The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 546 Ch.545 That's OK

Mason Lyle has been having a lot of trouble lately.

He 'accidentally' killed a lady, and then lost his 'materials' - the opportunity that made him different from ordinary people and allowed him to touch the magic of spells.

The benefactor is above!
Who would have thought that the son of a bitch would run away? !
What a fool Anto! He even dozed off during the night watch!

No.

Worse than a pig!

He lost his temper, whipped the young, but not at all pitiful boy, and was furious with everyone in the circus, and ordered them that from that day on, they were not allowed to leave the tent.

No entry into the city is allowed.

No going into the woods is allowed.

Apart from doing things for him, otherwise, just stay in the tent.

He panted as the seat of the stagecoach bounced, and the stones on the road sometimes made the wheels bounce off the ground, a few hairs away, and then were transmitted through the axles to the seat, which hurt his buttocks - gravel, granite and wood, it was hard to imagine which big shot's clever mind came up with the idea of ​​paving the road with these things.

How could this not be cutting corners?
The road surface is full of potholes and turns into a quagmire when it rains. The wooden road surface can reduce noise and vibration, but it is very easy to rot - this is London! God damn it!
Is this where all the taxes are spent?

Mason Lyle thought as the wheel slapped another short pit.

Bang.

"You should put a soft cushion on it!"

He grabbed the handrail and screamed at the top of his lungs.

The driver's answer was interesting.

"You should try harder so your bottom doesn't suffer, sir."

Mason Lyle was furious.

"The road worker deserves to be hanged. He cuts corners just like you and is lazier than a pig..." He muttered to himself, getting angry for no apparent reason - he didn't think he had changed at all, it was all because things had been going wrong recently.

"Then you'll have to ask the Holy Cross," the driver replied cheerfully.

The roads are the responsibility of the parish.

The project was constantly dug up and re-paved. Different opinions led to the stagnation of the project, confusion over the rights and responsibilities at the boundary, disputes between workers and priests, the relationship between priests and the church, the selfishness of bishops and responsible persons, etc.

The driver's short-sightedness failed to take into account the larger rulers behind the Holy Cross, but this alone was enough for him to fight back against the chattering men along the way.

"Black-hearted..."

When Mason Lyle heard the 'Holy Cross', he immediately bowed down in humility.

But he was still mumbling, he just changed his target.

The carriages flowed along the busy streets until they reached their destination.

The fare from the suburbs across half of London is not cheap - which is why the driver can tolerate this gentleman.

I really should have agreed to let him sit on the top.

"Sevenpence, plus toll, sir."

He rested his arms, jumped off like the passengers, patted the horse's back twice, and supported himself with his arms.

It snorted.

"Sevenpence, including the toll, makes thirteen."

The driver straightened his felt hat, rubbed his fingers, and smiled at Mason Lyle in a flattering manner.

Mason Lyle was not in a hurry. He leisurely adjusted his collar and glanced at him sideways.

"Thirteen?" He tilted his upper body questioningly and looked at the silent horse: "I see you didn't feed anything. Who do you want thirteen for?"

The driver was stunned for a moment, not understanding the meaning of this sentence.

What 'feed what'.

"gentlemen?"

"You just waved the whip, and you sat in the cart like me, didn't you?" Mason Lyle tightened his collar, stamped his feet a few times, and looked at the townhouse not far away: "If you had followed the horse all the way here, I think you would be worth thirteen."

The driver understood this time.

"Sir," he almost laughed at the miser, "my sir, you can't say that. I rented a car and a horse, and I have to bear the rent, wear and tear, repairs, and the exploitation of those black debt collectors - how can you say that?"

Mason Lyle raised his head and said, "You just do your job, you deserve this."

The driver crossed his arms, his smile no longer on his face: "You don't want to pay, do you?"

Mason Lyle shook his head: "Of course not. But, regarding the fare, I think it is still up for discussion..."

The driver said gruffly, "Only thirteen! If there's one less, I'll..."

He wanted to say a few threatening words, but looking at the man's appearance, he looked like a flower ball waving in the wind - dressing well and wearing expensive clothes best reflected a person's identity and status at the moment.

He didn't dare to hurt the man. "Please be kind. I only make a few bucks a day. How can you be so picky with someone like me?"

This may be true for ordinary gentlemen, but it is not true for Mason Lyle.

"I can't let you cheat me out of my money like this," he gathered his sleeves and was about to leave: "I've been bumpy all the way, and I haven't asked you to compensate me for the wear and tear on my pants yet..."

When the driver saw him about to leave, he became anxious and reached out and grabbed his arm.

In an instant, a pair of bloodshot eyes enlarged in his sight!
He was almost pressed against the carriage with his nose pressed against it.

He could clearly hear the heavy breathing, and a strong smell of blood sprayed on his face - he was stared at by those blood-red eyes, as if facing a beast that was ready to devour its prey.

He had seen packs of wild dogs, and this was much scarier than wild dogs.

"That's my money—"

The driver trembled, not daring to look him in the eye again: "... Sir, sir... I... I'm just trying to make a living..."

"My money, my money! Mine! Mine! It's my money! No one can take my money! My my my my my--"

He recited like a madman, and the driver was so frightened that he pushed him away, knocked him to the ground, climbed onto the carriage, whipped the horse's buttocks desperately, and fled in panic.

Mason Lyle sat for a moment with a gloomy face, ignoring the surprised and contemptuous looks, stood up with the help of his cane, and patted his legs.

“My money.”

Muttering.

"No one can take my things away."

He staggered toward the house where he and May had arranged to meet frequently—Mrs. Burns's maid, with whom he had been already together.

"That saves another tenpence."

He opened the door with his key, entered the room, and found an empty milk bottle and a clean wooden cup on the table in the middle.

This made him angry again.

Obviously, the case was solved.

Mei just bought some milk, but instead of drinking it from the bottle, she learned a bad habit and poured it into a cup.

The most important.

After she finished drinking, she even washed the cup—Thank you! Does it need to be washed? !

Since you're already using the cup, if you want to drink milk later, wouldn't it be better to just pour it into the cup?
There must be some milk stains left in there, now it's okay.

All washed away.

If one bottle of milk is wasted like this, ten bottles, a hundred bottles, a thousand bottles will be wasted.

How many bottles of milk should I drink in my lifetime?

How much money is she going to waste?
Mason Lyle made a secret decision in his heart.

Once he had made her mistress, Ms. Burns, his wife, he would make sure May went away.

She might have wasted a lot of money on milk for Ms. Burns.

Mason Lyle carefully picked up the cup, put it to his nose and sniffed.

Sure enough, it still tastes like milk.
He suddenly stopped moving his nose, becoming increasingly dissatisfied.

He heard some creaking sounds.

Coming from the deepest part of the living room, the innermost bedroom.

A burst of flames exploded.

He tiptoed, suppressing the anger that was about to burst, and walked to the unlocked door...

Kicked the door open!
as predicted.

The maid Mei, and a strange, slender man.

Mason Lyle roared, "Look what you've done!"

Before the panicked man could speak, Mei poked her head out from under his shoulder, patted his back breathlessly, and told him to focus on his business and not be distracted by irrelevant things.

Then he pointed to Mason Lyle, at a box of well-packaged lamb sausages on the bedside table.

"He...oh...this...he bought it...I didn't spend a penny on it..."

Suddenly.

Mason Lyle breathed a sigh of relief.

That is not bad.

(End of this chapter)