I weave fate in parallel time and space

Chapter 530 You long for war
Ten minutes later, he stood up from the ground.

"You can put the body away. The deceased was 43 years old, single, had no girlfriend or wife, and was German."

"How did you figure it out?" Gregson said in confusion.

"There are no traces of a wedding ring on his fingers, his beard is not trimmed, and there is oil stains accumulated over the years in his fingernails. His life is very sloppy. It is obvious that no girl will be willing to be his girlfriend."

Gregson nodded, and he looked at the red words on the wall on one side, which were a series of letters.

【Rachel】

"You think he is German because of this string of letters, right? If it is German, it means "revenge"."

"You just said that he was a mecha master hired from outside. In the imperial capital, there are only two mecha masters worth hiring from Britannia. One is Beichen and the other is Deutsch. But obviously, he is not Not from Beichen."

Sherlock looked at the body on the ground and said.

"However, that string of letters was not written by the deceased. If you pay a little attention, you can find that the letter A is obviously imitated in German script. Real Germans without exception use Latin script to write."

He raised his head and looked at Watson, "Watson, what did you see?"

Watson was stunned, "What?"

"You're a doctor, aren't you?" Sherlock asked, "What did you see?"

"I have a group of professional doctors outside." Gregson said helplessly.

"So what, that's not my assistant." Sherlock said.

"I spent so much energy to invite you, not to let you be willful."

"If I were you, I would go out and close the door, and find a way to remove the smell of perfume from myself. Otherwise, there may be quite a family dispute when you come back at night."

Sherlock stared at the corpse and said without looking back.

Gregson was stunned, "What?"

"You didn't go back last night, right? You have sunken eyes, thick dark circles, and a sallow complexion, but you have a strong perfume smell on your body. I have smelled this smell before when I was looking for someone. I remember it was a red light district. "

"Peng!"

The sound of the door closing was heard, and the room suddenly became quiet.

Sherlock shrugged and looked at Watson, "Check it."

Watson came to his senses, knelt down and began to examine the body carefully.

"He probably died of suffocation. Vomit may have blocked his throat. However, there was no smell of alcohol on the deceased's body. Judging from the way he struggled, he must have been conscious when he died."

"Clever." Sherlock admired, "There is no doubt that he was poisoned to death."

Watson observed it again, then nodded, "But for the details, we have to go to the forensic doctor for an analysis."

"They couldn't find it. This poison must have been newly developed. Two of the three previous suicides were autopsied, but they couldn't find the cause."

Sherlock stood up slowly, opened the door and walked out, and said to Gregson, who was squeezing orange juice on his clothes with an orange.

"Let me tell you something that may be useful when solving the case. There is no doubt that the deceased was murdered and the cause of death was poisoning. You can go to the forensic doctor to prove this. Secondly, the murderer is male, over 1.8 inches tall, in the prime of life. Judging from his stature comparison, the murderer's feet were smaller. He wore rough-made square-toe boots and smoked Ritter cigars.

He and the victim arrived in a Scarab eight-legged taxi, three of the taxi's legs had been repaired.The murderer may have a red face and long nails on his right hand, which may be useful in solving the case. "

"Are you talking nonsense?" Gregson felt ridiculous. He really couldn't figure out how a corpse could see so many things.

"Whether you want to believe it or not is your business, you invited me here anyway. Now, tell me where his suitcase is?"

Sherlock continued to ask.

Gregson was stunned, "What?"

"The suitcase." Sherlock said, "His clothes have not been changed for more than a week. He is not a very decent person, so his suitcase may contain more important mecha documents. You guys Where did you put him?"

"How did you know he had a suitcase?"

"There are mud spots on his right leg and back calf, but not on the left side. From the position of the mud marks, it can be seen that he is pulling a wheeled suitcase on his left side. Judging from the distribution of the mud spots, it is a small box." Sherlock looked at Gregson, "Can you tell me where the box is now?"

"There are no boxes," Gregson said. "At least there weren't any boxes here when we came here."

Sherlock's expression suddenly stopped, "What?"

He suddenly reacted and opened the door to leave, but Gregson stopped him.

"What are you going to do?"

"Box!" Sherlock shouted, "He must have had a box, but now that he is gone, someone must have taken him away."

He seemed to have thought of something, "They came by car, so maybe they left them in the car."

His eyes were filled with excitement.

"Serial killers are always difficult to deal with, they are generally very smart and you always have to wait for them to make their own mistakes."

He left here quickly. Watson's legs and feet were inconvenient. When he went out, Sherlock was already out of his sight.

It was already dark now, and the dense mist surrounded it, making the neighborhood even more eerie.

"How long have you known him?" Gregson came out and said.

"A few weeks," said Watson.

"That's what he is." Gregson, "Nervous. Do you want me to take you back? It's not easy to get a taxi at this time."

"No need," said Watson.

He walked out of here with his cane. Gregson shrugged, turned around and began to direct the police to clean up the scene.

The temperature difference between day and night in Britannia, which had just rained, was very large, so Watson's body was a little cold and tense.He walked about a few hundred meters, looked at the scattered pedestrians and vehicles along the way, and began to regret why he didn't let the police take him for a ride.

However, he always felt that it was unlucky to go back in a police car.

But soon, a taxi drove up and parked near him.

The window was slowly rolled down, and a young-looking man in a suit asked from the driver's seat.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Baker Street," said Watson.

"This gentleman happened to be on the way. He said that if you don't mind, you can carpool with him." The driver pointed to the man in the passenger seat.

Due to the dim light, he couldn't see the man's appearance clearly. He could only vaguely see that he was wearing a very decent suit.

"Thank you." Watson nodded without any suspicion.

It is undeniable that during these days in the imperial capital, he did see the higher moral standards of the people in the capital compared to the people in other areas.Because of his disability, he encountered a lot of kindness.

So he wasn't surprised that someone was willing to give him a ride, so he got into the back seat and put away his crutches.The car drove forward slowly. After about a few minutes, Watson soon discovered that the car was not on the way to Baker Street.

"Where are you going?" Watson asked.

At this time, the person in the passenger seat said, "Don't worry, we will take you back eventually, we just want to have a chat with you."

Watson stared at the man's back quietly, and then silently put his hands on his waist.

It seemed that the thing on his waist gave him confidence, and he took a deep breath.

"Of course." Watson shrugged, "What do you want to talk about?"

"You don't look scared," the man teased.

His voice is very mature, but the rhythm of his speech is completely opposite to Sherlock's, with a slowness and absolute control.

"You don't look very scary," said Watson.

"The bravery of soldiers." He praised.

After a pause, he continued, "I'm sorry to meet you in this way. You know, that guy is very smart, and I can only see you when he is distracted."

"Who?" Watson frowned.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"who are you?"

"People who are interested in this."

"Interested in Sherlock Holmes?" Watson looked at the person in the passenger seat suspiciously, "I don't think he is someone who has friends."

"You have only known him for a few days, but you know him well." The man continued.

After a pause, he said, "He and I are the most like friends. Of course, if you ask him, he might say that I am his mortal enemy."

"Enemy?"

"He's a very dramatic person," he said.

"Fortunately, you're not like that."

The person in the passenger seat chuckled, and after a brief silence, he said, "I can pay you a handsome reward."

"why?"

"Because you're not rich, you're living on a shoestring, and you're homeless."

Watson was silent for a moment, "What's the price?"

"You just need to tell me what that person usually does." The person said, "Simple, right?"

"Sorry, I'm not interested." Watson replied without any hesitation.

The man was obviously a little surprised, but he continued, "It's not secret information, and it won't embarrass you. I just need you to keep it secret."

"What do you want this information for?"

"Sometimes." The man was silent for a moment and said, "I will be more worried about him. Someone asked me to take good care of him. However, the relationship between us is not very good."

"Not interested," Watson said.

"I haven't said the amount yet."

"Still not interested."

The man smiled and said, "You have only known each other for a few days, but your relationship is already so good?"

"I'm just not interested."

"Your psychiatrist believes that you are not someone who trusts others easily."

Watson's frown deepened, "How did you know?"

The man was speechless, and the car stopped on the street.

"It's a few steps from here to Baker Street. I won't drive my car there, as he will notice it. If possible, I hope you can keep today's meeting a secret."

Watson tried to open the car door, but he opened it easily.

He raised his eyebrows but walked out anyway.

It was already very late now, perhaps because this place itself was not a commercial street. There was no one on the street, not even a tavern, and it was silent.

The reflections of street lamps swayed in the fog, making the already hazy streets even more dreamy.

"If I were you, I'd fire that physical therapist."

Watson slowly turned his head, and the man sitting in the passenger seat got out of the car at some point.

He is tall, looks to be in his 30s, and has a relatively high hairline, but his hair is still slicked back. He wears a crisp suit and is meticulously groomed. He is very standard for the upper class.

"Why?" said Watson.

"Your left hand," he said.

"My left hand?"

His eyelids closed slightly, revealing an unknown smile.

"You have intermittent tremors in your left hand, which your physiotherapist believes is due to post-traumatic stress disorder, also known as PTSD.

He thinks you're suffering from a military career. "

"I should indeed fire him, but not because of my left hand." Watson said, "How do you know this?"

"There are very few things I don't know about in Britannia," he said with a hint of meaning.

He lowered his eyes and looked at his left hand, "You are under pressure now, but your hand is as steady as a rock."

He raised his eyes, and his deep brown eyes were like candlelight swaying in the wind, as if they could penetrate people's hearts.

"Dr. Watson, you are not troubled by the war."

He slowly raised the corners of his mouth.

"You crave war."

"Good luck, John Watson"

He sat back on his seat and the car door slowly closed.

With the roar of the engine, he gradually disappeared from Watson's sight.
(End of this chapter)