Baker Street Check-In Record [Sherlock Holmes]

After Leslie was sure that he was calm enough, he cautiously sent his people to the coffee shop where Cecily appeared last, and asked his right-hand assistant to inquire about some information in person, while he sat in the room Interrogate the messenger.

"Actually, sir, I don't know anything!" said the down-to-earth paper deliveryman, whose hair was about to fall out. This address, he gave me a whole ten pounds--I need money..."

His voice was a little uneasy.

"He told me it was important, so I got the letter and came over."

The newspaper delivery man's shoes were very dirty and old. If it was normal, he would not be able to enter such a magnificent reception room. This atmosphere made him even more restrained, and he didn't even know where to put his hands.

"When did you receive the letter?"

Leslie was expressionless.

"Uh... I didn't check the time. Anyway, I got it and came here. I was at the Glenton Bar one street away. I just got out of a drink." The delivery man spoke in a very low voice, and he Knowing that your words don't sound convincing.

Leslie was about to continue the interrogation, but the butler hurried in and told him that Mr. Holmes was coming. Leslie knocked on the table annoyed.

"Then let him in. I remember that he is a detective. I hope he can help. Maybe I can trust a Sherlock Holmes mind." He said impatiently.

Holmes did arrive very quickly. It took less than half an hour to get here from Baker Street. The coachman tried his best to shorten the time by nearly a third. He received a tip of five pounds.

There can be no doubt that Holmes had almost run in after getting out of the carriage, and he had done all he could to restrain his panting.

With a stiff posture, Leslie raised his head and glanced at the embarrassed gentleman and the butler who was chasing after him to fetch his coat. He didn't say much, and without getting up, he nodded at the seat beside him and signaled him to sit down.

"Recall the character of the man, sir." Leslie waited for Holmes to sit down before continuing the question.

"I, I don't remember—the material of the clothes he was wearing seemed to be very good, but...I, I didn't look carefully..."

The two gentlemen sitting in front of him obviously put more pressure on him. Now, he can't straighten his tongue when he speaks.

Leslie realized that this would not work, but he really couldn't calm down his face to extract any information from the paper delivery man.

"Little Mr. Holmes," he said firmly, "I think I can leave it to you?"

He doesn't like Mr. Holmes very much, especially after Sissy befriends him.But at the moment he had to leave the matter to him, at least he was a detective, and at least his name was Holmes.

Holmes quickly realized what he meant: "I will."

Leslie got up abruptly, pulled out the chair and walked out. Holmes tried to soften his stiff face. This should have been quite easy for him, but at this moment he couldn't control himself—perhaps since he received the He was out of control from the very beginning of the telegram, and he found that he was in a state of anxiety, which was an unfamiliar word to him, and he hated this negative state that affected his thinking—if he couldn’t calm down, it would be like this. He's not fit to interrogate a coward, and he doesn't want to scare a witness out of his head.

He bit his tongue, and the pain woke him up, forcing him to suppress all unnecessary emotion.

When he spoke again, he seemed to have become Mr. Holmes, the friend of the proletariat-he was good at this, using different styles to pry the clues he wanted from different clients or witnesses.

"Sorry sir, I made you feel nervous," his voice could almost be described as silky smooth, "but please understand his eagerness, maybe you don't mind if I help you recall the person you met this afternoon? "

There is no honorific title, the tone is calm, and the attitude is not tough.

The messenger looked up lazily, and nodded to the gentleman: "I don't mind...but I don't think there will be any gains."

Mycroft arrived very quickly, after all, he still had a meeting to clear - this was the fastest he could do.

"I think my brother has arrived early?" He frowned and handed the coat to the butler. "I want to know the whole story."

"I'm waiting for someone to bring Davis here," Leslie seldom slumped on the couch, covering his eyes with the back of his hand, "I can't imagine what they'll do to my Sissy... …I……"

"Leslie, I think you need to calm down," Mycroft whispered to the butler to prepare some brandy for his master, "as long as we know where his interests lie, nothing will happen to your sister."

"Davis mentioned to me last week that he wanted to talk to Sissy," Leslie put down his hands, sat up suddenly, put his arms on his knees, and lowered his head so that no one could see his red eye sockets , "I thought that even if I refused... anyway, I agreed, at least it is impossible for Davis to make any moves on the bright side."

"You're right, then what?"

"At two o'clock this afternoon, the coachman took Sissy to the appointed coffee shop at 17 Paddington Street," Leslie said sullenly, "the coachman said that Sissy's instructions were that if you If she hasn't come back, go pick her up."

"The coachman was about to leave before dinner, and a man came to deliver the letter, and your brother was interrogating him—I know I can't put on a nice face to ask him those questions now," Leslie laughed mockingly. "That letter is on the table, maybe you can use your Sherlock Holmes brain to see if there is any information in that letter, my people just went to that coffee shop to check, Sissy is not there, and temporarily No other information has come through."

Mycroft didn't say anything hastily to appease his friend, but picked up the paper on the table... Leslie didn't touch the paper because of his emotions, keeping it as it was.

After he finished reading the paper, he held it up to the light and looked carefully: "I am sure that any words of comfort are not as important as the inferences I can give-this paper comes from a Bohemian paper maker. factory, if I did not mistake the address."

"What does this mean?" Leslie looked up at Mycroft, "I can't think now."

"That's not a good sign, Leslie," said Mycroft, sitting down beside his friend, showing him the mill's monogram. Unfortunately, I'm sure there aren't many places where this paper is used, especially in London, and within the distances I'd say I'd expect."

The door was flung open.

"Sherlock...be more polite, you are being too rude." Mycroft didn't even lift his eyelids.

Sherlock snorted and raised his eyebrows: "I don't think the paper delivery man can give you any more information, except..."

"Except?" Mycroft put the letter aside, leaned back on the sofa, and closed his eyes.

"The person who sent him the letter wore a cheap overcoat and dirty shoes but wore trousers and shirts of good material, looked pale, spoke hoarsely, and smelled of some kind of perfume mixed with smoke smell," Sherlock said without hesitation about the information he had just received, "Miss Sylvester disappeared after three o'clock in the afternoon, and the sender got the letter around ten past five o'clock. If Combined with the time given by the witnesses we have later, I think we can establish a range."

"In addition to this letter," Mycroft raised the paper in his hand, "I don't think it's difficult."

"Leslie," Mycroft said, looking at his friend, "if you can't think about it now, perhaps you can go in and warn the paper delivery man not to reveal all this."

Leslie nodded wearily and entered the room.

Mycroft looked at his brother. "You look paler than Leslie, Sherlock."

"I……"

Mycroft made a silent gesture: "Perhaps you also need to calm down, Mr. Steward—if you can prepare some black tea."

"No, I don't think I need it." Sherlock walked up to Mycroft and picked up the letter.

"If your index was there, I think it would point to an address, papiergesellschaft is a paper company in German, and Eg... egria, the German Bohemian district, has a large number of glass workshops and paper factories," Mycroft He chuckled vaguely, "I thought you could be calmer than Leslie, Sherlock, I'm thinking for two of you right now."

Like a basin of cold water being poured over his head, Sherlock didn't speak any more, but sniffed the smell on this piece of paper carefully.

"The scent that the newspaper delivery man mentioned..." He lowered his eyes to recognize it. "I'm sure I've smelled it in one place. It's not just the scent of irises."

Mycroft declined to comment; he was no match for Sherlock in identifying spices or soot.

Sherlock frowned, trying to find useful information from his mind, but obviously, he found nothing, which made him even more irritable.

Mycroft sighed: "You know what I've been up to lately, Sherlock, if you can't keep your sanity, I can't leave this matter to you—"

"I'm sensible enough, Mycroft," Sherlock said almost gloomily, "I'm not interested in what you've been up to lately."

Mycroft didn't say that you're only interested in my friend's sister now.

The doorbell of Sylvester Manor rang again.

The butler hurried over to report: "It's Mr. Davis."

"Sherlock, we all need to back away," Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "don't argue—if you're sensible enough."

65.

Davis didn't seem to know why he was here, and he was startled by Leslie's unusual anger as soon as he entered the door.

"I just want to know where you got my sister, damn it!" Leslie grabbed Davis by the collar.

Davies was apparently fresh from a family dinner and was dressed like a gentleman.

"I don't understand what you're talking about, Mr. Sylvester!"

The possibility of the marriage between the Davis family and the Sylvester family has already collapsed, and cooperation is absolutely impossible. Davis did not respect Leslie as before, but mercilessly broke Leslie's hand.

God, why is he so strong?

There's nothing scarier than pissing off a sissy who's lost a sister.

"Can you swear you don't know?"

He gritted his teeth.

"God what the hell are you talking about!"

Only then did Leslie loosen his grip on him, allowing Davis to catch his breath.

"Cicily is missing. After meeting you," Leslie raised the corners of his lips with a smirk, "I thought Mr. Davis had at least the most basic gentlemanly demeanor, and wouldn't let a lady take the return journey alone." carriage."

Davis' face turned crimson: "You ask me? Don't you know what I mean by asking her out today? You already knew the result!"

"That's right, maybe it was your order to refuse my marriage proposal. After all, you are now on the Duke of Browns, aren't you? Damn Leslie, let me go!"

"So! What the fuck happened after that?" Leslie growled viciously.

It was really rare to see two gentlemen shouting at each other outside, and the Holmes brothers who were sitting behind the screen had to express their surprise.

People will always be fettered by their feelings. Davis didn't know when to ask for love, and Leslie's precious family affection that Leslie would not let go of.And such feelings sometimes make people lose their minds.

No matter how personable they are usually, British gentlemen have the kind of savage impulse that cannot be domesticated in their bones. They just learned to wear white gloves and tuxedos to disguise themselves. Once provoked, they will not shy away from showing their fangs out his fist.

What made Sherlock's heart tense even more was that she was taken away after rejecting someone else's marriage proposal.

He suddenly had some... strange emotions.

A kind of complacent and annoyed, or a little envious.

Well, this is a common problem among men.

Sherlock was briefly distracted.

Leslie didn't want to explain everything about Cecily's rejection of Davis, but just snorted coldly: "So what happened this afternoon."

He sat down on the sofa first.

Davis tugged at his neckline, which was messed up by Leslie, and sat down with a cold snort: "Why, do you still need to ask me? Obviously, I got her consent after the marriage proposal was rejected. I left the place where we agreed to meet, and I don't know anything about what happened after that."

He was actually a little worried about her, but there was a strange pleasure in his heart - especially after he thought of a certain possibility.

"You better not lie to me," Leslie gritted her teeth.

"What? I thought Leslie—oh no, Mr. Sylvester, you already knew that we couldn't have any chance to cooperate..."

"It doesn't mean that I have lost all the opportunities to trip you up." Leslie showed a smirk, which quickly froze, "I just want to ask you one thing now."

"You already knew it was impossible to succeed, so," he raised his eyes and stared at Davis, "did you ask her to come out at the behest of the gentleman behind you?"

Behind the screen, Mycroft whispered to his brother, "I knew that Leslie would never be able to trust his powers of thinking to anyone else."

Sherlock nodded slightly. He didn't have much direct contact with Leslie, but from the side, he could feel what kind of person Leslie was.

Hearing Leslie's words, Davis froze for a moment.

"Okay, I think I get it," Leslie smirked again, and that aristocratic demeanor returned to him, "You were the last person to see Cecily, you know he let you Does that mean anything?"

Davis quickly came to his senses and smiled softly, "I don't understand what you're talking about, Mr. Sylvester."

"If I'm suspicious, you can ask the people from Scotland Yard to arrest me instead of threatening me now." Davis stood up again and raised his head, "Stop your ridiculous guesses, I'm not going to keep quiet about the dirty water that's been poured on me out of respect for that lady."

"If you really doubt me, I can provide a lot of witnesses to prove that I fled the place where I was ashamed in embarrassment," Davis also began to growl, "I..."

"You can instruct someone else to do it, Davis," he called his last name forcefully. "Don't be so vulgar. If that person really wants you to be a scapegoat, then you can't get away with it."

Davis froze, and then he recovered quickly: "Then you can come here, you can't find any evidence!"

After that, he adjusted his neckline and tie loosely: "No one can send me to the gallows."

He seemed poised to leave.

"If you have any news about her, please let me know." Leslie's voice was cold, and it was impossible to tell that she was asking for someone.

Davis snorted heavily, and walked out at a faster pace.

Leslie raised his volume a little: "Look, I hate him the most. He has not become a nobleman yet, but he has a whole body of hypocrisy—ha, leaving the lady alone—he will always be able to Get down on the ground and kiss the leather shoes of nobles!"

Leslie's tone was almost quite vicious.

The two brothers came out from behind the screen.

Instead of echoing Leslie's words, they made objective statements.

"Obviously, Davis didn't know about her kidnapping, but it's very possible that Miss Sylvester was kidnapped at the behest of that gentleman," Mycroft stopped Sherlock from speaking, In front of Leslie, Sherlock said that such an obvious conclusion would only make Leslie distrust him, and his opening should be in a more valuable place, "If so, I think I already have a suspect. "

Leslie looked at his friend in shock.

"Colonel Moran," he confided the name, "if according to that gentleman's usual style, only Moran has been free to do such important matters recently... Moran is busy proving himself to his leader .”

Sherlock was shocked to hear the name, but he quickly found information about this person.

"If you're talking about that Colonel Sebastian Moran who returned to London because of the scandal," Sherlock looked at his brother without blinking, "I want to know about the brother you mentioned matter."

Then he gave a wacky grin: "It reminds me of something... this Colonel Moran likes to play bridge in his club, and that spice... I used to be in an underground casino on Germer Street I've smelled it, and I've seen that Colonel Moran in that casino."

"If you're talking about the Bloody Gambling House, I think that's about right," Mycroft considered, "and if I remember correctly, that casino used this fine paper for notes to its guests. "

Leslie had heard a little about this casino: "I thought that casino was just a place for those aristocratic children to have fun... If they locked Sissy there... no, no, no, there is no dark room where they can be locked up... "

Leslie's face became even uglier.

"This only proves that the letter was sent from the casino. I don't think it's possible for Miss Sylvester to be locked there." Sherlock obviously knew more about the bloody casino. Love), but it is not suitable to imprison a person, as Mr. Sylvester said, it is a place for children of aristocratic families to have fun, and there are many people coming and going. If Hill... Miss Sylvester Appearing there will inevitably cause confusion, and in order to ensure the reputation of the gang of family children, they never allow people to stay there for more than two days, so as not to cause unnecessary confusion-they will choose to bring their girls with them. Go to a more private place, your own villa, or the detention room of some illegal club."

Somehow, he added: "I had a case involving this casino before, and I sneaked in as a... waiter."

Mycroft moved his eyeballs cryptically after hearing this, but Leslie didn't listen.

"Club? Phil's British and Indian Club, Tankerville or Trivia Club?" Leslie reported three names without hesitation. There is no doubt that he knew the staff of his enemy who had recently been in the limelight. "I'll send a letter asking them to report to me Moran's recent whereabouts."

Leslie could barely manage his facial expressions, and was about to walk out as soon as he took a step, but was held back by Mycroft.

"Don't be too nervous, Leslie," Mycroft said in a deep voice, "That person doesn't know that we noticed him, and he will never think that we can react to him the first time, we have plenty of time. "

And Leslie was not in the mood to listen to his friend's consolation at all, and the corners of his lips that he barely hooked were the best he could do.

"I'm only worried about a little bit now," Leslie patted his friend's hand on his shoulder. "He asked me to stop my movements. My nearest center of gravity is in Yorkshire, and if I stop, the biggest benefit The one is the Duke of Browns."

Mycroft's expression didn't change at all, obviously this was in his expectation, he had already considered it.

"Little Browns proposed to Sissy last week, and the Duke of Browns also implicitly proposed marriage intentions. What I am worried about now is... dying in disgrace, which means that if they really get involved, they I will never soften my heart towards Sisi because of the possible relationship..." Leslie was a little hesitant, "I know, they won't do anything to Sisi before I have a formal response...Damn it, I hope they won't."

His voice became fierce again, and he shook off Mycroft's hand violently, and went into the room.

"The work in Yorkshire may need to be suspended for a while, Mike, I think I need your help now."

Mycroft agreed with a smile, turned his head slightly, and sure enough, he saw his brother's expression was worried.

"Miss Sylvester is a very sought-after girl, isn't she?" His cheerful tone did not match the tense atmosphere at the moment, "It's a pity that you refused."

The corners of Sherlock's mouth were drawn into a straight line, and his voice seemed to be squeezed out of his throat: "Now is not the time to think about these things, Mycroft!"

He seemed to scold his brother for his inappropriateness, but it was evident that Mycroft thought he was angry.

"Yeah, that's right, if I don't rescue her, I think I will lose a chance to worry about my brother's life-long affairs, or I will have to worry about it in the future-don't stare at me, Xiali, you know what I mean."

The author has something to say: I, the whale, comment.

Are you more satisfied today?

The paper mill mentioned in this chapter comes from the original Bohemian Scandal. Mr. Sherlock Holmes Jr. and Watson's reasoning about the king's letter paper, with slight changes.

The address is fictitious, and the club is mentioned in Moran's information.

Yesterday I described Mr. Fu's "fastness", and I wanted to face the wall crookedly!quick!go!Before Fu draws his pistol!

Feeling dirtier.

Blast wanting to drive, but I haven't touched the steering wheel yet...

emmmmm I thought about Maggie's attitude, I think he is not the kind of person who will always be serious, there are too few appearances in the original book, so I can't test it, but I remember that he will pretend to be asleep on purpose in Jeremy's version, anyway. Not so serious, it should be quite normal to tease his younger brother on such an occasion, Lao Fu was a little angry: I am almost dying of anxiety, what are you beeping now, are you afraid that I am not anxious enough?

By the way, Lao Fu, who knew that Xixi rejected the marriage proposal of the two, felt a little happy, but he was also sad that he hadn't [fill in the blank question] properly.