Thanks to last night's torrential rain, it was a sweltering morning that should have been cool.

Mrs. Andorra narrowed her eyes and studied the large print in the newspaper carefully - a wild fire had spread on the eve of a rainstorm, and the flames had swept through the resort on the outskirts of Turin, and a nobleman had been killed.

Tutan is on top, may such an unfortunate thing not appear in the Turin Morning Post again.

The carriage slowly stopped, and the coachman's voice came from the front of the carriage.

"Madame, here we are."

Putting the newspaper in the corner of the carriage, Mrs. Andorra took two long tulle gloves from her waist and put them on, before she spoke pretentiously.

"Farek."

The coachman was already waiting by the door, and he took Mrs. Andorra's right hand and carefully guided her out of the carriage.

Mrs. Andorra was at first looking north, which was the direction of Ninth Street.

When she turned her head to take in the view of Tenth Street, she couldn't help but pick up a handkerchief to cover her mouth and nose, and then muttered.

"Are you sure it's here?"

The coachman nodded.

"Ma'am, this is where a friend of your distant cousin's nephew's servant was introduced."

Mrs. Andorra frowned and looked around.

The streets were filled with poor civilians, and even the air was faintly foul-smelling.

Turin is a great city, but like all great cities, there is always a place for filth under a clean city.

The 10th Street, on the other hand, is the starting point of Turin's filthy sewers.

"Madame, ma'am?"

The coachman cautiously reminded Mrs. Andorra that she had come to her senses, as if she had been covered with a handkerchief.

Removing the handkerchief, she sniffed.

As oxygen poured into her lungs, she regained her composure.

The air didn't seem to stench as much as it might seem.

Moving her gaze, Mrs. Andorra gazed at the cone-shaped building standing in the middle of the three-way junction, and then moved her steps arrogantly.

Because of the topography, the building is a huge triangle.

After walking along one of the long sides of the triangle, Mrs. Andorra finally found the main entrance to the building.

The cheap sign swayed in the wind, the handwriting was blurred, but the address sign below was clearly visible - 50 Forward Street.

To the left of the address sign is the gate, which blends well with the brown wooden gate and the environment.

The material of the gate is unexpectedly good, but the paint sheet is peeling, and it must have been neglected for a long time.

The idea of these post-third street people is also ridiculous, do they really think that they are upper-class people who buy things from the upper class?

Restraining the sneer on her lips, Mrs. Andorra stood quietly at the door, waiting for the waiter in the shop to open the door for her.

Standing proudly by the door for a few moments, Mrs. Andorra hesitated for a moment, then stretched out her right hand and pushed the wooden door tentatively.

The wooden door does not move at all, it should be locked.

These lazy people in the back three streets, if they could be a little more industrious, they would not have survived in this garbage heap for the rest of their lives.

Annoyed, Mrs. Andorra took off her gloves and slammed her index finger on the door, as if smashing the shopkeeper's celestial canopy.

There was a long knock, and just as Mrs. Andorra's anger had already piled up to the extreme, the wooden door was pulled open from the inside, accompanied by the sound of heavy objects rubbing against it.

Before Mrs. Andorra yelled like a shrew, the middle-aged man inside the door lowered his head and said respectfully.

"Ma'am, the door is unlocked."

Mrs. Andorra looked up and down at the middle-aged man, a tall man with messy silver hair tied back behind his head, a resolute face, and deep eyes dotted with it.

Looking down again, the man was wearing a dark riding coat, and the white shirt in the sleeves was faintly yellow.

With the sound of a gradually increasing heartbeat, the story of a down-and-out aristocrat instantly turned in the heart of Mrs. Andorra.

Cuarón looked down at the strange woman, narrowed his eyes, and turned to walk deeper into the room.

"Madame, how can I help you?"

With Caron's magnetic voice, Madame Andorra's steps even became brisk.

She looked left and right in the room, from the carpet at her feet to the cigar rack at the end of the long table, from the delicate carvings under the window lattices to the sexy and charming beard, all hinting at who this silver-haired man once was.

You know, according to the laws of Turin, a widow is allowed to take her own property......

"Ma'am."

Caron shook the teacup in his hand, and when Mrs. Andorra had taken it, he sat down at the end of the long table, holding his notebook in his left hand and a quill in his right.

"Ma'am, how can I help you?"

"I—" Mrs. Andorra looked girlishly cramped.

"My little liver is lost... It is a shorthair cat. ”

"Shorthair,"

Cuarón wrote in his notebook, "Siamese, Turin shorthair, folded-eared, or whatever?" ”

Mrs. Andorra said quickly.

"Turin Shorthair, about thirty-six months old."

"Thirty-six-month-old, meaningless testimony."

Caron muttered, then tore the page from his notebook.

"Madam, I will pass on this cat-hunting revelation to Joris, please leave your address at your home if it is convenient, and I will inform you as soon as there is news."

Mrs. Andorra's eyes widened.

"Joris?"

Caron stood up, in a posture of seeing off a guest.

"Oh, she's in charge of the stray cats and dogs in this area."

"Sir!"

Mrs. Andorra stood up, she seemed to be dominated by inexplicable emotions.

"My little heart is lost, I want to find him immediately, please don't prevaricate me like those incompetent police officers!"

Caron sat back in his seat and pulled out a signboard from the side.

"Madam, this is the Oreo Detective Agency, our main business is homicide investigation, and some of the part-time businesses need to charge extra fees, but I want to find cats and dogs."

"Additional costs?"

Mrs. Andorra seems to have focused on the wrong point, "As long as you find my heart, you can ask for as much as you want!" ”

"How much money is there?"

Caron rolled his eyes, and a philistine look slowly crept up his cheeks.

After hesitating for a long time, he said slowly.

"So, ma'am, if your bid can reach three thousand four hundred ......"

"One thousand Imperial Coins."

The disheveled young man emerged from the darkness, his long hair completely covering his cheeks, and he was scrambling to tuck the extra hem into his trousers, which he must have said.

Seeing this junior, Mrs. Andorra was as disgusted as if she had eaten a fly, and she stretched out her right hand and pointed rudely at the young man's forehead.

"Rude junior!"

The young man unhurriedly unhurriedly unbuttoned his trousers, then tied his long hair behind his head.

"First of all, I'm the owner of this shop;

secondly, he is my servant;

Of course, the most important thing is that I hope you will know that my proposal can save you a lot of money. ”

The young man spat out the broken hair in his mouth, "So, ma'am, do you think the price is appropriate?" ”

Mrs. Andorra moved her gaze in astonishment, and Caron stood with the young man, a polite middle-aged nobleman and a disheveled street thug, who wondered how the silver-haired gentleman could endure such humiliation.

Accustomed to the woman's wandering mind, Caron raised his voice.

"Madame!"

The young man didn't seem to be very interested, and he sat down in the chair, waving his right hand weakly.

"Caron, since Madame is not interested......"

"One thousand Imperial Coins, an incomprehensible price!"

Mrs. Andorra said hysterically.

"But if you can find my little heart in one day, I'll grant your request!"

"A day."

The young man swallowed, quickly reached under the table with his left hand, took out a strangely shaped clock, and twisted it three times.

"Boom."

He pointed the clock at Mrs. Andorra, and then, as best he could, suppress the ecstasy in his heart, and spoke pretending to be calm.

"Ma'am, now the clock begins. After a day, your little liver will surely appear in front of you. ”

"Young Master." Cuarón tried to remind him, but Mrs. Andorra glanced at the office with a sly glance and strode away.

With the sound of clattering high heels, her proud voice came from afar.

"Avenue Brussels, 163."

When the sound died down, the entire office fell silent.

Cuarón lowered his head and stared at the clock on the table, while the young man tapped his hand on the table, as if in thought.

I don't know how long it took, but the tapping gradually stopped, and the sound of even breathing came from the other side of the table, echoing the ticking of the pointers.

A lot of business in the office is done at midnight, and the young people must have had no time to sleep last night.

Cuarón looked in the direction of the young man, a softness flashing in the depths of his pupils, but it quickly faded away.

He shook his head and grabbed the telephone on the table.

The call went through quickly, and Cuarón waited for a few moments before speaking in a strange tone.

"Emma, I'm looking for a cat."