Holmes described the case from beginning to end in as concise terms as possible. Of course, the complexity of the real incident could not be compared to the complex emotions involved in it. Whether it was Father Jacob and Jack the Ripper, or Jack the Ripper and the prostitutes, their relationship was far more complicated than what the world knew.
Unfortunately, after Father Jacob's stab, it would be difficult to get an accurate answer to these questions.
In any case, the case had come to a successful end.
Compared to the series of unsolved cases in real time and space seven years later, this was the best outcome.
Holmes stretched and said to Zhang Heng, "You won the bet this time. Although the process was a little risky, it is undeniable that you found the murderer one step ahead of me. Now, you can exercise the victor's privilege and start picking the opera you want to watch tonight."
"Is that so?" Zhang Heng asked, "But why do I have a feeling that you didn't give it your all this time? Did you deliberately let me win?"
"Who knows? You seem to have an inexplicable reason to beat me this time." Holmes smiled. "But this time, I did take it very seriously. After all, solving cases is where my interest lies. It's just like a foodie who sees a roast turkey in front of him. It's hard for him not to pick up his fork."
…
270 days might seem like a long time, but for Zhang Heng, who absorbed and learned new knowledge every day, it was like a blink of an eye. After the serial murders in the Whitechapel District, he and Holmes had gone through more than a dozen cases, big and small, together.
Some of them were full of bizarre twists and turns. If he wrote them down, he might even replace Conan Doyle and become the greatest detective of the Victorian era. In the later stages of the game, Zhang Heng began to handle cases on his own. His criminal investigation skills had reached Level 2, followed by his makeup skills. He also consulted Irene Adler about performing, but his art appreciation remained at Level 0.
Other than that, he couldn't find any game items in this quest.
On the last day, Zhang Heng and Holmes met up to watch an equestrian show. After that, the two of them strolled along the Thames River, chatting about contemporary violin artists and 18th-century Nassau pirates.
Holmes was amazed by Zhang Heng's knowledge of Nassau. After that, the two of them walked into a small tavern by the roadside.
This place was not far from the dock, so there were many sailors drinking and playing cards here. It was very lively.
He pointed to a man with a mustache at the table on his left and said, "Scottish, has many brothers, graduated from the University of Edinburgh, worked as a ship's doctor, went to West Africa, likes writing, and is good at crossword puzzles."
"Heh, we don't have to compete this time. I'll treat you directly." Zhang Heng still had a dozen pounds with him, and it would be difficult for him to spend them all before he left. Naturally, he wouldn't mind hiring Holmes again.
"That couldn't be better," the latter said to the bar owner. "Two pints of beer first."
Just as the two found a seat and sat down to wait for their beer, the mustached man, who was playing a crossword puzzle at another table, walked over with the newspaper. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his Eastern roommate, Mr. Zhang Heng, I didn't expect to meet you here."
"Do you know us, sir?" Holmes raised his eyebrows.
"Of course. Both of you are the most famous detectives in London now," the mustached man smiled. "Can I sit here?"
"Go ahead. It's more interesting to drink with more people," Holmes said. "I haven't asked your name yet."
"Doyle, Arthur Conan Doyle." The man reached out his hand and greeted enthusiastically.
Holmes was a little surprised. After shaking hands, he turned to Zhang Heng and asked, "Is he the friend you mentioned before?"
When he heard the name, he saw that Zhang Heng was even more surprised than he was.
"Don't be surprised. This is actually the first time we've met," Conan Doyle explained. "Before this, we used to communicate through words."
"Written communication? Do you mean letters?" Holmes frowned.
"Something like that," Conan Doyle said. After a pause, he continued, "When I came here, I heard that there was a very interesting case in Central Garden. A lady fell to the ground. When she woke up, she found that her wallet and other jewelry were all there, but her earrings were missing. Why don't you go there and have a look?"
"Sounds interesting. After being idle for so long, I finally have something to do." Holmes' eyes flashed with excitement when he heard the words. He seemed to have forgotten that Zhang Heng was on the other side. He picked up his cane, got up, and strode out of the tavern.
Conan Doyle picked up one of the glasses and sighed. "Thank God that guy finally left. Otherwise, with his perverted observation skills, I can't guarantee that he wouldn't notice anything. By the way, did you know that I created Sherlock Holmes based on a teacher I knew in college, Joseph Bell? The way he taught and asked questions was that he could tell where you came from and what your profession was with just a glance. It was a great shock to me at that time. I always thought that if he were a detective, he would definitely turn this profession into a precise science." "That's right.
"Of course, Edgar Allan Poe and Emil Gaborio also gave me a lot of inspiration. Poe's great detective, Dupin, has always been my childhood hero. Gaborio's interlocking writing style also gave me a lot of inspiration. This is how writers work. One generation influences the next, just like passing on the torch. When you read the works of modern people, you can always find the context of the past."
Conan Doyle took a sip of beer as he spoke. At the same time, he said to Zhang Heng, "You should give it a try too. There are still a few hours left before your quest ends. It's not easy to go back to London at the end of the 19th century for a sip of beer."
"Who exactly are you?" Zhang Heng finally opened his mouth and asked.
"Who am I?" A smile appeared on Conan Doyle's face. "I am the names you are familiar with. I am William Shakespeare, Alexandre Dumas, Arthur Conan Doyle, Neil Gaiman, and George Raymond Richard Martin."
"The God of Books?" Zhang Heng raised his eyebrows and took a sip of beer.
"It's not impossible to understand it that way." Conan Doyle snapped his fingers.
Zhang Heng thought of the ancient Celtic god he encountered in the Black Sail quest, the mysterious man who called himself Einstein he met in the Apollo Program training camp, and the God of Books in front of him. He realized something and frowned. "So, there is a related god behind every quest?"
"You have very keen insight, just like your roommate, Sherlock Holmes," Conan Doyle praised. Conan Doyle praised, "As you can see, all quests work both ways. You get game items, points, and skills from them, and we can also use this opportunity to observe you and find a suitable agent. You have the Infinite Building Block, so it should be easy to understand. For us, the stronger the player, the better. We also have to consider the issue of compatibility. This is a very complicated thing. You have to weigh all aspects and finally make the most beneficial choice for yourself. At the same time, when recruiting an agent, you also have to obtain the consent of the recruited."
"You want to recruit me as your agent?"
"Well, in theory, only when I want to recruit someone as an agent will I appear in front of him before the end of the quest. But you are an exception," Conan Doyle pointed to the watch on Zhang Heng's right hand. "You have already chosen your faction, haven't you?"
"Then why do you still show up in front of me?" Zhang Heng asked. At the same time, he quietly put his finger into his pocket and grabbed the knife there.
"Don't be nervous. I mean you no harm," Conan Doyle shrugged. "On the contrary, I have a lot of connections with you."
"Connections?"
"I noticed that you have been exploring your life recently," Conan Doyle finished the beer in the glass in one gulp, then burped with satisfaction and stood up. "When you find the answer, you will thank us for meeting today."
"Wait, you know my life?"
Conan Doyle did not continue on this topic. He just showed a meaningful smile. "We will meet again. Just like the protagonist in all stories, he has to make the final choice. At that time, you will also have to make the choice that belongs to you."
After that, he put down the empty glass in his hand. Zhang Heng wanted to chase after him, but he found that his body could not move. All he could do was watch as the man staggered out of the tavern. His eyes finally fell on the newspaper that had been left behind. There was a small bump in the middle of it.
Zhang Heng opened the newspaper, and below it was the pen that Conan Doyle used to do the crossword puzzle.
Little Dumbo said:
Thanks to the leader of the Needle Grinder's Well. I feel like I need more updates. Haha ~ And LebronKings, Hajerwawa, Chuan Mingyuan, Lin Suwu, Ichinawa, and Shuyou 20190616013259236 tips ~
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