Chapter 1296 Harvesting the Same Sheep
Vincent was visibly downcast after narrowly missing the killer again.
But soon, his eyes regained their resolve, and he began searching for any useful clues.
The escape route in the wall didn't seem to have been built recently; there were still signs of life in a small room inside, indicating that the murderer must have stayed in this abandoned warehouse for a long time.
The exact dates can be determined from empty cans that are readily available everywhere; their production dates can be traced back up to two years ago.
In a dark and secluded basement, Vincent found a large quantity of materials that were prohibited from sale by the Ministry of Magic. Most of them were soaked in a strange purple magical solution, and some unknown powder ground to an extremely fine powder was scattered on the makeshift workbench.
Although he escaped, he left behind many clues.
Vincent took a specially made dragon-skin pouch from the Lemaître ring and collected all the unknown powder inside.
Hunter walked in after settling the two team members, his face extremely gloomy. "We were so close to catching him."
Vincent looked up at him. "A ghost that has disappeared for three years is not so easily caught."
Hunter loosened his clenched fist slightly. "What are you planning to do next? We've really alerted him this time. What if he disappears into the sewers like a rat and never comes back up..."
Vincent, having collected the powder, turned to look at the materials soaking in the purple magic solution. "At least we got these things, and they're not ordinary stuff. This confirms my guess: without a deep family background, an ordinary wizard wouldn't dare to touch these things."
The materials Vincent recognized were all dangerous; if not properly stored, their effectiveness would be greatly reduced, and they could pose a deadly risk.
Hunter glanced at the materials, and after a few seconds felt nauseous. "Are you going to question that unlucky guy from last time?"
Vincent, along with the magic solution, placed the soaked materials into specially made dragon-skin bags. "Don't say that. He's a professional in this field. I just consulted him about some things, and he'll be happy to help."
Hunter couldn't help but feel sorry for the professional.
He's really cunning, relentlessly exploiting the same sheep.
……
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In the afternoon, at Flip Lane, Bokin-Bock Store.
Mr. Borgin was engrossed in wiping a pained-looking doll with a dirty velvet cloth when the brass bell on the door suddenly rang hoarsely. He habitually looked up. "Welcome to Borgin-Bock. What can I get—Merlin's big fat underpants!"
His smile froze instantly, and the velvet cloth and the doll in his hands fell to the ground with a dull thud.
Standing at the door was neither a curious collector nor a sinister dark wizard, but the person he never wanted to see again in his life: Vincent Wayne, the Dark Lord depicted on the front page of the Daily Prophet as wrestling with the dragon guards and destroying Gringotts' dome.
The person stood casually at the door, wearing an extremely conspicuous white sleeveless cloak, with empty hands and no wand, seemingly unconcerned about revealing his whereabouts.
Mr. Bokin's heart was pounding in his throat.
He wanted to run away, to scream, to hide under the counter, but his legs felt like lead and he couldn't move.
The last time this Dark Lord came to inquire about a customer, he only revealed the temporary vault number, and then Gringotts was in trouble.
“Mr…Mr. Wayne!” Bokin’s voice was incredibly high-pitched. He instinctively tried to bend down, but then realized it was inappropriate, and his body stiffened into a ridiculous posture. “What…what wind blew you to my inconspicuous little shop? I…I absolutely haven’t been here recently…”
Vincent stepped in, glancing around at the familiar cursed objects before finally settling on Mr. Borgin's pale face.
"Relax, I've come to ask you about something."
He walked to the counter and took out a series of specially made dragon-skin pouches from the Le Maire ring.
"Do you recognize these materials?" he asked calmly, as if inquiring about the weather.
Mr. Bokin opened them one by one and looked at them, becoming more and more alarmed with each look.
These items are all contraband items on the first few pages of the Ministry of Magic's list!
“I…I…” Mr. Borgin stammered, cold sweat trickling down his forehead and nose. “Mr. Wayne, you know your stuff. How could my honest, long-established business dare to touch something like this?”
"These are deadly...no, I mean, these are strictly controlled contraband. I, Karaktakus Burk, have always been law-abiding. I absolutely have no source of these goods, and I absolutely have no way to obtain them."
He waved his hands frantically, as if he wanted to make the things on the counter disappear out of thin air.
Vincent's lips curled up slightly, but his eyes were unusually cold. "Last time I consulted you about a customer, you gave me a temporary vault number for Gringotts, and then Gringotts was visited."
He leaned forward slightly, casting a huge shadow over the diminutive Mr. Borgin. "Tell me," he said, "what would the Ministry of Magic think of your law-abiding behavior if they knew the person who blew up the vault got the tip from you?"
Mr. Bokin was completely limp, only managing to stay upright by gripping the edge of the counter with both hands.
The man before him was not only the Dark Lord, but also a witness who could easily drag him into the deepest recesses of Azkaban.
"Misunderstanding! What a huge misunderstanding!" he cried. "Mr. Wayne, I'm just a small business owner. When a customer asked, I followed the rules and provided anonymous service. How could I have known he would... would offend you?"
I swear to Merlin, I didn't handle any of this stuff! I didn't even touch it! If I'm lying, may my little shop blow up like Gringotts!
Seeing that Mr. Bokin was on the verge of a mental breakdown, Vincent knew that the time was right.
He slightly toned down his imposing manner, but his gaze remained sharp. "So, based on your understanding of this small trading circle, who in Britain has the ability to get their hands on these things?"
Mr. Bokin grasped at a straw, his mind racing.
He had to provide valuable information and also make this troublemaker leave satisfied.
“This…” He lowered his already high-pitched voice, his eyes darting around, “This thing is unorthodox and particularly strange. The wizards of Knockturn Alley don’t have this ability. At most, they can get some scraps, but they couldn’t possibly get something this complete.”
He paused deliberately, observing Vincent's reaction, and as if he had made up his mind, he rattled off every name he could think of.
From the old witch hiding in the Canterbury dungeons to the captains smuggling with zombie sailors at the Liverpool docks, he even mentioned several border alchemists who were on the Ministry of Magic's radar but had never been caught red-handed.
He listed them off as if reciting a poem, afraid of missing a single name.
……
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