Mr. Death in the Steam World

At this time, Arthur was probably already asleep, and Phils hadn't fully recovered, so it was impossible for her to be running around.

As for the landlady—Moen heard her footsteps clearly in the hallway just now; they were heading towards Arthur's room.

There is only one option left.

He got up and opened the door, and sure enough, he saw Emily standing in the hallway.

"Good evening, Detective." She tilted her head and smiled at him. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Moen leaned against the doorframe, crossed his arms, and looked at her.

"What is it?"

"It's like this," Emily said, putting her hands behind her back and leaning forward slightly, "I'd like to ask you to be my date tomorrow night."

The corridor fell silent.

Moen stared at her expressionlessly, his mind racing:

A male companion? What male companion? Why a male companion? What is this young lady up to now? Is she trying to mess with me again?

His expression probably told the whole story, because Emily stared at him for two seconds and then suddenly burst out laughing.

"You, the look on your face—" She finally caught her breath and pointed at his face.

"It's exactly the same as when we got blown up by a trap in my house last time! It's hilarious!"

Moen's lips twitched.

"So," he said, trying to keep his tone calm, "you're joking?"

"Of course I was just kidding." Emily straightened up and wiped away the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes with her fingertips.

"But not entirely. Do you remember the plans we made in Kansas?"

"After settling in, we'll split up. Mr. Arthur will go to the church to investigate clues, Fils will stay at the inn to keep an eye on the crystal, and you and I—"

"Investigate Sidwin Ashton," Moen continued.

"Yes." Emily nodded, her smile fading slightly, replaced by a serious and determined expression.

"I've been to Ironcrown City a few times before, so I have some understanding of the noble circles here."

"Although Sidwin is a terrible person, he is, after all, the only son of the Ashton family, and he is a regular at any club in Ironcrown City with a bit of reputation."

"If we want to find out about his current situation, his connections, and what he's been up to lately—the club is the best place to start. It's much more efficient than wandering around the streets aimlessly."

Moen was silent for a few seconds, then had to admit that she had a point.

Sidwin was a mining aristocrat, and aristocrats have their own social circles.

A man like him wouldn't be found in a roadside tavern, nor would he be queuing with factory workers to collect his wages.

If you want to get in touch with the people around him, the club is indeed the only option.

"Okay." He nodded. "Tomorrow evening?"

"Yes!" Emily's eyes lit up immediately, and a bright smile bloomed on her face. "Then it's settled!"

She turned and walked towards her room, took two steps, then turned back, waved to him, and pushed open her door, disappearing at the end of the corridor.

Moen stood at the door, looking at the closed door, feeling that something was not quite right.

He just agreed to go to the club to investigate Sidwin, right? So why is Emily reacting as if he's agreed to something incredible?

Does he like me?

Moen shook his head and chuckled.

How is that possible?

They had only known each other for a short time, at most they had gone on a mission together, he had found a transparent dress at her manor, and she had made him drink a few glasses of wine at a dinner party—just ordinary interactions.

He didn't want to be a mediocre man like Sidwin Ashton.

Putting the absurd thought out of his mind, Moen refocused his attention on the pages of the book.

......

The following evening, on the second floor of the Swallow Inn.

Moen stood in front of the worn-out full-length mirror in his room, looking down at his suit with a somewhat subtle expression.

He rented the suit from a ready-made clothing store on the street that afternoon.

The ready-made clothing stores in Ironcrown City are not like the tailor shops in Kansas. Most of the styles are prepared for local merchants and factory owners, with wider cuts and rougher shoulder lines.

He picked out the best-fitting outfit in the store, but it still looked loose on him, with the sleeves a little too long and the shoulders a bit too wide.

He was struggling with the buttons on his collar when there was a knock on the door.

"Mr. Marcus, are you done?"

Emily stood in the hallway, wearing a dark green evening gown.

The skirt hem reached her ankles, the waistline was perfectly cinched, and the neckline was adorned with a circle of delicate silver embroidery, which shimmered softly under the dim kerosene lamp in the corridor.

She was completely different from the spoiled young lady who usually spoke without thinking.

Emily's gaze swept over him, and the corners of her mouth turned up.

"Hmm, this suit doesn't fit quite right, but Detective, you're still very handsome with a good foundation."

"It's rented from a clothing store," Moen said with a hint of helplessness, tugging at his cuffs. "This is the best outfit I could find."

"I can tell." Emily chuckled, reaching out to naturally straighten his collar and brush a small tuft of dust off his shoulder.

"Let's go, the carriage is waiting downstairs."

Moen followed her downstairs.

The coachman waved the reins, and the carriage drove along the dusty streets toward the center of Ironcrown City, stopping in front of a three-story red brick building.

The two entered side by side, and the doorman glanced at the invitation in Emily's hand before respectfully opening the door for them.

The club's interior was even more luxurious than Moen had imagined. The lobby floor was paved with marble tiles, the walls were covered with dark red silk, and a huge crystal chandelier hung from the dome.

Men and women in formal attire gathered in small groups, holding champagne glasses, their laughter and the clinking of glasses echoing under the high dome of the hall.

Moen's gaze swept across the crowd discreetly.

Most of these people were dressed in fine clothes and behaved properly, but in the eyes of the Grim Reaper, some of them had faint traces of magic wrapped around their bodies, though not strong.

Just as he was observing his surroundings, Emily returned with two glasses of champagne and handed one of them to him.

"Don't just stand there daydreaming," she said in a low voice, "you're being watched."

Moen took the champagne and followed her gaze.

Not far away, a middle-aged woman in a deep red velvet dress was covering half of her face with a fan, her gaze fixed on him without any attempt to conceal it, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"That's Lord Fallon's wife, the notorious gossip capital of Ironcrown City."

"She's probably trying to figure out who you are—there are very few new faces at Ironcrown City's clubs, especially not someone who looks like you."

Before Moen could respond, Mrs. Fallon had already gracefully walked over.