London at the end of the 19th century was not a good place to live, the air was always filled with a foul smell of fog, the weather was often rainy, and the sun was not common, so the local wealthy liked to spend their holidays in country houses away from London. Bo Fu didn't care about this, anyway, as a big monster, he would not be defeated by air pollution at all - this is far better than the air pollution in Beijing in the future.......... he is interested in the dark world of London, "It's really not much, but there are still some small things in the countryside in England and Scotland." In terms of density alone, it is higher than many places on the European continent.......... but the fairy and the flower fairy are legendary creatures, which is also too tragic......... Just a hundred years ago, this kind of thing wasn't a rare supernatural creature at all. ”

Not to mention Bo Fu's exclamation, the Times spread out in front of him has a lot of reports about all kinds of superstitious rumors. It's just that it's almost all rumors and ridiculous fabrications, but if a newspaper doesn't have this kind of thing, it will sell badly, and the advertisements won't sell well, so even a serious newspaper like The Times has to set up a special section in the supplement for this area - "This newspaper is the same as this ancient and modern newspaper......... The people of the whole world are basically the same superstition and boredom, ha ”

But then again, the real darkness is hidden in these reports - whether it is news or rumor-mongering....... the dark side of the world is hidden between low-level fun and all kinds of murder reports. Bo Fu saw one now, and it was one that was directly related to him—on a page dedicated to murder cases and pornography......

"The Scottish Headless Horseman is back!' The local police call it nonsense!' The murderer is a tramp!'" Underneath the appalling title was a series of small letters—though the font of the title was also small and black, not at all inferior to the huge bold text above: "Murder! Sir ×× was secretly murdered in the prostitute's room!, and he lay naked with the prostitute when he died!".........

Bo Fu first read the above report with relish—the erotic wording. The metaphor is so obscure that one marvels at the British's sullen shots!, and then he looked at the report below. He already knew it when he read the first line - the place where the crime happened happened to be that he had slaughtered a manor back then. Within the range of the place where the Headless Horsemann was created. Then he began to read the report carefully, and after removing all kinds of appalling and exaggerated adjectives, he actually only said one sentence - a headless corpse was found in the Highlands two mornings ago, the body was identified as a local farmer, the head could not be found, the police believed that a homeless man had murdered the poor man out of the eyes of wealth, but they did not know whether they had robbed it or not, and how much money they had robbed...... Bo Fu moved slightly, and his mind understood a lot of things. The hapless farmer had five pennies on him, and he kept it in his trouser pocket.

He then proceeded to read on and repudiated a barrage of nonsense about what the locals believed was a legendary headless horseman who haunted the area and took him away, which the police dismissed as nonsense and claimed that they had locked up the suspect. For these, the newspaper report focused on the legendary Headless Horseman, and the so-called suspect of the police simply casually described the incident in a few words...... "It's already in the active period... Someone who really doesn't know whether to live or die is trying to use black magic to evoke the headless horseman I made. Bo Fu didn't use his mind to get into the whole truth—because it was so boring, "It's fun to investigate like a mortal, hahaha." ”

"Watson! I have found a blind spot! I have to say that the local police are far worse than Lestrade at Scotland Yard! The so-called homeless man is nothing more than an unlucky guy they introduced!" said a tall, thin man with a pipe in his hand and a distinctly mocking tone to another man sitting on the couch reading the newspaper.

And at the same time. He looked at one of the obituaries, "Sir Charles Baskerville dies", and the text below "The Honourable Sir Charles Baskerville died of a heart attack......

"Has the cute puppy finally found his prey again... What a blessing. Bo Fu muttered, picked up the rum glass on the table, and drank it down. Then Bo Fu casually put down the newspaper and picked up another newspaper, which wrote an extremely ambiguous and obscene headline in exaggerated letters, "Has there already been a tabloid in these years! If it weren't for the fact that the British still have a minimum limit and their photography skills are not enough to pass the test, I estimate that eighty percent of the third edition of the girl will appear eighty years in advance.......... but I didn't expect me to miscalculate! There is already such a shameful thing...... A piece of hard paper slipped from the newspaper, and Bo Fu's keen eyes could already see that it was a photo of a woman with her butt cocked and spanked, the woman in the photo was only wearing a petticoat and no bloomer panties, and the photo showed a big white ass......... Bo Fu flipped through the paper, and then skimmed through the headline a little, "Sure enough, it's a shoddy, non-nonsense tabloid, and it all relies on this kind of stuff in the newspaper to win the market....but why do I like this tone?"

At this time, there was also a visitor at 221B Baker Street, a tall, thin man with a long nose like a bird's beak, protruding between a pair of sharp, grey eyes, which were so close together that they shone brightly behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He wore the clothes that his profession loved to wear, but he was quite unpopular, for his coat was dirty and his trousers were worn. Although he was still young, his long back was bent, and he walked with his head forward, but he was a fairly gentle young man. "Dr. James Mortimo, what questions would you like to ask Sherlock Holmes, a criminal expert?" asked a lanky middle-aged man with a hooked nose and a pipe. His friend, Dr. Watson, rested his arm above the fireplace. Stood and looked at Dr. Mortimo.

Dr. Motimo pulled out a file. An ancient document. "Can you take a look?" and looked at Holmes. "Yes, the early eighteenth-century document .........," said Holmes, then took the document and spread it out, "and pay attention to Watson, and notice the variation of the letters in it, which is a characteristic of the age of this document." ”

The document contains a letter from a terrified country lord to his sons, describing a cursed story about their family, a poor wife. A ferocious husband and a loyal beagle..........

"An interesting myth, isn't it?" said Holmes, casually, as he read the papers, "but you're not here just to show me the story? ”

Watson brought the Times, and Dr. Mortimo had an amazed face, his hand in his pocket, but before he could take out what was in his pocket, Holmes had already flipped to what he wanted to see. "Aha! obituary! about Sir Charles Baskerville's obituary, heart disease? was a month ago?" and Dr. Mortimo had already taken out the folded newspaper in his pocket, which was a Devonshire Chronicle. A local tabloid. He opened the folded side to Sherlock Holmes, which also had an obituary. Since it is a local newspaper. So the obituary was published almost two weeks earlier than the Times, and there were far more commemorative notes about the great achievements of the characters than the Times. Sherlock Holmes flipped through the newspaper casually, "Basically useless....... stripped of the compliments, we can only see that the man made a fortune abroad, then returned to his homeland, and died of a heart attack after a night walk." But I think Dr. Mortimo must have something else to say to us. ”

By the time Dr. Mortimo began to speak, on the London side, Berfung had hailed a carriage and was running towards the London train station.

On the second floor of 221 Baker Street, Holmes and Watson were listening carefully to Dr. Mortimor.

"In this way," said Dr. Mortimo, as his feelings began to stir, "I will tell anyone what I have not yet told anybody, and I have concealed it from the coroner." Because a person who is engaged in scientific work is most afraid of appearing in public as if he believes in a superstition that is circulating. My other motive, as the newspapers say, was that if anything further worsened its already terrible reputation, then no one would dare to live on the Baskerville estate again. For both of these reasons, I think it's right not to say everything I know, because that wouldn't do you any good, but there's no reason why I shouldn't be open and honest about it.

"The dwellers on the moor live far from each other, and the people who live closer to each other develop close relationships. So I had a lot of opportunities to meet Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland of Reifford Manor and Mr. Stapleton, a biologist, there was no one more educated within a radius of dozens of miles. ”

"In the last few months of my life, I could see more and more that Sir Charles's nervous system was tense to the extreme. He believed in the legend that although he often walked around his mansion, he would not go to the moor at night. Mr. Holmes, it may seem so implausible to you, yet he is convinced that his home is doomed. On more than one occasion he asked me if I had seen anything strange on my night trip or heard the howling of a hound. He had asked me this question many times, always in a panicked and trembling tone. ”

"I remember very well that one evening I drove to his house in a carriage, about three weeks before this fatal incident. It so happened that he was in front of the main hall door. I had gotten out of my carriage and stood in front of him, when I suddenly saw him staring at my back with a look of utter horror in his eyes. I turned abruptly, and just had time to see a black thing like a big calf running quickly. He was so frightened that I had to go to the place where the animal had walked and look around. It's already gone. However, this incident seemed to have had a very bad effect on his heart. I stayed with him for the night, and it was then, in order to explain his emotions, that he entrusted me with the account which I had shown you when I first arrived. I mention this little episode because it may have had some importance in the tragedy that followed, but at the time I did think it was a trivial matter, and his horror was unfounded. ”

"Following my advice, Sir Charles is going to London. I know that his heart has been affected, and that he is constantly in a state of anxiety, however illusory, and that it has clearly seriously affected his health. I think a few months of city life will turn him into a new person. Our mutual friend, Mr. Stapleton, is very concerned about his health and he and I share the same opinion. However, this terrible calamity occurred in the last moment before leaving. ”

"On the night of Sir Charles' violent death, I was at the Baskerville estate within an hour of the accident. I verified all the facts mentioned during the autopsy. I observed his footprints, looked at the gate facing the moor, where it seemed he had waited, and I noticed a change in the shape of the footprints below that point. I found no other footprints. Afterwards I examined the body carefully, and no one had touched it until I arrived. Sir Charles lay on his stomach with his arms outstretched, his fingers in the dirt, his facial muscles constricted with emotion so strong that I could not even make out the wounds. I saw it—not far away, not only clear but still fresh. ”

"Footprints?"

"Footprints. ”

"Is it a man's or a woman's?"

Mortimo glanced at Holmes and Watson with a look of fear, and when he answered, his voice was almost like a whisper: "Mr. Holmes, it's a great hound's paw print!" (to be continued......)