[Comprehensive] Live broadcast of the crime scene

One cannot exterminate love, nor can one be obsessed with it.

-Bacon

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when we arrived in Baconsfield. Detective Redstrade hired a four-wheeled carriage drawn by a short-legged pony from the station hotel, and the group drove seven or eight miles along the single carriageway in the carriage. The sun is shining in the afternoon, the gorse is shining by the side of the road full of heather bushes, the trees are falling leaves, and the orange-red maple leaves cover the road. It seems that there was a light rain last night, and the muddy land exudes a damp earthy smell .

"It is very kind of you to accompany me, Mr. Holmes," said Inspector Lestrade enthusiastically, in his duffel coat and an old tie. "I have no idea of ​​the case."

Holmes was playing with his gray deer cap in his hand, and leaned lazily on the seat of the carriage. "Well, I'm not surprised at all."

Lestrade glared at him angrily, "Mr. Holmes!"

"So," asked Dr. Watson duly, "what is the difficulty of the case?"

Lestrade had learned from previous experiences that Holmes was powerful, but he didn't want to admit it. Seeing Watson's question, he took out his work diary from his pocket, opened it and said, "Two days ago , Ms. Mia Stone fell off the platform in front of more than 20 people... "Hearing this, the audience in the live broadcast room couldn't help sending barrage, [Where is 20 people, obviously 20 people, okay? ] [That's right, I just saw the live broadcast room where the train ran into people. I wanted to see if it was true, but I was attracted by the live broadcast room and forgot my original purpose [Stunned]] [Me too, still Quickly write down the ID of the live broadcast room, otherwise you will definitely not be able to find it after searching the Internet so strictly. ][Yeah, I originally wanted to send the ID to my friend, but it turned into a word of mouth as soon as I sent it out. The Arabic numerals are not good, and the voice is not good. The person on the phone was also drunk. ] [If I change it, I'll check it too. If the broadcaster really travels through time, it will affect the whole world. ] The live broadcast room unknowingly talked about their real society, but unfortunately, Mo Xian was listening to Lestrade's case with great concentration, not throwing a wink at the barrage, and naturally missed this opportunity.

Hearing this, Holmes interrupted suddenly, "She didn't fall, she was pushed down."

"OK, OK," Lestrade changed his words reluctantly, "Miss Mia Stone was pushed off the platform. She is a governess who lives in Mr. Jones's house and teaches Miss Jones. This is her third year. , I first visited Mr Jones, who was greatly shocked and distressed by the news of Miss Stone's death, and who, on my separate questioning, confessed to feeling a strong affection for her."

"Miss Mia Stone is a very beautiful woman," Dr. Watson, who had read the newspaper, commented professionally. "Living with such a beauty, it is difficult to avoid a subtle affection."

"Perhaps so," said Inspector Lestrade, turning to a page of his work diary. "His grief was evident, but I asked him where he was, and he said that afternoon he and his wife were visiting the newcomers. My neighbor even had refreshments at the neighbor's house, and I confirmed this information, his neighbor is indeed hospitable, and the curry chicken is very authentic."

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Hudson couldn't help saying when she heard the dishes she was good at, "The curry chicken has different ingredients, and the taste will vary greatly, but I like to put a little cheese slices in it, which will make the chicken curry more delicious. The soup is thicker."

"That's right." Detective Lestrade nodded politely to Mrs. Hudson, and continued to return to the murderer's question. "When I heard the news of Miss Stone's death, Mrs. Jones looked calm, and I began to suspect her. It's just that since she went to visit the neighbor's house with Mr. Jones at that time, it must not be her who did it, so looking at it this way, the two most suspected suspects have been ruled out."

[You don’t necessarily need to do it yourself,] At this time, the audience with their brains breaking through the horizon was imagining endlessly, trying to find a flaw in Lestrade’s words, [Can you hire someone. ] [Motivation? ] Some people immediately refuted, [Mia Stone is about to get married, why does Mrs. Jones want to kill her?Is it stupid? ] [Don't forget that everyone has been a tutor for three years, so if you want to kill them, you will kill them early. ] [I also don't think it's them, after all, it's been calm for three years. ] "Will Mr. Jones and his family attend Miss Miastone's funeral?" asked Mr. Holmes.

Lestrade said with an "um", "yes, that's why I invited you, and Miss Stone's fiancé, William Hunter, is a passionate painter who just married a Miss Miller Broken relationship, broken engagement, and on the afternoon Miss Stone was murdered, he was, er, painting Miss Miller as a parting present for the broken engagement."

While talking, the carriage stopped, and the coachman reminded loudly, "St. Mary and All Saints Church is here, gentlemen."

As soon as Mo Xian heard the word church, she understood that it was the urn, the burial mission props. She and Mrs. Hudson bowed their heads and jumped out of the carriage, reaching out to take the heavy box carried by Holmes on the carriage, but they were caught. Watson turned back, "Let's go in with you, how can the two ladies go to a strange place alone?"

Lestrade had to follow behind. There was a lawn in front of the church, with several tombstones erected. A path wound around the tombstones and went straight to the entrance of the church. The three triangular roofs of the church were taller than the other. An arched door under the shortest roof is opening, and on the right side of the church, a blue and earthy stone brick bell tower stands quietly, simple and sacred.

They walked into the church along the winding path. The inside was tall and large, and the stained glass windows were dazzling under the slanting sunlight, with some classic Bible stories painted on them. In the middle of the auditorium, under a cross, the priest was reading books on the podium .

"Father," Mrs. Hudson made the sign of the cross, stepped forward to negotiate with him, Mo Xian stood idly for a while, and then zoomed in on the bullet screen to peep at the audience's remarks.

In the holy church, the bullet screens seemed to be in awe. They no longer discussed whether the painter was a scumbag or the private life of the artists, but admired the church in front of them with a little sigh.

It didn't take long for Mrs. Hudson to complete the negotiation and asked Mo Xian to bring the box over. As a decoration, she only needed to show a sad or nostalgic expression according to Mrs. Hudson's words in a timely manner, and then submitted two documents. After a hundred pounds, the priest scheduled the funeral for the day after tomorrow, and all he had to do was bring flowers.

Leaving the urn in the church, Mo Xian finally settled his mind. A group of people got into the carriage, as if they were afraid of disturbing Mo Xian who was immersed in the pain of the death of their loved ones. For a while, no one spoke until the carriage clanged and arrived in Stone After entering Miss's house, the atmosphere became active again.

Miss Stone's home is located in a lush garden, they have to walk up, three gentlemen take turns to carry the luggage of the two ladies, only the green gables and high roofs in the jungle can be seen on the corridor , until walking to the top of the garden, a villa just appeared in the eyes of everyone.

He rang the doorbell, and Miss Stone's father, Mr. Stone, greeted him. He was pale, his eyes were haggard, his figure was thin, and he was wearing an empty suit. It looked like he was in extreme sadness and couldn't help himself. He apologized first. , because his wife, Mrs. Stone, fell ill in bed after receiving the news of her daughter's death, while his youngest daughter, Miss Stone, was taking care of her in the bedroom, and she personally poured tea for their uninvited guests. Mr. Holmes put away his idle attitude caused by the boredom of the case, and when he put his hat behind the door, he glanced at the shoe cabinet.

The patterns on the cups were so used that they could barely be seen, and the corner of the table was broken and was not repaired. Although the interior of the villa was very large, Mo Xian could tell that the Stone family might have been richer than their ancestors. Miss Stone was well educated, but had to be a governess, which also proved this point.

The group of people hadn't sat down yet, when the doorbell rang again. They saw Mr. Stone go to the kitchen to get hot water, and Dr. Watson who was closer to the door opened the door. Outside the door was a young man who saw a strange man. The person introduced himself, "Hi, I'm Hoffman. Mia's fiancé."

[etc?William Hunt?Hoffman? ! ] A seemingly new audience noticed the name, [William Hoffman Hunt, one of the founders of the Pre-Raphaelites, was famous for his rural and modern urban works in the early days, and became famous for his religious paintings. He will not be history The William Holman Hunt of the record, right?By the way, I am also a painter [shy]] [It seems to be,] Li Shi also noticed, [In this way, he is not the murderer, there is no information about him being in prison in the historical records, and there is no Miss Mia Stone, but his fiancée, Anne Miller, whose relationship has broken down. ] [It turns out that Sherlock Holmes is real? ] Faced with this scene that seems to be intertwined with time and space, many viewers can't bear it. ] Mo Xian, who didn't know the inside story, didn't understand why the audience was so surprised and walked off the ground from the book?She took it for granted that it was a history book, and no one shook her shoulders and told her that Holmes was a fictional character-seeing the current audience began to doubt whether Holmes was fictional or real.

Seeing Hoffman coming to the door, Mr. Stone didn't say anything. When he answered Mr. Detective's question, he occasionally lost his eyes, and asked again and again before he came back to his senses. It can be seen that this poor father has been affected by his daughter's accident. I was stunned by the blow.

"You have no son?" Holmes asked with certainty, though it was an interrogative sentence.

"Yes," Mr. Stone replied, "I only have two daughters." At this point, he paused, his eyes turned red, "now there is only one."

"Miss Stone is your eldest daughter, and Miss Stone is not too young, is she?" Holmes asked affirmatively.

Confused, Mr. Stone said, "Yes, they're only a year apart."

Holmes nodded.

After sitting for a while, Lestrade bid farewell to Mr. Stone—knowing that Mr. Stone's family was poor, he had booked several rooms in the town, and Mr. Painter volunteered to send them away. Unable to see the roof of the villa, he stepped closer to Lestrade and took out a letter from his pocket, "Mr. Detective, there is one thing I think I must tell you."

"Miss Jones, a student taught by Mia, wrote me a love letter."