Chapter 863 Doubt and Prizes (Part 1)

Salomon is very happy, even if he is questioned by someone pointing his nose, he is also very happy. He likes smart people, and this candidate's keen observation and logical reasoning ability have shown the level of intelligence that a rational human being should have. He prefers this Sherlock Holmes to Stephen Strange because he's calm, rational, and non-religious (probably). As for anti-social personality, Salomon himself has been described as such, so he doesn't care too much. But before the final test is over, he can't make a move to favor either side, he must let the test of both sides continue.

"That's far-fetched, Mr. Holmes," he said. "Can't I just ask the owner of the coffee shop downstairs and wait for you to return to the apartment? I don't think my economic level has anything to do with Elinor. We haven't been in touch for a long time, and I don't care about her. But she is my relative after all, and I can't let her just lie in the morgue of the police station. This is not family affection but responsibility."

"He's right, Sherlock." The vigilant Watson suddenly relaxed, and then stood by Salomon's side, "Perhaps you encountered a very strange case today, but that doesn't mean that everyone agrees. Very suspicious."

"I never speculate, but what you said makes sense. Let me hear what you want to say." Sherlock Holmes nodded, seeming to accept Salomon's argument easily. This made Watson very puzzled, his cohabitant was a very stubborn guy, why was he so easy to talk to this time?

Salomon felt that he should be more careful, so he planned to find an opportunity to go back to the scene of the crime to see if there was anything that Holmes could associate with him. As for the Scotland Yard policemen who surrounded the scene, Salomon assured them that they would see nothing, hear nothing, and that no one would be able to find the little gift he had prepared for the candidate before Holmes.

The questions raised by detectives can be roughly divided into the victim's family relationship, interpersonal relationship, and past experiences. Salomon had done his homework, and his memory allowed him to respond fluently to Holmes' questions. But for some questions that were not written in the files, or some more personal questions, Salomon didn't overdo it. Instead, he answered sincerely that he didn't know the details, but he just heard that someone had mentioned something.

Another thirty minutes passed before Mrs. Hudson saw the tall, strong visitor tiptoeing deftly across the steps, like a big tiger. John Watson followed behind him. They were talking in a low voice, and the landlady who had been waiting at the landing and worried about the quarrel upstairs suddenly relaxed. While stepping lightly on the old wooden steps, Salomon turned his head and said to Watson, "But I can't provide you with more clues. I don't know much about her life. I, the police, must know." More than me, I've only heard that she died in a bizarre way. Anyway, all the mysteries must be solved by him. Ah, Mrs. Hudson. I dare to say that there is no one in the whole city of London who can match Your black tea."

"Thank you, sweet-talking young man." A smile broke out on the landlady's wrinkled face, "You can be much more considerate than that annoying guy upstairs. Watson, don't look at me like that. You should take good care of him. Yesterday Someone heard him shoot in the room, you know what the neighbors will say!"

"I believe that Mr. Holmes must have his own reasons for doing this." Salomon said perfunctorily, "Please allow me to go ahead, Mr. Watson, I have already booked a hotel, so I don't need to bother you. Thank you Black tea and cookies, I will definitely visit again when I have the chance, Mrs. Hudson."

"Look, this is a likable young man." After Salomon left, the landlady said to the helpless Watson without hesitation, "When Holmes can be like this young man, I will be relieved. "

"He is suspicious," said Sherlock Holmes. When Watson walked back into the living room, he found him huddled in the soft chair, staring straight at the seat where the client had been sitting, and clutching the mobile phone in his hand. "I didn't say all the doubts because I thought he might be better at close combat than us, and my pistol wasn't loaded yet."

"Because you ran out of bullets yesterday."

"Mrs. Hudson must have told you. Your old cane was still stuck in the umbrella stand, though, and I think he was closer to the umbrella stand than we were. All in all, this client strikes me as rather off. It's not intuitive. , but observation and deduction, this matter is not that simple, the client still has a lot of secrets that he has not told us." Sherlock Holmes asked, "Do you remember where his taxi went after he went out? I know you didn't pay attention, so I have arranged for an informant to follow him. After a while, we will know what is wrong with him."

Full of doubts, Watson sat down on the soft chair opposite, and there was silence in the air. Whenever he wanted to ask something, Sherlock Holmes' eyes would tell him that the spirit of his cohabitant was not here, but was rummaging around in the maze of his memory. Suddenly, the cell phone that Holmes was holding rang, bringing the private detective back to the world.

"Ha... as expected!"

"What's the matter?" Watson asked hastily.

Holmes raised his head and looked at Watson meaningfully. "He's gone."

"What do you mean?" Watson widened his eyes, "What do you mean missing?"

"It just disappeared, Watson. He didn't book a hotel room, but went to a restaurant near the crime scene, and then disappeared." Sherlock Holmes showed excitement that could infect others. He jumped up from the soft chair, and walked excitedly around the small living room, "I feel that I am approaching the riddle, Watson. I have figured out the shape of the riddle, but there is still a layer of smoke hanging over it." .I have to check it out, let's go!"

"Where are you going?" Before Watson could react, a coat and a loaded revolver were stuffed into his arms. "This is my gun! How did you get it?"

The detective did not answer such frivolous questions.

"Go to the scene of the crime. I'm bound by common sense, and I'm bound by my own imagination." Holmes narrowed his eyes, clenched his fists, and rolled down the stairs almost in a jumping posture, making a loud noise. The loud noise made Mrs. Hudson rush out annoyed to look without even taking off her apron. But Holmes has no time to take care of the landlady's mood, he has more important things to do. "Let's go faster, maybe we will meet some people there."

Salomon walked into a small rental house. The lights were not turned on in the house. The only window was tightly sealed by wooden boards. Only a small amount of damp gray sunlight could shine in through the gaps. Flying slowly. He carefully checked the gift he had left in the corner of the room, the half-dead vampire—this unlucky bastard was nailed to the cross by Salomon with a silver stake engraved with exorcism runes after drinking human blood. Its lower body has been crushed into a pool of rotten flesh, and the regeneration ability of the vampire is suppressed by the silver stake, making it forever in pain.

It watched in horror as Salomon approached, unable to cry out because its tongue and throat had been ripped out.

The mystic, who was more brutal than a vampire, ignored its fears, carefully examining its physical condition, trying to figure out whether the fool would survive long enough for the detectives to discover the truth.

Capturing a vampire isn't a hassle, and it's not the first time Salomon has caught a vampire, having found the idiot in a bar toilet. It is the chief culprit who killed the poor night dancer Elinor, but Salomon did not kill it completely, but used it as a tool to inspire Holmes to see a wider world.

Ask for a ticket!