The cash thrown down by the man from the auction house lay on the desk before them. The history professor’s face darkened—he clearly hadn’t brought that much money.
"What a pity," he said. "I have exactly 2400 pounds. I'll keep the loose change. It's just enough to buy a bottle of red wine on my way ho to celebrate."
Count Paramount's servant said with a smirk. His bills were all in hundred-pound notes; he had clearly co prepared.
"And you?"
The viscount, seated behind the desk, turned to Jenkins. Jenkins quickly tallied the cash he had on him, briefly wondering if it was worth excusing himself to the lavatory and making a trip to Ruen to borrow money from Dolores.
"Of course not," he thought. "Why would I spend so much? Even if it’s sold to soone else, I have other ways of getting it back."
With that thought clearing his mind, Jenkins simply shook his head, indicating he didn't have enough cash on hand.
The count's servant imdiately broke into a triumphant grin. This was, without a doubt, his victory.
"Very well. This gentleman here has purchased my antique mirror for the price of 2400 pounds."
Had anyone other than the five n in the room overheard that price, they would have assud they’d stumbled upon a eting of madn.
"Congratulations. Now take it, and never let see it again..."
Viscount Gurus’s voice trailed off, growing quieter and weaker until his head slumped forward and he fell silent.
For the first few seconds, the others assud he was simply exhausted and had dozed off mid-sentence. But they quickly realized a far more terrible possibility.
The four n rushed behind the desk. Jenkins steadied the viscount’s head while the count’s servant checked for breath under his nose. The history professor lifted the viscount’s right wrist, pressing it to his ear to listen for a pulse, as the man from the auction house squeezed in beside them, leaning down to listen for a heartbeat.
Crowded behind the desk, each man touching a different part of the viscount’s body, they exchanged astonished glances. They had all reached the sa conclusion:
"Viscount Gurus was dead."
Jenkins had already assessed Viscount Gurus’s condition and concluded he could pass away at any mont, but he never imagined his prediction would prove so terribly accurate. This wasn't a death he could prevent; the man's life force was utterly depleted. He was like a candle that had burned down to its end. It wasn't a sickness or the slow decay of age that had scattered his spirit—the wax was simply gone. Even Jenkins, with his abilities, couldn't add more fuel to a candle that no longer existed.
"We didn't do a thing! We can all vouch for each other on that!"
The quickest to react exclaid, and the others imdiately nodded in agreent.
"I can't believe it's co to this," the count's servant began, "but my transaction with Viscount Gurus was complete. I think I'll just..."
The count's servant reached for the wooden case containing the mirror, but the history professor beside him instantly seized his wrist.
"Oh no, you don't. Since poor Viscount Gurus has passed, that ans your transaction was never finalized. He neither touched your money nor signed any agreent. If you ask , the matter of this mirror’s ownership is still very much up for discussion."
"I think we should call the police,"
Jenkins suggested. The three n, who had just been arguing, turned to him in perfect unison and reached an equally unified conclusion:
"Absolutely not."
"Why not?"
Jenkins asked, though he already suspected the three had sothing to hide. The Beldiran police would certainly demand to know everyone’s identity when taking their statents.
"We can't detach ourselves from his death. If the police launch an investigation, it’s not just the four of us who could be in trouble—the mirror would likely be confiscated as evidence. Then none of us would get it,"
the man from the auction house explained.
Actually, it would be better if the police did take it, Jenkins mused. With the right justification, the Church could retrieve items from the police without spending a single coin.
"But Viscount Gurus is dead, regardless. In a situation like this, the mont his servants outside suspect sothing is wrong, they’ll call the authorities even if we don’t. If we make the call ourselves, we might avoid a lot of unnecessary trouble."
Jenkins said this deliberately, waiting to see how the other three would react.
"Absolutely not! I'm a teacher. If I get hauled down to the police station, how could I ever face my students again?"
the self-proclaid history professor declared, his eyes darting to the window. They were on the ground floor, and Viscount Gurus hadn't installed any security bars. Any of the four of them could slip out easily.
"Here's what I say: we decide who gets this mirror right now, leave the money, and slip out of here quietly. That way, no trouble sticks to us. I, for one, am very protective of my career!"
the man from the auction house proposed. But the count’s servant offered an even more "effective" solution:
"Why don't we just take the mirror and leave now? We can decide who it belongs to once we’re sowhere safe."
The other two n agreed with this proposal, but Jenkins shook his head firmly.
"I am a respectable gentleman, and I have no intention of becoming a criminal suspect—especially when no cri has been committed. I don’t understand what you’re trying to do, or how you ca up with such a ridiculous suggestion. I am a nobleman of standing, and I will not be a party to your sche."
He straightened his collar, a clear sign he would do no such thing.
"Then you can stay here by yourself. We're taking the mirror."
With that, the man from the auction house reached for the wooden case on the table. He instantly let out a yelp, stumbling back and clutching the back of his hand, where Jenkins’s cane had just left a precise, stinging mark.
"Until the police arrive," Jenkins declared, "no one touches this."
He tapped the case with the butt of his cane, then heard a sharp tallic click. Turning his head, he saw the history professor had pulled a gun, its safety off, and was pointing it directly at him.
"Do all history professors carry guns these days? I thought the one I know who can shatter a wall with a single punch was unique enough,"
he remarked sarcastically, turning to face the barrel of the gun.
"The last person who pointed a gun at ended up dead."
"If you don't shut up, you'll be the one dying now. Back off and let us leave. You can call all the police you want after we're gone,"
he snarled at Jenkins. He reached for the case with his free left hand, but couldn’t lift it. He pulled again, but it wouldn't budge. When Jenkins had tapped the case with his cane, he had fused the bottom of the case to the tabletop. The professor couldn't have budged it with one hand, much less two.
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