Baker Street Charterers

Nora got up early the next morning, folded the quilt and went downstairs, but around seven o'clock, the other tenants hadn't woken up from the gloomy London weather, and Mrs. Hudson had already started cleaning the house.Black tea was boiling on the stove, and a mellow aroma filled the room.

Hearing the creaking of the stairs, the landlady turned her head and was immediately startled.

"Oh God." Hudson dropped the broom with a snap. "Nora!"

The person standing at the door of the living room shrugged innocently, showing the first dewdrop-like smile of the morning.

The 20-year-old young lady is wearing the most common men's clothing nowadays - a long-sleeved white shirt and black trousers with slightly rough fabric, and a pair of high boots brought from Liverpool. The leather is slightly hard but polished very brightly.Her long, slightly curly wine-red hair is usually as bright as an oil painting, but at this moment, it is tied up high by the owner, revealing flying eyebrows and shining emerald green eyes, and the whole person looks extremely energetic-of course it is For her, this 21st-century dress can be called a neutral trend, and in the eyes of Mrs. Hudson, it is undoubtedly a bolt from the blue.

The landlady showed a distressed expression, "Even for work, my little Nora, you can't go out dressed like this, no rich gentleman would like a lady in men's clothes..."

Nora immediately leaned over and kissed Mrs. Hudson on the cheek, and lowered her voice, "Shhh—they're still asleep. My landlady, I can't go to work in a clinic in a tight, long dress. If it delays my handling of the dead...patients, I believe that Mr. Hawke must be satisfied with my current attire."

The gentle face-to-face courtesy made Mrs. Hudson's face soften. She sighed complainingly, and said, "You must always remember that it is right to marry a good person..."

Mrs. Hudson is good at everything, but a little old-fashioned.Nora blinked, took the house key, and smiled, "Okay, 'Mom', I will remember your words." Before closing the door, she added, "No need to prepare my lunch, Mr. Hawk probably I won't be released until the afternoon—"

It turns out that her prediction was right——

Nora moved the door, there was nothing wrong with that, it was moving the door instead of opening the door. It seemed that Mr. Hawke had no intention of repairing the 'gate' at all. It is really amazing that there was no burglary here.The light was as dim as ever, and Nora finished eating the cheap bread bought on the roadside, and was looking down to take out the key to open the door of the dissection room, when a faint, gloomy voice came down the stairs——

"Norma."

She paused for taking out the key, and looked up helplessly, "Sir, my name is Nora."

But obviously her name doesn't make any difference to Cleveland, he still has a messy haircut, his clothes look like he hasn't changed at all, with dark circles under his eyes, he floated down the stairs, expressionless and haggard , "I couldn't find you, the body was processed until one o'clock in the morning yesterday."

"..." Nora cleared her throat and said calmly, "I forgot to tell you that I live at 221b Baker Street, forgive me Mr. Hawke."

After a pause, she added emphatically, "...you asked me to go back yesterday." This must be explained clearly, she did not leave early.

Cleveland gave her a gloomy look, and pushed open the door of the dissecting room, which was in a mess. It seemed that the result of his staying up late yesterday had been sent to the incinerator, but there were still sporadic blood stains scattered around, and the scalpel was also stained with blood. , looks like a murder scene.

"Clean it up." Cleveland pointed to the pile of stains and ordered as a matter of course. Unsurprisingly, he turned a blind eye to Nora's attire. Probably in his world, there are only living and dead people. Men and women are just people. It is just one of the criteria for distinguishing corpses.

Nora stepped forward resignedly. Before starting to work, she considered her words and tentatively said, "Mr. Hawke...if after I leave, I mean if-- a new corpse arrives, what should you do?" How about contacting me?"

Cleveland has also considered this question, so he said the answer smoothly, "Wait until the next day."

The employer was too lazy to procrastinate. Nora was relieved by this answer. If the work of the clinic happened to overlap with Holmes' case, it would be very difficult to handle. Fortunately, the boss looked serious and rigid, but he was actually very negotiable. She I couldn't help but rolled up my sleeves with a smile, and started to clean up the environment, "Yes, I will definitely not forget about work."

She was referring to "telling" the body's story.As expected, Cleveland nodded slightly with satisfaction, his eyes softened a little.

The boss is clearly a slovenly workaholic type, and it took her almost two hours to tidy up all the rooms and put them back in their place.There didn't seem to be any heavy work today, and Cleveland was upstairs until mid-morning.She didn't go upstairs to see it, but guessed it was probably his private space.Sure enough, when someone knocked on the door, she saw Cleveland running down the stairs immediately, holding a copy of "Format Anatomy" in his hand, the book was very old, and the edges were worn out. .

Nora silently praised the studious Mr. Hawke.

What doesn't match the style of the painting is Cleveland's excited face when he sees the fresh corpse.The coachman transported the "goods" to the dissection room, and Cleveland couldn't wait to call Nora, his eyes sparkled, "What did you see?"

Nora glanced at him silently. She had seen people who were particularly obsessed with corpses. In her previous life, there were many rumors about torture of the dead or female mummy, but she never thought that she would meet one. Sure enough, he was rich. Is it true that most people have quirks?

And this one likes to hear stories about corpses.

Nora carefully observed the male corpse, and slowly expressed his guesses as he expected. Cleveland never commented on this, nor would he tell her whether her guesses were correct or not. He seemed to just enjoy it. In a different time, geniuses are mostly lonely, and judging from his appearance, he is probably not a simple person.Fortunately, Nora's focus was on the two pounds, and she didn't dislike Cleveland's eccentric temper. The boss and the subordinate got along harmoniously, which seemed to be a good time for the host and guest.

She stayed in the clinic until about four o'clock in the afternoon, when Cleveland finally said, "You can go back," he said, still busy with his work, "Come back tomorrow afternoon, we need to go to Regent Street. "

Pick up outside jobs?Nora suddenly remembered something, a not-so-good memory. She showed a rare look of hesitation. Cleveland didn't hear her answer, and immediately turned his head, staring at her with a pair of blue eyes, slightly The glazed eyes are particularly creepy.

Forget it, even if you see the other party, you probably won't recognize him.Nora nodded, "Yes."

Still thinking about yesterday's case, Nora hurried back to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was still knitting alone. When Nora asked about the whereabouts of Watson and Holmes, Mrs. Hudson said, "Are they going to some concert?" Well, Watson doesn't look like a violinist to me, oh poor John—"

Nora has sympathy for her. She is usually not very interested in music. She only has a systematic and rough study of this cross-border art. People who walk on the edge of life and death never waste their time on music. In this regard, music is close to playing the piano against a cow for her.Watson was a gentle man, but it was obvious that he knew nothing about music and had to suffer through the whole performance, and even Nora felt a rare sympathy for him.

Sure enough, when Nora was leisurely flipping through the magazines, Holmes and Watson returned to Baker Street around five o'clock in the afternoon. Great torture.

"God." Watson saw them as kind as family members, and tears welled up in his eyes, "Mrs. Hudson, Nora, you can't believe that Holmes and I talked for two hours about G and F majors." , and the difference between chords and sonatas..."

He was extremely wronged, "Even when I fell asleep, my mind was filled with the echo of his voice, nightmare, what a nightmare!"

"Music is one of the few advances in intelligence and emotion in human history." Holmes said unhappily. resonance, not hopelessly stupid."

Watson buried his face in his hands in pain and refused to answer.

Holmes turned his eyes to the two ladies who were watching the excitement, and there was a little expectation in his quiet eyes, "What about you, Miss Nora, as a lady with an IQ that barely reaches the level of ape-like creatures, you should love music very much. Isn't it?"

Nora shook her head resolutely, ignoring Holmes' usual sarcasm, "No, I don't feel anything."

"..." Sherlock Holmes playing the piano to the cow.

"Is there no art in this room that can understand the crystallization of human wisdom, record history, and sing legends?" Holmes murmured in despair. "It is because of the superficiality and one-sidedness of human beings that wars, aggressions, die……"

"..." Watson took the black tea and smiled gratefully at Nora. Nora continued to look down at the magazine. Hudson was knitting too quietly, and no one paid any attention to the great detective's daily tasks.

Even though they only got together for a few days, the tenants were unexpectedly harmonious and unanimously resonated in some aspects.

"Tell me about the progress of the case." Holmes stopped lamenting at the stupid human in displeasure. He sat on his exclusive sofa, calmly smoothed his slightly disheveled hair, and restored his former sharp and mysterious demeanor.

"Oh?" Nora immediately raised her head and stared at him with piercing eyes, visibly refreshed.

Holmes was unwilling to continue talking. He leaned back slightly on the sofa, subconsciously reached into his pocket to take out a pipe, but was embarrassed to find that the target was hidden behind the stove by Mrs. Hudson, and he quickly glanced at it. Everyone, finding that no one seems to have noticed his small movements, calmly relaxed their shoulders, squinted their eyes slightly, and sat in an elegant and relaxed posture, which could almost be used to shoot the cover illustrations of some detective novels.

"Mr. Watson." Holmes raised his chin in a haughty manner, "I think it is more appropriate for you to describe these things."

Nora raised her brows lightly, with a half-smile, Watson shook his head helplessly and began to think, "We went to find that John Lance this morning...it was a narrow alley, a square courtyard, and The ground is paved with stone slabs, surrounded by some dirty and simple houses..."

Nora had a headache, "Watson, get to the point."

Watson paused, rubbed his chin in embarrassment, and coughed, "...well...he just woke up when we went in. Holmes took out a half-pound gold coin from his pocket and tossed it in his hand..."

"Ahem." Holmes made a fist with his right hand and gestured to his lips. "Nora is right. We need focus, focus."

Watson was a little confused, but under the suggestion of Holmes' eyes, he paused for a few seconds with difficulty, and said, "Holmes used gold coins to lure Mr. Lance to tell him everything he saw that day—"

Holmes "..."

"According to what he said, he was on duty from ten o'clock in the evening to six o'clock in the morning. There was a fight on White Hart Street at eleven o'clock last night, and everything else was calm. It started to rain around one o'clock, and he met his colleague Maha, Just standing on the corner of Henrietta Street and chatting."

Watson took a sip of his tea and continued, "At about two o'clock or a little later, nothing happened. There was no one else, only one or two carriages passing by. After a short stroll, he suddenly saw 3 There was a light at the window of House No.—it was known to be always vacant, and he was startled, and went to the door—”

Watson's eloquence was unexpectedly good, his voice was low, and the story became thrilling after his rhetoric, "Then Holmes suddenly asked him if he stopped immediately, and then walked back to the garden gate. Mr. Lance was guessed , and explained that he was just out of fear and wanted to find someone to go in with him, but Mr. Moha left earlier, so he had to go into the house alone..."

"The scene of the house he described was not different from what we saw then, but there was a red candle burning on the mantelpiece, and it was there that he saw the body—"

Watson paused for a moment, seeming to recall the expression on Lance's face when he told the incident, and his eyes became heavy, "Mr. Lance said, he immediately went out, blew the siren, and then Maha and the other two policemen rushed to the police station. Come here."

"'Is there no one else?' asked Holmes, and he told us that the decent people had gone home long ago—"

Nora raised her eyebrows, "|Serious person?"

Watson glanced at her approvingly, "It seems that you have also discovered that, indeed, there is another drunk man—Mr. Lance said he had never seen such a drunk man. Leaning on the railing and standing at the door, singing Krumba's ditties at the top of my voice, I can't even stand still, which makes me have a headache."

"Holmes inquired carefully about the drunk's clothes, appearance, height—"

"Let me guess, tall, red-faced, strong man, eh?" Nora said.

Watson nodded, "Indeed, wearing a brown coat, Holmes asked him if he had a riding whip, and Lance denied it..."

"He must have put the whip on the carriage," Holmes said suddenly, with a firm tone, "the man who rode in the carriage with the dead man."

Watson touched his nose, "I don't dare to agree with you easily, maybe he is really just a passing drunk."

Holmes smiled, and his smile was full of meaningful certainty, "No, he didn't pass by, but returned to the scene, wanting to find something, a very important thing."

"Ring," Nora said.

"The ring." Holmes nodded slightly, narrowing his eyes. The light in his gray-blue eyes was sharp and bright. "I bet you, doctor, that he will be hooked, since he didn't get what he wanted."

"A man? Why would you want a lady's ring?" Watson thought hard.

"Who knows," Holmes shrugged slightly, "maybe it's a relic from his mother, or maybe it's a gift from someone important to him. No matter what, it must have a very special meaning, and this will be the key point for us to find the murderer."

"You mean..." Nora understood what he meant, "recruitment notice?"

"Well, I repeat, it's always so comfortable to talk to smart people." Holmes stood up, took out his violin, and announced solemnly, "Now that the business has come to an end, the next day's artistic education is indispensable. Isn't it?"

"Sherlock Holmes!" roared from Baker Street.