As a result of her heavy sleep, she woke up the next morning feeling in good spirits. She took her clothes and went into the bathroom, not to disturb the Lithuanian girl who was still asleep. The Russian girl had already gone out, and Chen Ying met her in the breakfast hall. She was holding a gold-rimmed teacup and laughing with a couple of American boys.

"Good morning." She saw Chen Ying coming and raised a glass to her. Only then did Chen Ying notice that she had dyed half of her hair peach. This was probably done last night when Chen Ying left.

"Good morning." Chen Ying nodded. She picked up a white porcelain plate and walked towards the buffet area, then symbolically chose two buns and some bacon, spooned a few candied hawthorns, and finally filled a bowl of cereal with hot milk in the beverage section. She walked around with the odds of food, and finally sat down on a wicker chair near the window. There was an Indian boy and a Norwegian girl sitting here.

"How did her hair become like that?" The Norwegian girl asked in surprise.

"I don't know." Chen Ying said vaguely, "She was already asleep when I went back, so I didn't pay attention." ”

Indian boys are reading the Times of the day, with a stack of Daily Mail next to it. Chen Ying recognized that these were all provided free of charge on the golden shelves in the hotel lobby.

"What's your plan for this morning?" He asked, buried in a pile of newspapers.

"I want to go to Harrods. I want to bring a hat back to give to my sister. The Norwegian girl said.

"Where's Chen Ying?" He asked, poking his head out of the top of the newspaper.

"I made an appointment to go to a museum—"

"It's a museum again." He stroked his black curls with some disappointment, "Then I'd better ask Matthew." ”

Matthew is a Chinese who immigrated to Singapore with his family from Indonesia when he was nine years old. Appearances betrayed him, just as Chen Ying could always confirm that the owner of the house was a Chinese immigrant by the edible vegetables grown in the family garden. He is the eldest of four children. He always smiled unconsciously when he spoke. He was undoubtedly a member of that United Nations group. The group is extremely lively at every meal. Members pass around plates full of food. They want to try every dish, so they order something different each time. During the pass, they ate all the food in their restaurant, even all kinds of desserts. This habit continued from their departure from Copenhagen. The Americans who traveled with them scoffed at the practice at first, but after a few days they got used to it, sitting in one place but staring at their plates.

Matthew was silent every time he ate, and he always wanted the restaurant to provide a rotating glass round plate so that it would be easier to share food. His wish was finally fulfilled during a meal at a Chinese restaurant. He was happy that day, and the silver cross around his neck flashed and flashed. Chen Ying has the impression that he is always very economical when eating, and there will be no bread crumbs left on the plate.

The other classmates seemed to care more about his faith. It's privacy, and no one wants to ask questions in person that cause unnecessary embarrassment. They keep it on hold and always discuss it when they have time.

"Do you think he's Catholic?" The Norwegian girl whispered as she saw Matthew walk into the restaurant.

"I don't know. I think Christianity is a bit more likely. In Singapore, the percentage of Catholics is surprisingly low. The Indian boy raised his hand and beckoned Matthew to come over.

Chen Ying did not continue to talk to them. She saw that it was almost time, and got up and went back to her room to pack her things. When she walked down the subway station with a ponytail and a map, Wang Yi was standing at the entrance and was about to call her. They walked briskly to the train that had just arrived, bowed their heads and slipped in.

Wang Yi hung his head until someone got off the bus and gave up two seats. After he sat down, he kept shaking his head to soothe his depressed cervical spine. Chen Ying couldn't help but laugh when she saw him like this.

"No way, the trouble of being tall." He said self-deprecatingly.

When they arrived, the museum had not yet opened, so they wandered into the nearby souvenir shop. Chen Ying likes those old pipes, and she picks up three or four at the same time and compares them in her hand. Wang Yi prefers those hardwood canes.

After choosing a souvenir, they walked into the narrow museum. Here, according to the understanding of Chinese, it should be classified as the former residence of celebrities. But the great detective Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character, and 221B Baker Street is also a fiction of Conan Doyle, and the museum furnishings were laid out in 1990 according to the contents of the book. However, as a book lover, none of these obvious flaws could change Chen Ying's willingness to hand over fifteen pounds. They were the first visitors of the day, and the clerks dressed in 19th-century costumes posed with them.

"What's your favorite story?" Chen Ying asked, looking at the pencil drawings hanging on the wall. It shows a huge mastiff pounced on a gentleman walking in the woods. Next to the two

The man was running towards them.

"I don't really like 'The Hound of the Baskervilles.'" Wang Yi followed her gaze, "My favorite is a short story in "The Return" - "Grange Manor". ”

"I can see why you love it." Chen Ying smiled, "Holmes and Dr. Watson eventually teamed up to release the prisoner. ”

"Yes, maybe the plot of 'Four Signatures' is more legendary, and 'A Study in Scarlet' is more thrilling, but my favorite will always be 'Grange Manor', followed by 'The Sapphire Case'." He paced slowly around, eventually settling down in a chair with soft velvet backs by the fireplace, stretching out his slender limbs like the book's protagonist, "Many readers pay too much attention to Sherlock Holmes's reasoning abilities to the point of presenting him as an authority in the detective world." However, I always felt that his reasoning skills were no better than Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot, and I don't see him in any way better than Poe's Okister Doberman. However, none of this prevents Holmes from being the perfect detective in my mind. I think that Conan Doyle's brilliance lies not in the description of judgment and reasoning, but in the fact that he adds a simple moral outlook to the process of dealing with criminals, and he makes Sherlock not only a tool to restore the truth, but also makes Sherlock a mind and soul, and implements a higher humanity in the principle of punishing crimes. ”

"'On one or two occasions, I have profoundly realized that the consequences of catching a criminal are more serious than the crime itself. In the balance between law and conscience, I learned to be prudent. "I like 'The Man in the Yellow Face' the most—for some reason, Holmes's occasional mistakes and bad habits, though they tarnished his image as a spiritual icon, always reminded me of him as if I were an old friend." ”