pushed the bottle: "A hangover elixir."

"Where's Miss Peggy?"

"She went down to the mine. Oh, I think she will be back soon." He pulled the watch chain and lowered his head to open the pocket watch cover: "Normally, she won't, but there are guests recently, so she will probably run back..."

"I think she's more than just a guest." Rose stirred the spoon and said sarcastically, "She's more cheerful than any other girl I've ever met."

"I hope you're not angry with her, miss. She's a good kid, but she just doesn't know how to express herself properly sometimes."

Rose pursed her lips and said nothing more.

Just as Old Moore said, in less than ten minutes, a girl came back skipping.

"Hi! Dawson!"

Her face was covered in dust, and her hair had returned to the dirty clumps it had been when we first met.

Old Moore wiped her face and hands with a wet cloth, and the girl let him do whatever he wanted, but her face was always facing Roland, chattering about what she had seen and heard that day - who had fallen in the mine, who had drunk too much yesterday, and who had slept with the wrong wife.

These are all interesting stories that she never gets tired of talking about.

She was still holding the bird in her arms. Its golden head popped out from her arms and, like its owner, it greeted everyone fearlessly.

"Three of you, can I show you around? I'm familiar with this place. I grew up here."

"Then I'd like to ask you for help." Roland smiled and turned to the other side: "My friend is planning to take over a store here. If you can take us there..."

Black Nose William.

Paige mentioned it before.

"That old squash spirit." The blonde girl reminded Rose: "I don't know if you keep your word - but I have to say, be careful, Miss Curly. That man is not easy to deal with, stingy and cunning..."

"Who are you calling Curly? Cinder."

"…We all give people nicknames like that." Peggy blinked her blue eyes, and said sincerely, "Everyone does."

"What about him?" Rose pointed at the young man next to her, "How is he?"

"…the angel of music."

Roland's nickname is the Angel of Music, and my nickname is Curly?
Rose was so angry that she laughed: "Then what should I call my other friend?"

"Mr. Rock." After Peggy said that, Kingsley actually nodded slightly with satisfaction - it didn't sound very good at first, but everything has to be compared.

Right? Green eyes and curly hair?

Rose: ...

Is it just my nickname that's ugly?

Did this coal slag do it on purpose?
"How about we switch?" Roland was worried that his partner would be angry, so he asked with concern: "Your name is 'Curly Angel' and mine is Mr. Music? Are you satisfied?"

Satisfied, even more angry.

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do, miss." Peggy stood up with a smile, greeted Old Moore, motioned for them to follow, and then left in a flash. When passing by the bar, Old Moore quietly apologized to the three people.

And tell them that there is no custom of giving people nicknames here.

"But the curly-haired angel is really creative. Just think about his daily life in heaven...drinking too much and vomiting on someone's pants..."

"Shut your mouth, Mr. Dozen."

This would remind her of the stupidity of last night.

"I think you'll only attract two things in your life: beautiful women, and beautiful women's vomit."
-
Oh, are you a beautiful woman?

"Of course not... you fucking—"

…………

……

"master."

The butler brought the black tea of ​​just the right temperature to the table, put it down gently, and waved away the maid in the room.

The old man behind the desk was smoking a pipe, flipping through the information he had collected over the past two days.

Roland Collins.

and, Lillian Rose Vansittart.

He heard the butler's voice and raised his head.

"Miss, is it..."

"You're worried about her?" James Shelley put down the stack of papers covered with words, held his pipe, and pressed it with an iron rod. "Are you worried about a girl who's even crazier than I was when I was young?"

The housekeeper bowed quietly: "It's your daughter."

Final.

He didn't say it, but old Shelley knew.

"Someone is watching them, don't worry." James Shelley was concentrating on piling up the snow in his bowl, and suddenly smiled: "What do you think she will do?"

The butler was stunned and suddenly thought of something.

"Your...letter?"

"Well, there's a blank sheet of paper inside."

housekeeper:……

Sir, that is your daughter.

"Given her character, she would never be so cautious as to open the letter on the road - so..."

James Shelley lowered his eyes and looked at the stack of papers that recorded Rose's past. They were just a few thin pages, but extremely wonderful.

The housekeeper frowned: "You want to interfere in the affairs of the Streeter family? Although they and Chloe——"

"No, Tom," said old Shelley, finishing the pipe, and taking a few sips of it, biting his lips a few times to let his mouth fully taste the smoke, "Street and Chloe have nothing to do with Shelley. We have our own mines, and we will never get involved in these troubles."

He said.

"But if Heyman is one of Rose's enemies, I'll have to make some preparations in advance - the bigger the ship, the longer it will take to turn around."

Otherwise it will flip over.

"Hyman, Chloe, and Heffer." Old Shelley spoke to the butler, as if talking to himself: "They cannot represent the secret party, and this great ship should not be controlled by the selfish desires of a group of people."

James Shelley knew that although the poison in his body would not kill him, he was nearing the end of his life.

But Lillian Rose Vansittart was obviously different from him. She couldn't dance on the edge of the knife between people, and survive easily among words and conspiracies.

Put it simply.

This kid's brain isn't twisted enough.

So, while he was alive, he had to make Shelley a simple toy for her to play with, rather than a huge battleship full of explosives, parties and camps.

There is a small chance that she will blow herself up.

There is a high probability that the child will jump off the ship.

"Street, this may be a good gift for our supreme lady." James Shelley said to himself: "I will also give a share to Lillian. When I die, she will know what to do - maybe I should talk more with Mr. Collins, he is much more dangerous than he looks."

The butler sighed: "You won't die, sir."

"All men are mortal, even immortals. Tom, prepare two copies of the details of the mine. Oh, and by the way, how is 'the thing'?"

"You still doubt..."

"This is necessary." Old Shelley interrupted him, but he had nothing to say, and a complex look appeared in his eyes.

The two remained silent for a long time.

After a while, the old man's hoarse voice sounded again: "I... at least want to make sure that it is Shelley's bloodline - the ghost thing in the dream... I can't completely believe its words. Go and increase the reward. I want a strange object that can detect bloodline."

The old butler nodded his head and said yes.

Just before leaving the room, he suddenly asked:
"master."

"Ok?"

"If... I mean, if. If the lady is not your blood..."

The sound disappears.

The face in the gas lamp was uncertain.

In the end, the old butler didn't get the answer.

Perhaps James Shelley didn’t either.

(End of this chapter)