Given Mr. Pisco's "all-knowing" nature, Jenkins had originally expected that upon his arrival, so vagrant, newspaper boy, or even a passing stray cat would deliver the key and the gold pounds to him.
"No ticket number? Oh, right, we do offer short-term safe-deposit boxes. Are you here to retrieve sothing from one? I'll need the key number, please."
As she spoke, the woman at the reception desk held out her palm to Jenkins.
"..."
Jenkins still didn't have the key.
The woman shook her head, sat back down, crossed her legs, and resud knitting her sweater, not even glancing at Jenkins.
"The lost-and-found is to the right as you co in. Just take whatever you like."
Retrieving items from the lost-and-found required no paperwork, but Jenkins thought hiding the key and the gold pounds there was a bit too risky. He hadn't held out much hope and had even planned to have Chocolate sneak back in to search later, but to his surprise, he actually found a letter addressed to him in the lost-and-found box.
The address on the envelope was perfectly clear: "For Mr. Jenkins Williams"
Other than that, there was no sender, return address, or stamp. The envelope was crumpled, the paper quality was poor, and it was no wonder it had been tossed in here like a piece of trash.
He opened the envelope to find nothing inside, but finally discovered a sentence written on the inner flap:
"The items are at the Travelers' Bank. The safe-deposit box number is under the stamp on the last letter; the verification password is my birthday—if you don't know it, look on my tombstone. The key is your own house key; I was the one who found the locksmith for you when you moved."
"Hmm..."
Jenkins was speechless for a long ti.
"So that's why the last letter had a stamp, even though it wasn't sent through the post... But was it really necessary to make it this complicated?"
In fact, he was beginning to doubt whether Mr. Pisco was truly dead. If the man were to suddenly pop out of the house across the street at that very mont, Jenkins wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.
But this thod of secrecy was indeed brilliant. After commissioning the "Huntress" on the black market to investigate his new neighbor, Jenkins took the key and the envelope to the Travelers' Bank.
Since he had to use his own house key, he entered the bank under his real identity. On second thought, this was the first ti he had ever set foot in the place for legitimate business, and his mood inexplicably improved.
All day, he had been worried about running into Hathaway, but so far, he hadn't spotted her brilliant red hair. When the receptionist walked over, he was startled for a mont by her red hair, but he quickly realized he was overthinking things.
"Sir, are you all right?"
The female receptionist looked quite concerned; Jenkins had just reacted like a man having a heart attack.
Because it was a completely legitimate transaction, and Jenkins had the safe-deposit box number, the password, and the key, the process of retrieving the brown leather briefcase went off without a hitch.
The only interruption was the receptionist, who kept trying to sell him on the bank's deposit services. According to her, the Travelers' Bank was planning to officially launch a high-interest savings account service later in the month to provide relief for ordinary citizens and to help small business owners and rchants.
The so-called "high" interest was, in reality, only slightly better than the near-nonexistent rates they offered before. The woman assured Jenkins it was a "can't-lose investnt," but he had no intention of listening.
He waited until he was ho to open the briefcase. This ti, there were no letters inside, only an apartnt key and a stack of gold pounds. He counted it carefully; it was about 2000 pounds in a mix of denominations, making it convenient to spend.
Jenkins didn't know if he would receive any more letters from Mr. Pisco, but he sincerely hoped the man wasn't dead. The playwright's "all-knowing" nature could be irkso, but Jenkins always felt imnse goodwill toward friends who had genuinely helped him.
By the ti he had gathered all the necessary materials from the black market, it was nearly evening. He had spent so much of Mr. Pisco's money that less than a pound remained. When he stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the apartnt building, the driver stated the fare, and Jenkins realized his remaining change was just enough to pay for the ride.
"Really, couldn't you have at least left the fare for the ride ho?"
He grumbled, half-joking.
After so thought, he donned his black robe, then took his cat and knocked on the apartnt door. The sa landlady answered. She listened to his explanation suspiciously, her gaze flicking down to the key he held.
"If you're a friend of Mr. Pisco's and you're here to collect his belongings, then why didn't I see you at the funeral?"
"I was out of the country until recently. I'm a rchant."
He spoke with the "foreign accent" of Candle Mr. "I only received the letter he sent before he passed away last month. This key was inside."
The landlady scrutinized him for a good while longer before finally allowing the stranger inside. She warned him that this was a one-ti opportunity; he was to gather everything now and not return.
Mr. Pisco's apartnt was already empty, and all his belongings had been moved to the basent. The building's basent was damp and chilly, and the landlady seed to have no plans to renovate it for a new tenant.
There were no gas lines in the basent, so Jenkins had to use a candle for light. The landlady didn't follow him down, rely telling him to be quick and to keep an eye on his cat so it wouldn't wander off.
The floor was thick with dirt and dust, and cardboard boxes of all sizes were piled up like a small mountain. Cobwebs clung to a corner, and beneath them sat a heavily rusted, old-fashioned textile machine.
Once he confird the landlady was gone, Jenkins patted Chocolate, who was perched on his shoulder. He then activated his Eye of Reality and scanned the area, spotting a faint spiritual glow in the far recesses of the basent.
The wall was obscured by clutter. After so effort, Jenkins managed to clear the junk away, only to find nothing but a grimy wall.
Touching the wall felt like pushing his hand through a transparent film of water. A small amount of his spirit drained from him automatically, and a door materialized on the surface of the wall.
"That was easy."
Jenkins sighed, placed Chocolate on a nearby cardboard box, and then summoned an illusion to stand in his place.
"Wait here for for two hours. I'm going down to take a look. If there's danger, I'll co back imdiately. If you feel I've been gone too long, just head straight to the church, alright?"
"ow~"
Chocolate nodded obediently, gazing up at Jenkins. Pleased by his cat's good behavior, Jenkins picked up the briefcase full of materials, raised his candle, and pushed the door open.
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