The detective is dead, I did it.

Chapter 92 The Former Strongest Detective

Chapter 92 The Former Strongest Detective

The slums of East London are perpetually shrouded in a thick, indelible black haze, like a dirty rag covering the sky.

The black particles spewed out day and night by thousands of chimneys fell on this land and on the faces of every person struggling desperately.

The smells of coal smoke, rotting garbage, and silt exposed after the river recedes all mix together to create a nauseating odor.

A black carriage stopped at the alley entrance, its wheels splashing water as it rolled over the muddy road.

A middle-aged man jumped out of the car. His dark brown hair was neatly combed, and he was wearing a custom-made high-end uniform with a gray trench coat over it. His whole demeanor exuded a sense of incongruity with the place.

He sidestepped a bucket of dirty water that was spilled from the doorway, stopped in front of a kerosene lamp, raised his hand and knocked three times, hesitated for a moment, and then raised his hand and knocked three more times.

One long, one short, one long – this is the association's exclusive code.

The small window on the iron gate was pulled open, and a pair of cloudy eyes emerged from the darkness, staring at him and asking.

"Who?"

"Senior Jack. I am Carter Ellie from the Association, a detective specializing in deduction. I have been sent to visit you. Chairman Adler has a handwritten letter for me to deliver."

The small window slammed shut. The iron door creaked open with a jarring sound, and Carter quickly squeezed in from the inside.

The smell in the room was as stubborn as old Jack himself.

The smells of engine oil, herbs, mold, and something else indescribable, like something slowly rotting in a corner.

A bunch of strange parts hung on the wall, and the bottles and jars on the iron shelf had been moved a few times, but they were still mostly the same, giving the impression of a witch's secret potion.

Carter took a brown paper envelope from his briefcase and handed it over with both hands. The lower right corner of the envelope was stamped with the Detective Association's seal, along with scales, a magnifying glass, and handcuffs.

The seal was made of wax and bore the personal crest of the president, Irene Adler.

"A letter from the president himself," Carter said respectfully.

Old Jack took the envelope, but instead of opening it, he twirled it between his fingers and looked at the recipient's name on the front.

Jack Lester. That's his full name, and it's been a long time since anyone called him that; people here prefer to call him Old Jack.

Then he tossed the envelope onto the low table beside him, like a used tissue.

"Those damn girls," he cursed, "only remembering me at a crucial moment like this! Let them dream on!"

Allen maintained a polite smile and did not respond.

He had read about this senior in the association's archives. Sequence 3, a detective, and at his peak, he was second only to the president in the association.

Ten years ago, he suddenly resigned from the association and moved into a slum in East London. He has never stepped out of this alley since.

He didn't know the specific reasons. Those who knew back then were either forced to retire or were silenced and dared not speak.

As for who knows the truth, it's only those vice presidents, but he doesn't dare to ask.

As for Old Jack's earlier scolding, he had no intention of participating at all, since he really had no right to speak in front of this senior.

When Old Jack first entered the profession, he was still in school memorizing detective manuals. Besides, the other party was insulting several high-ranking members of the association; what room did a lowly detective like him have to interject?

Old Jack cursed for a while longer, and only after he felt he had cursed enough did he lean back in his rocking chair and close his eyes.

"Go back. Tell Adler that unless those two women kneel before me and apologize, don't even think about getting my help! Not even if she comes in person."

“Senior Jack,” Carter began, “this incident involves far too many detectives. There are over a dozen people trapped in the courtroom, each one a future member of the association.”

"Investigators Charlotte Holmes and others were also present, as was Judge Eloi Douglas."

Old Jack's fingers paused on the armrest for a moment.

"Is Aloy here too?"

"Yes. She's trapped in the game too. If they lose, everyone dies, including her."

Old Jack was silent for a moment, then raised his hand from the armrest, reached for the envelope on the table, hesitated, and withdrew it.

"That's none of my business." His tone softened slightly, but he still didn't back down. "That girl, Eloi—she chose her own path, and she can walk it herself. I'm not her father!"

Carter didn't give up. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a stack of documents, unfolded them, and placed them on the low table in front of old Jack.

The document contained a photograph of a young woman with long, dark brown hair, silver-rimmed glasses, standing expressionlessly on the steps of the association's headquarters.

"You were the one who helped her register on her first day at the association. You wrote the comments for her first internship report. You watched her first case handled independently from the audience."

Carter began slowly, "You said she wasn't smart, but hardworking; not quick-witted, but persistent. You said she was the most judge-like detective you'd ever met."

Old Jack's eyes were fixed on the photograph. Something flashed in his cloudy eyes, but he quickly suppressed it.

"You've done quite a bit of homework, kid." His voice was even lower.

"You really don't want to save her?" Carter sensed that old Jack was having second thoughts and quickly pressed him for an answer.

Old Jack clenched his fist on the armrest, something flashed in his cloudy eyes, but quickly disappeared.

"What those two women did—" His voice trailed off, as if he were talking to himself, "Whether they kneel or not has nothing to do with Eloi. Whether I save her or not is not up to them."

"and you-

—

"I told you, let them dream!" Old Jack closed his eyes again.

Allen did not give up.

"There's another person you might know; they also came from this slum."

"Who?"

"An armed detective who awakened his powers later in life. His class is undetermined, and his name is Leon Moriarty. He is Miss Charlotte's assistant."

They are now also trapped in the witch's trial.

Old Jack's eyes snapped open. "Leon?" His brow furrowed. "Is it really that kid?"

"You know him?" Carter was taken aback, clearly not expecting that Senior Jack actually knew the other person.

"I know him." Old Jack sat up straight in his rocking chair. "That kid came to my place a few days ago, and I knew something was off about him. His eyes were like they had hooks in them."

He initially thought the other person had hooked up with some rich woman or had just struck it rich. Little did he know that she had become a detective.

It just so happens to be an armored ability...

Old Jack clicked his tongue. "Of course, he's an armed detective. How annoying."

"He awakened later in life," Allen added. "There's no record of him in the association's archives. The president says he's the only exception."

Old Jack remained silent, while Carter's forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat due to nervousness.

"I understand. You can get out now."

Carter's eyes lit up, as if he sensed a shift in the other person's tone. "Tell that little girl Adler that I'm not doing this for her, nor for those little bastards. It's for that slum slob."