Forgetting gratitude is sothing only those from the Unorthodox sects and low-level practitioners do. Among the masters of the Orthodox sects, I have yet to see anyone who forgets gratitude.
–Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1
“As ntioned in the note earlier, the victims are executives of a telephone company based in London. As you might have guessed, they were preparing to counter a lawsuit filed by the Post Office.”
“I thought so.”
“By the way, do you know the details of the lawsuit?”
“If it’s just the general situation.”
I nodded.
Before the identities of the victims were revealed, I wasn’t certain if this case was related, but I had heard about the lawsuit before.
“If the Post Office and the Ministry of Posts and Telegraphs behind it win, telephones will then be classified as a type of telegraph, right?”
“Yes. If that happens, the telephone company will have to pay 10% of its annual revenue to the Ministry of Posts and Telegraphs, and the Post Office will be able to consider acquiring the telephone company every seven years.”
“Losing the lawsuit would be a nightmare for the telephone company.”
“Exactly! From the Post Office’s perspective, it would have been necessary to eliminate the executives of the telephone company to ensure a victory.”
Lestrade concluded with a confident tone, clenching his fist.
“Most importantly, the fact that soone could lure the telephone company executives to such an unrelated location ans that the perpetrator had the power to exert pressure on them! In other words, the perpetrator must be the Postmaster General!”
“……”
“……”
Lestrade, having confidently stated his conclusion, blushed with embarrassnt when he saw Watson and remaining silent.
“What is it with those expressions?!”
Is he really asking because he doesn’t know?
“…No, Sir Fawcett was nearly assassinated at the front gate, and yet you’re spouting such nonsense.”
“W-well, then maybe the culprit is hiding among his subordinates―”
“Thanks to Lestrade, it’s certain that the Post Office staff are innocent, Watson.”
“It seems that way.”
“Damn it…!!”
Once again, thanks to Lestrade, we managed to rule out the wrong answer, but it seed he wasn’t entirely pleased with the situation.
“If you’re so smart, then tell who the culprit is!”
Although he shouted abruptly, Lestrade understood exactly what I was trying to do.
“No need to rush; I intend to do so. But first, you and Watson must fulfill your roles.”
“?”
Watson, who was unexpectedly pointed out, tilted her head in confusion.
“Yes. I need your help.”
According to my plan, she is expected to play a crucial role in solving this case.
“Anyway, he does things his own way…”
After sending off her partner and a long while later, Watson left the front gate of Scotland Yard alone, scratching her head and mumbling.
Hols had left abruptly, saying he had urgent business to attend to, leaving Watson and Lestrade with a few requests.
“Let’s see. It must be sowhere in Mayfair.”
Of course, he did jot down an address on a page torn from Lestrade’s notebook, saying they’d et up later.
He ntioned that once he finished his business with Sir Fawcett, he’d head straight there.
“18b Albemarle Street… If I leave now, I should be able to join them without being late.”
The place was not entirely unfamiliar.
Albemarle Street. A street filled with wealthy and famous people.
There were many galleries selling expensive paintings and high-end boutiques, and Watson had passed them by a few tis.
However, she couldn’t fathom why Hols had called her to this place.
No matter how she thought about it, it seed like a place with no connection to the current case.
‘He said that it was an important role… But, is it really okay for to take on sothing like that?’
Though concerned, the fact that she’d have to work alongside Inspector Lestrade, and not Hols, left her feeling uneasy.
‘Hmm.’
Whenever she turned her head, the figure of the great detective was always there, but now, with no sign of him, an unsettling feeling began to creep in.
On top of that, didn’t the murderer in this case already have a spooky call sign like ‘Phantom Fist’ attached to them?
Not to ntion, didn’t the Postmaster General just get attacked?
Even she, standing nearby, could be the next target at any mont. In a situation like this, to be left alone at Scotland Yard while Hols goes off.
To Watson, she could only feel resentnt towards Hols.
“…You called your assistant.”
She understood that Hols, with every detail of the plan mapped out in his mind, was racing against ti.
But no matter how much she tried to reason with herself, she couldn’t shake off the lingering sense of disappointnt.
Just what kind of grand truth had he uncovered that he couldn’t even spare a whisper to his closest assistant before rushing off?
“Once this case is resolved, I’ll have to sit him down and demand so answers.”
Muttering to herself, Watson stepped onto the roadside to hail a carriage, replaying their earlier conversation in her mind.
Hols had said.
He had stated that until he tracked down and captured the Phantom Fist in London, all potential targets had to be evacuated to safety.
At the sa ti, he had made a request of Watson.
To stay with Lestrade and keep watch over them, and to be ready to act if anything happens.
‘In a way, it’s like being a guardian.’
Fortunately, this wasn’t an area where Watson was completely inexperienced.
During her ti with the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, Watson had stood guard in front of General Frederick Roberts’s tent.
The experience was so striking that it remained deeply etched in her mory.
Although a considerable number of soldiers were mobilized as guards to protect the general’s tent, the staff were not at ease at all.
This was because they were aware of the presence of a Markswordsman, lurking in the distance, waiting for an opportunity to target the commander.
Perhaps because of this, around Roberts’s tent, under the command of a sapper captain from the Zuckerberg family, their impeccable skills were ticulously deployed.
‘It was a luxury only the high-ranking could afford.’
Deploying Zuckerberg’s secret techniques required a massive amount of labor and ti dedicated to civil engineering.
But the effort was worth it.
Thanks to the tily completion of the construction, the Sword aura of the Markswordsn was neutralized, allowing everyone nearby to survive.
“……”
Watson smiled bitterly as she recalled those tis.
Back then, she could walk normally without a cane.
The mory of traversing the hot sand dunes of Afghanistan with her lightness skills was still as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.
Days spent continuing a desperate march while turning a blind eye to the looming death.
The scent of the Jezail Sword Technique, reminiscent of gunpowder, seed to faintly brush past her nose even now.
‘…I’ve gotten used to relying on carriages now.’
Watson sighed as she looked down at her legs that wouldn’t move as she wished.
No matter what one does, it’s impossible to go back to the past.
She shook her head to clear her mind of distractions and decided to focus on positive possibilities.
Recently, thanks to Hols removing one of the Yin energy nails blocking her acupoints, walking had beco considerably easier than before.
The improvent from the Nine Yin-Qi Nails to the Eight Extraordinary ridians showed there was hope.
As the treatnt for the ridian blockage disorder progressed further, she would eventually be able to run around like she used to.
Therefore, even to repay Hols, she must do her best to fulfill her role as an assistant.
“Where shall I take you?”
“Mayfair. Albemarle Street.”
Watson, seated in the hard seat of the black police carriage that Lestrade had called, recalled the conversation they had at Scotland Yard.
Sir Fawcett had left Scotland Yard shortly after the recent attack, and it seed he had imdiately contacted the relevant parties to pass on the warning.
According to the telegram he sent, the number of people scheduled to evacuate was fifteen, including the Postmaster General himself.
Hols intended to cooperate with the police to evacuate the involved parties to a hotel in Cambridge by dawn.
“We’ll have to move around from early morning, so we should get so sleep in advance…”
Watson decided to return to the boarding house and lie down as soon as she reunited with Hols.
“We’ve arrived.”
The carriage reached its destination in less than 15 minutes.
At 18b Albemarle Street.
Precisely in front of the building Hols had specified.
Upon confirming the sign, Watson realized why Hols had called her to such a place.
This was a building of the Zuckerberg family.
It seed Hols had co here to et Ulrich.
“Perhaps he’s here to update them on the investigation’s progress.”
Even Hols seed to be paying so attention since Ulrich Zuckerberg had paid a retainer fee.
Surprisingly, he can be quite normal in such matters.
Muttering to herself, Watson entered the building.
“This way, please.”
Initially, a security guard tried to stop her, but upon clarifying her identity and purpose, Watson was readily escorted upstairs.
The well-built guard led Watson to the office of the England branch manager of Zuckerberg & Co., located on the third floor.
At both ends of the corridor, flowers exuding a pleasant fragrance were planted in pots that clearly signaled their high value, and works by famous artists adorned the walls.
Though it didn’t seem overt, the financial prowess of the Kung-Fu Noblesse was unmistakably evident here as well.
Watson stood at the door, careful to keep her awe from showing on her face.
But the mont the guard ahead knocked on the door—
“Sir, you have a visitor.”
—Bang!!
A loud noise erupted from beyond the door.
“Hols!!”
A foreboding image flashed through her mind.
While the guard hesitated, Watson opened the door first and dashed into the office.
“Just in ti, Watson.”
Inside, waiting for her, was Ulrich, sprawled awkwardly on the floor.
And, as always, Sherlock Hols, the consulting detective, was smiling calmly in their direction.
“Thank goodness you’re safe.”
While Watson muttered in a dazed manner, the guard helped the fallen Ulrich to his feet.
“This can’t be happening… This can’t be real.”
anwhile, the head of the England branch of Zuckerberg & Co., muttering with vacant eyes, did not seem to be in good shape.
However, since there were no obvious signs of external or internal injuries, Watson focused on examining the chaotic office instead of Ulrich Zuckerberg.
As befitting a key executive in a major corporation, two telephones were installed on Zuckerberg’s desk, one of which was completely shattered.
The other phone was intact, but the receiver was dangling ominously by its cord, reminiscent of a murder scene.
Most notably, there was a giant fist mark clearly imprinted on the wall.
It took less than three seconds to surmise that the size was likely the sa as the ones left on the victims’ temples.
“What on earth happened here?”
Watson asked, to which Hols burst into a hearty laugh as if he found the situation amusing.
“What else could it be? Can’t you see? I’ve just rescued Zuckerberg & Co.’s England branch manager from a crisis.”
TL/N: The original quote is as follows—Ingratitude is always a kind of weakness. I have never seen clever n be ungrateful ️
Reviews
All reviews (0)