The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 204 Ch.203 Mr. Carrot

As the central area of ​​London, Cross Street is filled with busy people coming and going every day - whether they are gentlemen in suits or workers in overalls and trousers.

Although they are divided into two groups by an invisible boundary, they occasionally visit each other's world...

And uttered the same exclamation:

'Is there such a life?'

Today's Cross Street is busier than usual.

As Mr. William Cordone passed by (he had to go to the blacksmith to order a special metal handle for Roland's whip), he saw circles of people - whatever kind, they were all mixed together, pointing and talking around something, and now and then uttering a laugh or a sigh.

What happened?
Curiosity drove him to turn on tiptoe and subconsciously go to where the crowd was concentrated.

Then he knew what they were laughing at.

To be honest, although this is disrespectful to the dead...

But it's really funny.

It was a horrifying corpse—one that had not completely turned into a skeleton, but still had rotten flesh hanging on it.

It was fixed at each joint with nails, then tied around the neck with a rope and hung on a street lamp.

The posture after fixing is probably:
Put your hands on your hips and spread your legs.

In addition, there is a fresh carrot with water drops on it fixed to the bone.

As for where...

Where else.

Along with the body was a wooden board.

Mr. Cobbler squeezed for a long time before he could see the words clearly: it was a sentence made up of words cut from newspapers with scissors.

They were glued to the wooden board and complemented the "shining" corpse perfectly.

It says:
'I am Mince Chloe, the pride of the Chloe family.'

'I love men.'

'Men love my big carrots, too.'

'But my father, Charles Chloe, was always angry about it.'

'Because he has a small mouth.'

Just a few words.

Cordoni listened to the discussions of the people around him. Those who were unaware were educated by those who knew about the situation and then joined the discussion. Those who knew about the situation began to explore the truth of the matter in depth.
For example, is Mr. Mings Croy really as great as he appears to be?

For example, Mr. Charles Chloe, does he have a small mouth?

"He did."

Someone said something that caused the crowd to burst into laughter again.

"That's a sad story. How did the hammer fit into the keyhole?"

“People with the last name Chloe may all be people with outstanding qualities—such as perseverance and not being afraid of pain.”

"I promise I have no idea what you're implying."

Another burst of laughter.

The skull and wooden board that maintained the "shining appearance" posture became more shining in the gradually rising sunlight: this has to mention London's backward police system.

Due to insufficient police force and lack of sound laws, I think this situation will last at least another hour.

What's the funniest thing?
"We don't need these black guys with sticks on their backs - by the grace of God! We are already the greatest country in the world! Where are we? In the greatest city in the greatest country in the world -"

'The people here have noble character, justice in their hearts, and are brave and fearless!'

'Do we have to spend a lot of extra money to support these people who don't need it?'

Mr. Charles Croy had supported this objection with both hands.

then…

Haha. There were obviously people from the political spectrum among the onlookers, and they were from the Gray Party.

He preached at length about the 'stupidity' of the Camarilla, using Charles Croy and his son, Mince Croy, as examples - the examples being hung on the lampposts.

"If we had more money, more police, better laws, we wouldn't be seeing this today."

He began to speak loudly, and when the people around him silently stepped back, leaving a circular space for him, the man became even more imposing.

He used his limbs, waving his fists at the people around him.

"I have to say: the group of people headed by Charles Chloe are a bunch of old-fashioned people with outdated ideas in their heads."

"If he wasn't my wife's sister's husband, I don't know how stupid these people could be—"

"Let me tell you about it!"

he shouted.

"…The old man found a swindler in private—because it is said, it is said, that the swindler invented a special machine."

The man poked his head out, eyebrows flying, and looked around.

"…can enlarge our vital parts."

Everyone laughed.

A tacit topic.

"Yes, yes, it can. So, this liar has a - oh, I named it the 'vital area enlarger'."

The humorous remarks and interesting stories of the superior people made everyone curious.

They urged the man who was giving the speech to go on faster.

"Don't be impatient, don't be impatient. Guys, if it weren't for my wife's sister's husband, I would have almost missed this story!"

He opened his palms and lightly pressed down the chaos.

"The foolish old fellow really believed the impostor's words and believed that he could buy this 'enlarger' for three hundred pounds - of course, of course, sir. He did pay for it, I heard, with a deposit slip in the letter and sent it by the servant."

"At the same time, the servant also brought back a box."

The man winked and asked the people around him:
"Guess what's in the box?"

He loudly declared:
"There's a magnifying glass in the box!"

This time the laughter was almost as loud and continuous as the rising tide.

William Cordoni joined in the laughter.

It's so much fun.

He didn't know whether the story was true or not, but if it was interesting enough, who cared?
Anyway, there are always all kinds of people, and you can’t tell whether it’s true or not.

"I see, he's not a liar, sir." Someone in the crowd said, "That does make the key part bigger, doesn't it?"

The laughter continued.

At this point, the police finally arrived.

They dismounted from their horses at the other end of the street, pulled out the wooden sticks from their waists, and used their hawk-like sharp eyes to distinguish the different identities in the crowd:

If they were wearing canvas jackets or woolen trousers, they would hit them, whip them and scold them; if they were wearing silk hats, silk trousers or reflective button boots, they would frown and ask them to leave the scene.

There were more than a dozen police officers and at least dozens or even hundreds of onlookers.

Like a tadpole falling into an ant colony.

The crowd was pushing and stomping on each other, and gradually, some people began to curse. These men who had just been listening to interesting stories and laughing together, quickly found their original positions in the shoving and jostling:
Left or right.

Men in silk top hats raised their canes and held their brims to prevent them from being stolen by immoral low-class people; gentlemen in felt hats and big leather boots swore and pushed away the sticks that were poking at them from all around, protecting their heads with their hands to guard against the police officers' sticks and shouting out their friends' names.

A chaotic and noisy cross street.

The only thing that was quiet was the shining Mr. Carrot on the street lamp.

(End of this chapter)