I am creating a esoteric religion in London

Chapter 31
Watson sat by the window of the detective agency, browsing through books.

With the advancement of the industrial revolution and the extensive use of printing machines, the cost of disseminating written information has dropped significantly, and knowledge seems to have become cheap.

Nowadays, words are printed everywhere in the world, such as books, newspapers, magazines...even posters on the street, text information can be said to be everywhere, and sometimes they contain precious knowledge...but more often, it is just through Useless rubbish.

At this very moment, Watson is holding this meaningless collection of shit, shit, and fart jokes, but he still pretends to be immersed in it, nodding his head slightly from time to time as if agreeing with the words in the book, but the peripheral vision of his eyes has been scanning the outside of the window. street.

As early as when Watson returned to Baker Street, he felt a knife-like hostile gaze quietly fall on his back.

His face remained calm, he just silently pushed open the door of the detective office, opened the tight curtains to let the eyes of malicious people intrude indiscriminately, and even sat at a position convenient for the other party to observe quietly reading books.

The opponent was quite cunning, lurking in the slow-moving crowd to hide his figure, but after going back and forth many times, Watson finally caught a trace.

It was a young boy, with two thick black eyebrows folded down like hooks at the end, with a pretentious mustache on his lips, and his collar was raised high to cover his neck.

Victor Feuerbach didn't know that his sophisticated disguise had already been seen through, and he was complacently thinking that he would sneak in and cut off the target's head with a sharp knife in the dead of night, and dedicate it to the great leader!

………………

The night Harris died, in a luxurious manor outside the city.

The Marquise Bute was sipping black tea in the study when suddenly there was a light and urgent knock on the door.

The door of the study room was always open, and the knocker was just to inform his wife of his arrival.

That was the butler of the Bute family, in charge of all affairs inside and outside the manor. With a slight smile, he bowed slightly to his wife who heard the sound and looked over.

"Madam, the master is waiting for you in the office."

"Oh, I see."

Mrs. Bute replied angrily, "office, office, office... stay in the office every day!"
The Marquis of Bout hadn't been back to his bedroom for many days. He had been soaking in the office recently, eating, bathing and sleeping without leaving. She wondered if there was a dark room hidden in it with a few canaries.

Even so, she asked the head maid who came over from her natal family to make up her makeup and change into luxurious clothes.

The two bangs were just Mrs. Bute's courtesy, and she pushed open the door before waiting for a response from inside.

As expected, the Marquis of Bout was sitting behind the large solid wood desk with his head down and scribbling, completely ignoring his wife who barged in, letting the other party's well-dressed clothes go to waste.

Mrs. Bute curled her lips, "If you have anything to do with me, tell me quickly."

Only then did Marquis Bout raise his head. Perhaps it was because of the thick glasses on his nose that he hardly showed crow's feet, and his skin was even more elastic and tight. Having experienced the maturity and vicissitudes of the world, at first glance he thought he was a young man.

"Harris is dead."

The Marquis calmly uttered the horrifying news, but his expression was as indifferent as if he was talking about a wild dog that was run over by a carriage on the street.

Even Mrs. Bute was deceived by this calm attitude, thinking that her husband, who was as dull as a piece of wood, had finally opened his mind and could crack a joke, but this joke was too much up!
"Bah, bah, what nonsense are you talking about, how can you make fun of your own son's life and death?"

Marquis Bute raised his head and glanced at his wife. Although he always knew that her head was not very bright, why couldn't she even understand the words?
"I'm not kidding, Harris died, this morning."

Harris is dead...

Harris is dead...

My precious son is dead...

The husband's words kept echoing and whispering in her ears, the volume was sometimes high and sometimes low, and the sound quality was sometimes sharp like a howling and sometimes thick like a stone bell. Suddenly, Mrs. Bute's head became heavy, as if lead water was poured from her ears and filled her skull. dangling.

The carpet under her feet was extraordinarily soft and slippery, almost as if she was stepping on a pile of freshly picked cotton. Mrs. Bute Venus staggered and fell to the ground. She screamed strangely and was on the verge of passing out. The husband who continued to work hard.

Bout... you are so cruel!

When Mrs. Boot woke up, she had already returned to the bed in the master bedroom.

The grief of losing her beloved son made her heart feel like scissors, her eyes gradually burst out with resentment and resentment, and her voice was shrill like rotten wood rubbing against each other.

"The head maid!"

"Go and urge Charlotte of the Holmes family to find out who killed her cousin as soon as possible!"

The head maid who still had a charming face showed a bit of embarrassment and embarrassment. She hesitated and hesitated—before she went to the office to bring her back to the lady, she routinely knelt under the desk to solve the problem for the Marquis in front of the fainted lady.

When the head maid got up, she wiped the turbid liquid from the corner of her mouth, and accidentally saw the investigation report on the death of the young master hidden in the orderly text on the table.

She finally decided to tell what she saw and heard:
"Madam, it was Miss Holmes' assistant, John H. Watson, who killed Master Harris."

"what!!!"

Mrs. Boot's roar almost knocked the roof off, "Get me a car right away, I'm going to Holmes' house, I have to ask my aunt and niece how it turned from an investigation to a murder!!!"

The night was well timed with thunder, torrential rain and a hurricane. The rain slapped and crackled on the roof of the carriage, and the temperature was as cold as the inside of the carriage.

But the bitter cold wind did not calm the anger in Mrs. Bute's heart, on the contrary, it fueled the fire.

She was trembling with anger, biting her lower lip tightly with her upper teeth, and the corners of her drooping mouth were stained red with traces of blood.

After the Marquise left, the butler came to the office with hurried but graceful steps.

He tapped three times and got the master's reply before he dared to open the door and enter.

"My lord, Madam has already gone to the house of the Marquis Holmes for questioning."

Marquis Bute said without raising his head:
"Let her go, the Duke is a sensible person, and he won't be as knowledgeable as a rambunctious shrew like her."

"Yes, the subordinate will take his leave first, and please take care of your health, master, and rest early."

"Ah."

The butler turned and left while gently closing the door, leaving only the Marquis of Bout in the huge office.

As if he had listened to the housekeeper's advice, he blew out the oil lamp on the table, and the room fell into silent darkness.

The Marquis of Bute didn't seem to be in a hurry to fall asleep, he lowered his body and rummaged through the desk and cabinet for something.

Suddenly cold white thunder and lightning broke in through the cracks in the curtains, and the office became incandescent in an instant.

The most dazzling electric light struck the Marquis like a crack, revealing what was in his hand.

It was a glass of red wine, a glass of bright red grape wine served in a transparent goblet.

The Marquis shook the glass slightly, and the bright red wine rippled like waves in the glass.

It is hard to imagine that the juice squeezed from the grape carcasses can still show such a lively and vivid red color after being preserved for such a long time.

The Marquis of Bout had a look of madness on his wooden face. He sniffed and sniffed the pure wine as if he was afraid of damaging it.

He let out a hearty moan, which was really rare and delicious!

The Marquis seemed to be a little tipsy after drinking the wine in the glass. He shook his head slowly and sighed:
"Harris... you are such a useless piece of trash."

(End of this chapter)