The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 798 Ch.797 The Detective's Revenge

Since the good deeds done by Noti Golden Lamp were made public, many believers of the "Great Whirlpool" have been distributing porridge on the streets in recent days - this has undoubtedly taken away the "business" of the Holy Cross.

Roland had no idea what price these people had paid.

In short.

Holy Cross remained silent on this.

The Inspectorate or the street police have nothing to say.

Then.

Do the people buy into this?

No.

In Kingsley's words: outdated.

Gentlemen who could fire recklessly in newspapers naturally saw through the maelstrom's tricks easily, and painters also contributed their precious inspiration and published cartoons in some tabloids:

A naturalist who wore leaves as clothes was bending forward with a bowl in his hand - handing it to a boy who was not even as tall as the wheel.

In the bowl was the baby's arm.

Useless effort.

This is the idea of ​​'people with insight'.

An educated person who can read and write and can clearly read the news from the newspaper.

—What about the muddy toes that got the porridge?
They also won't thank the "Maelstrom".

Who doesn’t know about the golden lamp of Noti?

'Drink it hard, Ryan! Consider it revenge for your daughter!'

"I said, my daughter died of a lewd disease because of her poor hospitality, she was not sold to the Noti Golden Lamp..."

'And your son?'

'He accidentally ruptured his intestines when he was a saint child, and he was not sold to the Noti Golden Lamp...'

'And your wife—'

'Can we just have porridge?'

In this humorous noise, Kingsley also received his first "serious commission" - two days after the dinner, Roland invited him and Sheriff Dan Budge, including the old sheriff's nephew.

They found a pub in the East End.

period.

Roland called it "helping a friend" and gave Kingsley a "good business deal".

"I suppose you want me to die in London as soon as possible, don't you?"

Not a few days.

The dusty detective knocked on Roland's door.

"That Bertrand is not someone you can easily mess with."

He quickly found out how troublesome the business Roland had given him was.

"I didn't ask you to check Bertrand."

Roland said.

"It's just Iron Lily."

"What's the difference?" the detective said with a long face.

Yoram ben Bertrand once owned a textile factory. The textile worker known as "Iron Lily" that Roland wanted to investigate happened to work in this textile factory.

If you investigate Iron Lily.

Yoram ben Bertrand must be involved.

"I've inquired about it. That man has a big pharmaceutical business, but he has no reputation." Kingsley sat down, took the cigar handed to him by Roland, tilted his head and lit it skillfully: "...Do you know what this means?"

Roland thought for a moment and said, "Does this mean that he is a person who does not care about false reputation?"

Kingsley looked odd: "I'm glad you're involved in my cause and only take part in the small part of 'naming'."

The business is big.

Like Shelley, Taylor, or Benevento.

These are all great examples – they are famous and their every move is watched.

But if it's big business, small reputation.

There is a problem.

Or as Roland said, he didn't care about fame and even deliberately avoided those boring banquets where people showed off their abilities.

Either…

He has a big problem.

Kingsley blew out a puff of smoke, timing each word with the precision of a ruler: "He knows he can't."

Done.

He looked at Roland suspiciously again.

"You wouldn't delegate your mission to me, would you?" "That's not the kind of person I am, Kingsley."

"Hard to say."

Given Kingsley's background, he wouldn't be afraid of a drug dealer - even if the other party had a title that looked like a snack.

Who doesn’t have a title these days?

Although the Chandler family was not the dominant force in the shipping industry, at least they could hold their heads up and speak with their chins down in front of most people: Philip Chandler was a nobleman with a wide circle of friends (although he rarely attended parliament to fulfill his political obligations).

But no matter what, he would not give up his ideals just because of a drug dealer.

"One hundred pounds."

"How is that possible?" Roland said dissatisfiedly: "Don't think I don't know the market, Kingsley. The most I can pay you is ten shillings."

Kingsley sneered: "Then go investigate it yourself."

The fee Roland offered was considered 'fair'.

But Kingsley insisted that he pay a large sum of money.

"One hundred pounds or nothing."

Roland: "Fifteen shillings."

Kingsley: "Ninety pounds at least."

Roland: "Seventeen shillings."

Kingsley: "Eighty pounds. That's the final offer."

Roland: "Okay, how about a pound?"

Halida on the side: ...

She all knew who Kingsley's father was.

This gentleman is not short of money.

Of course, Roland is not lacking either.

"Don't bargain with me anymore. I'm taking a big risk," the detective said slowly, with his face drooping like that of a cowardly father. "Eighty pounds, at least sixty pounds is my insurance."

"And the remaining twenty pounds?"

"I'll teach you a lesson," Kingsley sneered, "Don't bang on the door when I'm sleeping."

The final price was determined to be fifty pounds.

Roland tried to persuade him, but Kingsley was determined and said that if he really paid a few shillings, he would never be able to help him find out anything.

Roland muttered softly, "You haven't found out anything yet."

then.

The thirty pounds that was originally negotiated in a friendly manner became fifty pounds.

"You should sew my mouth shut, Halida."

"You can ask me next time. My embroidery is better than any woman in London." Yolanda came out from the corner of the stairs after Kingsley left. Obviously she heard the whole thing: "You will hurt your friends."

Roland didn't answer, but watched her walk down the stairs step by step with a smile.

Halida tactfully poured her a cup of tea.

"…I can't say anything truly unreasonable to you anymore."

Yolanda's voice was as soft as a candle that was about to melt, and she seemed to be eager to press out fingerprints.

She was wearing, in an indecent way, one of Halida's thin nightgowns.

Walk up to Roland.

Lift the hem slightly.

"If you really helped me, I would never be able to repay you."

The splashing boiling water dampened Yolanda’s breath.

"so--"

Roland blinked and said, "For your own safety, I suggest you take back this 'so'."

Yolanda's face turned a little ugly.

"I know what you saw in London," Roland raised his hand and asked her to sit down, and whispered to himself, "...the food, wine and debauchery of those people were all exquisite. You thought that teaching us a language was not a "repayment", so you thought of a simpler way..."

"Perhaps, there are other considerations - after all, your master died because of the Noti Golden Lamp, and from beginning to end, you did not mention any plan of revenge against the Noti Golden Lamp or the "Great Whirlpool"..."

Halida made the tea, and Roland took it and handed it to Yolanda.

“Though this is a loose era.”

He said.

"But I don't like to see my friends begging like beggars."

Yolanda bowed her head silently, holding the porcelain cup.

Squeeze it tighter.

(End of this chapter)