The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 930 Ch.929 Failure
According to the young cat meat vendor, he discovered a large number of wild cat carcasses half a month ago.

Before daybreak, the body had already stiffened.

"At night, then."

Kingsley nodded.

then.

He also told Kingsley that his clients, many citizens who keep and care about pets, had also discovered the "strangeness" - since the bodies died in different ways, they only complained to the cat meat vendors, guessing that it was done by some bad boy from some family...

No one would eat cat meat, right?
"I heard that the French have already put cat meat on the table." The cat meat vendor said with disgust. It was obvious that he was also a person who read newspapers frequently.

"That's normal, they are French after all," Kingsley sneered, "I wish there weren't such fools among us."

Judging from the corpses Kingsley had counted, this was definitely not a case involving 'meat'.

"Kingsley."

"Roland?"

"I'm hungry."

Kingsley: ...

…………

……

The mass death of feral cats can be viewed in a big or small way - Dan Budge is worried because he has lived long enough and has learned something from it.

There are not many people in London who possess these two wonderful qualities.

"Like you, my lady."

Old Tom stood on the lawn, silently looking up at the girl who was climbing down from the second-floor window - she was wearing a convenient hunting suit, tied a rope with bed sheets and curtains, one end was tied to the foot of the bed, and the other end hung on the grass.

When Rose found Old Tom, she was already stuck in the middle.

“…Come down quickly.”

The housekeeper reluctantly took a half step back, waiting for his dishonest young lady to "go downstream", then he stepped forward to take off her small felt hat, twisted the wrinkles between his eyebrows and nagged: "…It's the social season, my young lady. You should have endless banquets every day, and Ms. Burns has also sent you an invitation-"

"Or, do you want to go horseback riding? And hunt some rabbits? I can arrange for someone to accompany you to the outskirts of the city..."

Rose yawned. "You didn't approve of my contact with Burns before."

Old Tom raised his eyebrows. "You also said it, 'before.'"

Rosalind Herbert Burns has been doing a lot of big things lately.

This woman was not very kind to her husband, but she had an extraordinary talent for business. In fact, ever since she had joined forces with several nobles to invest in the new college, old Shelley no longer objected to their socializing.

"I haven't seen Roland for half a month, Tom. You can't be so cruel."

day.

The girl added silently in her heart.

"Falcons should not associate with crows."

Rose moved her lips and said strangely, "Should we add 'ugly and inferior'?"

"I won't go against objective reality for the sake of satire," said Old Tom calmly, "I have hardly ever seen a man more handsome than Mr. Roland Collins - but miss, you should also know that he, or those around him, are very dangerous... just like this time."

Rose turned around and silently poked her ear.

Someone is about to start a long speech again.

"...For the past six months, the master has been worried that you would not be well fed and well clothed outside, and that you would encounter another storm. I have lost count of how many letters the master has sent to so many people, and how many ritualists in the family have been sent out - I think the master knows very well that he cannot rely on them...But please be kind and understand a father who is sick and worried about his daughter..."

Rose gets angry when she talks about her illness.

"Tell me, what 'disease' is a sprained ankle called?" When she was at the dock, she really thought that old James had some incurable disease - within the six months she had been away.

If this is true, she will probably feel uncomfortable for a long time.

who knows.

back home.

The old bastard was sitting on the sofa, served by two curvy maids. He held a pipe in one hand and a red wine glass in the other. His left foot was bandaged, saying that he was "too worried about her safety and accidentally sprained his foot when he was going down the stairs."

"…I was indeed injured because I was worried about you." Old Tom argued, as if he knew that this reason was untenable... As a servant, he must stand by his master: "I have heard the master mention your name many times."

The butler waved around.

After a while, several discerning maids came out from the corner in a long line.

"I have prepared afternoon tea for you. You can take a rest while thinking about dinner. Recently, our family has hired a good chef. I am communicating with him about the recipe you brought back..."

Rose sighed.

"I've gained a lot of weight lately, Tom."

Fat?

Old Tom took a half step back, apologized quietly, then lowered his eyes and quickly glanced at Rose's hunting clothes.

"You are the most ideal. No girl of your age deserves the word 'beautiful' more than you - if you had long satin-like hair..."

The maids seldom saw the old butler's "slippery" appearance. Normally speaking, this man was the "gum of judgment" for all the servants in the house - there was no need to see the real master, and if there was any mistake or omission anywhere, all they needed was a word from him.

"Besides, miss, it's not safe out there right now."

Rose's eyes lit up: "Really? No, no, no, I mean, how... unsafe is it?"

Old Tom looked at her quietly: "There are dead cats everywhere on the street. There are so many, miss, too many to imagine - their bodies are rotting and stinking, maggots are born, and flies are hatched. It's summer now... I hope you can't imagine the smell of the street..."

Rose smacked her lips.

"There must be some little bastard..." Compared to Roland and Halida, her feelings towards cats...are average.

She prefers dogs to these heartless little monsters.

Just a little bit.

For Halida's sake.

"Little bastard?" Old Tom snorted.

Of course it wasn't a child who did this.

Cats and dogs have a fairly low status in this country. Even if there are some that live in groups, whose parts are not yet mature enough to have fun with women, and whose souls are not yet able to appreciate the joy of wine - even if they are the little bastards that Rose mentioned, they usually only harm a litter of kittens.

Tie a knot around the mother cat's neck with a thin rope and hang her up.

The more cruel ones would throw the kittens to death one by one in front of their mother cat, or smash their heads one by one with discarded wooden rafters - or use slingshots and crude little darts to hit or stab their eyes and bellies.

Old Tom has seen it.

At most they would kill one nest, and then they would be grabbed by the collar by the patrolmen or passers-by on the street and given a good beating.

'Find something else to do! Like, catch your mother's lover!'

The streets were littered with dead cats.

This is unusual.

As a high-level ritualist, Old Tom was very keenly aware of the danger - not to mention that Rose had to stay at home recently.

The thing the master ordered is about to arrive.

(End of this chapter)