Detective Guide to the Steam World

Chapter 4 Things Get Interesting

"This is young master Cyril's room, gentlemen."

The door was pushed open, and a lavishly decorated bedroom came into view.

In the very center is a huge oak four-poster bed, with a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and soft wool carpets covering the floor.

Two exquisite shrines are set up in the corners of the room, and an oil painting of a deity hangs on the wall, highlighting the owner's status as a devout believer.

"Was that where Cyril hanged himself?"

Kent pointed to the ornate chandelier with a puzzled look. "Excuse me for being frank, but this thing doesn't look like it could support the weight of an adult, not to mention that people who hang themselves always struggle unconsciously."

"This chandelier is actually more reliable than you think, sir."

As if stirred by unpleasant memories, the butler's expression turned somewhat somber. "When I came to this room that day, young master Cyril was hanging under the chandelier, already lifeless."

"There used to be a chair here, but now the master has instructed the servants to restore all of these."

Rean glanced at the chandelier: "Where's the rope for hanging yourself?"

"There are no ropes; young master Cyril is using a bed sheet."

"Where are the sheets?"

"It's already burned."

"Burned?"

Kent was taken aback. "Such important evidence, you just burned it?"

The butler pointed to the furnishings in the room, "Ever since Young Master Cyril died, the master was worried that his personal belongings would be tainted by something unclean after his suicide, so he ordered us to destroy all the things that Young Master Cyril used."

"Were they all destroyed?"

Kent simply couldn't understand, "Aren't you going to try and persuade them?"

If all the items that might contain clues are destroyed, how can this case be investigated?

Even if church members are very averse to suicide, there's no need to do it, right?

"I'm sorry, this is the master's decision." The butler bowed respectfully. "If you gentlemen have any doubts, you may inquire in person."

"It seems that Mr. Jesper has given us a difficult problem."

Rean smiled and looked away from the chandelier. "Sir, you can leave now. I'll call you if I need anything."

"Well... alright, as you wish, sir. But please don't make a mess of the room, or the master will be displeased."

The butler hesitated for a moment, then bowed and left the room.

The door was closed.

As soon as the butler left, Kent said with a sullen look, "Shit! I knew those 50 pounds wouldn't be so easy to earn!"

"Relax, Mr. Kent."

Rean's lips curled into a playful smile. "Don't you think things are getting interesting now?"

A devout church believer defied the doctrine and chose to commit suicide.

A baron father who doesn't believe his child would commit suicide, yet seems to be destroying all evidence.

There's also the butler, who's almost too calm.

Isn't the Fletcher family's situation interesting enough?

"I didn't find it interesting at all."

Kent irritably pulled off his bowler hat, scratched his head, and grumbled, "All I see is that £50 getting further away, and that damn rent due next week!"

"Alright, complaining won't solve anything, let's get to work."

After saying that, Rean walked to the corner where the icon was hanging and began to examine it carefully.

On the altar table, which is carved with angel reliefs, a series of religious items are also placed.

A silver cross, candlesticks, a small silver box containing holy oil, and a scroll of prayer paper.

The wear and tear on the edges of the prayer book showed that it had been frequently read, which at least proved Cyril's status as a devout believer, rather than just a hypocrite putting on a show.

Rean picked up the prayer book and flipped through it.

"Glory be to Goddess, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as in the beginning, now and forevermore..."

"I bow my head in reverence and call upon the Most High Lord..."

The content is normal; it is a legitimate church prayer, not a doctrine altered by cultists.

He picked it up again and shook it, but no unusual items fell out of the prayer book.

Rean put down the prayer book that he had almost torn to shreds, picked up the small silver box containing holy oil, opened it, and sniffed it.

A unique fragrance wafted out, very mild and not strong, which perfectly matched the calming effect of the holy oil.

But as a detective, one must carefully investigate all items before making a judgment.

Rean is not an apothecary and cannot identify the ingredients of the holy oil by smell alone, but that does not mean he has no way of judging whether the stuff is harmful.

He looked at Kent and smiled as he handed him the silver bottle containing the holy oil.

"Mr. Kent, it's your turn to work."

As Rean's assistant, Kent's reasoning ability is almost nonexistent, and his fighting ability is barely there. However, he possesses a skill that normal humans do not have.

"Damn it! Sometimes I really regret getting into this business, especially being your assistant!"

Kent grumbled, reluctantly took the silver bottle, then, with a bitter expression, tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp.

Rean looked at him: "How do you feel?"

"Even if it's poison, it would take time for the effects to take hold. How could it be this fast?"

Kent gave him a disgruntled look, then held the small silver bottle up to his eyes and smacked his lips.

"But you know what, it tastes pretty good. It probably has agarwood flowers in it, it has a very strong... uh..."

"Bang!"

The small silver bottle slipped from my hand and landed softly on the sheepskin carpet.

Kent gripped his own neck tightly, making intermittent "hoarse" sounds in his throat. His features were contorted with pain as he collapsed heavily to the ground, convulsing.

Rean ignored all of this, bent down to pick up the small silver bottle, and smiled.

"See, we've found the clue, haven't we?"

"Help……"

Listening to Kent's difficult plea for help.

Rean instinctively reached under his armpit, only to find nothing.

He then remembered that his service pistol, along with its holster, had been confiscated by the police after he was imprisoned.

"Feel sorry."

Rean looked apologetic and shrugged. "Looks like you'll just have to bear with it."

"F...k..."

Kent's expression was ferocious. He managed to utter two words, and black blood began to spill from the corner of his mouth. He could no longer make a sound.

Then, his body convulsed more violently, his brown eyes quickly filled with a deathly gray, his chest heaved violently twice, and then he stopped breathing completely.

"It had a 32-second attack, but only lasted 23 seconds..."

After glancing at the time, Rean put the pocket watch back into his coat pocket and looked at the small silver bottle in his hand with interest.

"I didn't expect this stuff to be so potent. Is it a supernatural item or a chemical agent?"

Just then.

"Bang--!"

The door was suddenly pushed open, and Kent walked in angrily, complaining:

"Damn it! Couldn't you have found another way to relieve me if you didn't have a gun?! Do you know how much pain I was in just now?"

"For this reason, I think it's necessary for us to renegotiate the profit-sharing ratio. Taking only 30% is really unfair to me! I think 50% would be a much better figure."

“I deeply sympathize, dear Mr. Kent,” Rean shrugged. “But a contract is a contract, there’s no way to change it, and it’s part of your job, isn’t it?”

As he spoke, his gaze swept over the spot where Kent had fallen and struggled earlier.

At this moment, the corpse had long since vanished without a trace, leaving only the wrinkled wool carpet lying quietly on the ground, as if the scene had never happened.