Bang Bang!

Bell Bell ......

The elongated carriage, linked by a noose, was pulled down the street by four sturdy horses. The driver sitting in the high seat of the car, shaking the bell in his hand while grasping the direction.

However, after a while, the 9th Parish Street Station in front of me has arrived.

Sherlock pressed the top hat on his head and stooped down to get out of the open door.

He was still wearing the mid-length black suit, with a white shirt and dark waistcoat. His black shoes were shiny, and he carried a tightly tied canvas umbrella in his hand.

Holding the brim of his felt top hat with his hand, Sherlock looked up.

It's about three kilometres from Municipal Street in the city centre and about 10 kilometres from Baker Street. High in the haze ahead, the towering spire of the century-old bell tower can be faintly seen.

The citizens of Birzinham are accustomed to using the large bell tower as a marker to identify directions and estimate distances. Sherlock has been familiar with this since he was in school, and he knows it all too well.

In order to save money, Sherlock was to reach his destination by public carriage. After all, a public carriage costs 1 krooner per kilometre, while a private hired carriage costs 3 to 4 kroner per kilometre. I heard that the high-end service carriage is even more expensive.

If you are not in a hurry, if you are not attending a formal banquet, if you are not in a matter of decency, there are not many people in the city of Birzin who can take a hired carriage from time to time.

Only those who need to be in their status or have a stable income can afford such consumption. Sherlock has classified himself as unemployed, so he can save what he can.

Having been to the neighborhood once last night, Sherlock didn't pay much attention. After all, it was in a hurry, the mood was not good, and it was still the dead of night.

Standing on the street at this moment, Sherlock realized that this Ninth Parish Street was filled with a peaceful and peaceful atmosphere. Compared to other neighborhoods, it looks neater and more orderly.

Birzin is one of the largest cities in the British Kingdom, and because of its proximity to the capital London, many wealthy merchants and gentry will invest in the vicinity and build many factories and estates.

And because of this, a large number of gangs, vagrants, unscrupulous bandits, etc., who dare not mess in the capital London, have also migrated and filled the dark corners of Birzinham.

In this old era, urban development meant filth, it meant filth. Birzin was also gradually surrounded by smog and evil. For decades, the reputation of the Municipal Sheriff's Office has fallen to the bottom and has become the object of daily ridicule.

So in Birzinham, it is unthinkable to see a regular, orderly, clean and safe neighborhood where there are no police officers patrolling the streets, no shouts for help and robbery, and no beggars, thieves, and homeless people scurrying around.

But at this moment, Sherlock stood here, and saw this scene.

The pedestrians you can see are all passing quietly, and the shops, houses, streets and alleys are also clean and tidy. It's early in the morning, but it doesn't look like the real city of Birzchenham at all.

"It's a magical street......"

Sherlock didn't know whether to complain or sigh, shook his head, pressed his top hat, and walked forward along the path in his memory.

About ten minutes later, a row of high-pole gas street lights had already appeared in front. Then there are the lush trees, flower beds, and the red-walled and white-edged buildings at the end of the masonry road.

Walking down the brick and stone path, Sherlock saw the familiar rudimentary buildings such as chicken coops, dog houses, and stables built in the shadows of the trees. Then there were a couple of small houses, perhaps utility rooms.

Facing it was already the four-story building, which looked spacious during the day. There are several windowed towers on the roof, as well as chimneys scattered around.

"Huh? Actually listed? ”

Sherlock remembers coming last night and not seeing a sign with a plug-in.

At this moment, on both sides of the gate on the steps, there are wooden signs covered with iron.

On the left is: "Advisory Office of the Social Investigation Committee".

On the right is the "Special Affairs Advisory Office of the Municipal Public Security Agency".

Fortunately, there is no sign of the secret service that does not exist...... Sherlock resisted the urge to complain, strode up the steps with the umbrella in his hand, and then pushed open the door with a small window to enter.

It was still the familiar outer reception hall, and at this moment there was already a middle-aged woman with dark yellow hair curly, fluffy and slightly high, wearing glasses, sitting at the front desk, bowing her head and writing something.

"Good morning, ma'am!"

Sherlock walked to the front desk and smiled and said hello, "I would like to ask, Mr. Rooney is not there?" Or Mr. Origan, Mr. Rheintes, you can. ”

The middle-aged woman looked up, lifted her glasses, and looked at Sherlock.

She wears a dark green woolen skirt, the placket and neckline are seriously and dignified, and her personal image and temperament are also very orthodox, giving people an old-fashioned but serious appearance.

"Mr. Rooney and Mr. Origan, neither have arrived. But Mr. Reintes was there all the time, having breakfast. What do you call it? Can I help you? ”

"Thank you, ma'am. As soon as I could tell you, I'll just say that Sherlock, I should come to talk about something, and it was Professor Hoffman's recommendation. ”

"Ah, it turned out to be Professor Hoffman's arrangement. Okay, Mr. Sherlock, please wait a moment, I'll let you know. ”

The middle-aged woman, apparently familiar with Professor Hoffman, nodded politely, then turned to leave the front desk and hurried into the back partition wall.

Sherlock waited patiently, but after a while, the middle-aged woman hurried out again, with a hint of a smile:

"Alright, Mr. Sherlock, Mr. Raffintes, please come in. He said you know how to go. ”

"Thank you very much, ma'am!"

Sherlock raised his top hat in thanks, and stepped into the back wall.

Behind the wall, there is the passage downward. Then there are the familiar iron balustrades, and very wide wooden staircases.

When you go to the hall of the meeting room on the basement floor, you can see a room with a dark wooden door, and at the end of the eye, a wall of emblems painted with abstract eye sockets, angel wings, and a ring of stars.

Once again, Sherlock felt a wonderful atmosphere of tranquility and calm.

It seems that as long as you set foot here, your whole body and mind will be cleansed. All anxiety and uneasiness will be swept away.

"Welcome, Mr. Sherlock!"

Not far from the fireplace, there was a deep and thick London voice. Reintes sat at a small dining table and smiled and beckoned to Sherlock.

"I said you would come to me."

Rheintes made a gesture of invitation, and Sherlock approached, took off his top hat in thanks, and sat down in the chair opposite.

"Come, have some breakfast. I suppose you will come as soon as you receive Professor Hoffman's letter, and you must have not had time for breakfast. ”

Reintes smiled and handed Sherlock a pair of knives, forks and napkins.

On the small dining table, there are slices of toasted bread, jam, two plates of fried fish, and a plate of smoked pork jerky. Two cups of steaming coffee, and a pot of warm water.

"Thanks, then you're welcome!"

Sherlock had already smelled the aroma and swallowed his saliva. Although he didn't like the food of Birzinham, he was hungry, and the black bread with sawdust crust was probably fragrant.

Then there's a meal with staggered forks and the sound of plates. Neither Sherlock nor Regents was polite, and their silence turned into a large amount of food, munching on it.

But after a while, the two put down their knives and forks almost at the same time, wiped their mouths with napkins, raised their coffee cups to signal, and slowly savored the comfort after a full meal.

"How are you thinking about it? Professor Hoffman's position has been vacant for many days. We need you, and you need this job to get through. ”

Reintes sipped his coffee lightly and said with a look of some nonchalance.

"If I'm right, Mr. Reintes seems to have been 'caring' about me for a long time, right?"

Sherlock put down his coffee cup and said earnestly, accentuating the word "care."

"Hehe, don't get excited. People like you, we've always been on the lookout, and not just for you. ”

Rheintes said slowly, his deep voice bringing a calm attitude.

"Among the millions of citizens of the city of Birzinham, they know the ancient Ibia. There aren't many professionals in the Celtic language. In our archives, there are less than 300 people. ”

"Know the ancient Ibia. Celtic, and can successfully translate unearthed antiquities, can decipher related tomb runes, epitaphs and other categories, extremely rare, about less than twenty people left. ”

"Of the twenty, there are only three who have moved to London, who have been too old to study last year, and who have been absorbed as special advisers by other churches."

"One is Professor Hoffman and the other is me."

"And the last one is Professor Hoffman's student, Sherlock. Kidd, that's you, Mr. Sherlock! ”

Sherlock was stunned when he heard this description.

In fact, when the original owner was in college, as a student and assistant to Professor Hoffman, he was indeed a diligent and intelligent talent. However, due to his withdrawn personality and unsociable bad reviews, he did not go deep into the archaeological industry at all after graduation.

I don't know which tendon is wrong, the original owner wants to be a private detective, wants to get the first pot of gold, and wants to prove that he has the ability to do a good job in a private firm.

However, the reality is cruel, no work is no work.

The discouraged and hopeless owner was eventually killed by Malfoy, who committed suicide by self-abuse and collapsed in a pool of blood in the bathroom.

Because of the loss of the memory of working with Malfoy, Sherlock now has no idea that his original knowledge has been so good.

Of the millions of citizens of Birzinham, he was the only one left after screening. With such talents, it is no wonder that Ryantes has been vigorously recruiting and has long been listed as the object of attention.

But Sherlock faintly felt that something was wrong, and immediately asked:

"But before that, I didn't get involved in historical archaeology, and basically gave up on this career. Why do you continue to follow me? And, as far as I can see, Mr. Rooney seems to regard me as an evil other, and not a professional. ”

Reintes still smiled slightly, twisted the handle of the coffee cup, and after a deep groan, explained in a relaxed tone:

"You know who we really are, it's the Orderly's Demon Hunter Squad......"

Sherlock nodded.

"We are not on our watchlist by professional or talent category. Rather, it's a different kind of term, which we internally call 'occult at-risk people'. ”

"Occult at-risk?" Sherlock frowned quizzically.

"If we want to explain the origin of this 'occult at-risk person', we must explain to you what madness is out of control, what is sanity zero, and what is evil spirits!"

Rheintes looked at Sherlock, and there was something strange in his tone.