The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 803 Ch.802 The Sailor's Answer

Kingsley had more say than Roland about the instrument.

The detective came from an extraordinary background, so these things that the poor people rarely saw or heard of were commonplace to him.

piano.

harp.

Violin.

And, of course, the trombone.

No matter whether it is high pitch, middle pitch or low pitch, the performer needs to humble himself and kneel down to show the beauty and power of music through the sound.

They would go around and grab the stretch tube with their hands and adjust the pitch by moving it forward or pulling it back.

When Ruby said her nickname, Kingsley understood.

He didn't understand Ruby, but he understood the instrument.

Roland was confused.

"Are you kidding me?"

What Kingsley didn't understand was that with a face like Roland's and the number of women around him, he could behave so inconsistently with his views of certain groups in this regard - it was really rare.

"Tell me about it and I'll understand."

The detective glanced at him and said nothing.

When Ruby left, the room naturally became quiet.

The thin wall panels could not block the music coming from all around - no matter what kind of instruments people played, whether they were struck, blown or played through strings, they would certainly not be blocked by the wall panels that were several stacks of paper thick.

From all directions there were constant cheers of taming twin lambs and catching shells.

This made Kingsley very annoyed.

He didn't like this kind of place. Especially for a 'non-standard' young man who had been influenced by it since childhood, this place always reminded him of his unqualified and not decent father, and his mother who was swallowed by indifference and silence.

Where to find a perfect match?

In manuscripts and secret collections.

The mind is stronger than flesh and blood, but flesh and blood are more corruptible than the mind.

Roland played with his new sapphire cane and sat opposite the detective. "You are more devout than any priest I have ever seen, Kingsley."

The man sitting upright seemed to be born with an incorruptible body, and was particularly out of place in this place of pleasure.

"We all abide by our own inner principles, Roland. I don't like to indulge my desires and leave my soul in tatters."

"It's not desire that scars the soul." Roland leaned back and threw him a cigar. "You said something that only a ritualist would say."

Kingsley took the cigar, put it under his nose, sniffed it, and lit it.

He blew out the condensed smoke slowly, slowing down the sounds in the house.

"…You never asked about my past, but now you want to hear it?"

"No," Roland pinched his cigar and put his fist against one side of his face. "I don't want to know who your father is, Kingsley. You promised me that the naming rights of the detective agency would be given to me. Other than that, I am not interested in your blood relatives and surname... You are not the same as Lulu, are you?"

Kingsley glanced at him and said mockingly, "You really like making friends with 'weird' people, Roland."

Of course he knew what was going on with the little 'daughter' of the Benevento family.

"If I were a woman, I probably wouldn't be interested in you either - just like I completely understand Mr. Rupert Benevento. What he needs is not a man who is more beautiful than him, but a partner who can truly be called a 'man'... Do you understand what I mean?"

Roland opened his mouth and suddenly gestured to Kingsley.

Then, the two of them quickly stood up and waited for the footsteps approaching from afar.

At four pounds it was good value for money.

Ruby went on a long journey for them and brought back a lady who had been a big shot in this area a few years ago.

She is now the wife of a gravekeeper in a suburban cemetery.

There are five children.

The oldest works in a bank.

In this industry, she is considered a very standard "successful person" - most women don't live to get married. "Good day, gentlemen."

The woman came in a hurry, with only her head wrapped in soft cloth, a dark blue dress on her body, and a small cape of matching color.

She is old and has many wrinkles on her face.

His back was straight, and his manners and conversation were proper.

It was so presentable that Kingsley couldn't find any fault with it.

"Good day."

Roland bowed slightly. "I think Miss Ruby has already said it, ma'am. I won't ask your name, or anything you don't want to tell us - tell us about Jim Walker, and then keep your mouth shut about it."

"You will be able to take away from the room a suitable amount of gold pounds."

This woman is smarter than the girl next to her and doesn't say a single unnecessary word.

"I first met Jim Walker ten years ago, gentlemen. To be exact, it was about ten years ago in the winter."

She took the glass of water from Ruby and thanked her quietly.

"He was bloody and black, and walking alone in the snow, he almost died."

Kingsley interrupted: "Bloody? Black?"

"Yes, sir. He was covered in grease and dirt, and had no clothes to cover him. He was limping, and every step he took bled."

The detective pressed the issue, "You're saying that when you first met, he was missing a leg?"

"To be precise, it's a foot." The lady bent down to show her ankle and drew a line on it with her index finger. "Start from here, sir. From here, there is no more."

That's not called a leg.

It should be said that a foot was lost.

"I don't know what he would say now. He changed the wood and made it look very vivid. He spent a lot of money on it. But from what I observed at the time, the cut there was very smooth, as if it was cut by the fastest and sharpest blade in one go."

The woman tried hard to hold back her nausea as she recalled the past.

"…The incision was smooth, but miraculously he didn't die immediately. Sir, I have helped doctors before, and I know very well how people work. If you cut off a foot with a knife, the person will bleed to death."

She briefly explained to the two of them.

"But he didn't?"

"But he didn't, sir." The woman nodded.

She said there was blood where Jim Walker's foot had been lost, but it didn't spurt out all at once, as if it had been cut off - it just trickled down like a stream that was naughtily blocked by pebbles.

“…He dragged himself like this, using a long piece of wood as a crutch, dragging bloody trails intermittently, and knocked on my door.”

The woman paused.

"So far, sir, I have no regrets about saving him. Little Walker has never done anything bad, even if he is becoming more and more slippery. If possible, who wouldn't want to live a good life?"

Her eyes finally emerged from the soft cloth hood.

Deep blue without impurities.

There is sadness and sorrow flowing in it.

"Feel sorry."

She let out a short breath, rubbed her face, and quickly adjusted her mood.

"…I bandaged his wounds and gave him some porridge, and kept him at home for three months. That's all, sir—oh, he should have been a sailor."

Kingsley narrowed his eyes: "What did you say?"

The woman sighed, "How old was he then? Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen? He was skinny, but his eyes were sparkling. He asked me, Madam, if there was a monster on earth that was afraid of water, who could subdue it?"

"I told him that since he was afraid of water, then sailors were the bravest heroes."

Kingsley looked at Roland silently.

And you still say it's not your mission?

(End of this chapter)