Salomon was very happy, even if he was pointed at the nose and questioned now. He liked smart people, and the candidate's keen observation and logical reasoning ability showed the intelligence level that rational humans should have. Compared to Stephen Strange, he favored Sherlock Holmes because he was calm, rational, and had no religious beliefs (probably). As for antisocial personality, Salomon himself had been described in this way, so he didn't care much. However, before the final test was over, he could not make any moves that favor either side, and he had to let the test of both sides continue.

"It's far-fetched, Mr. Holmes," he said. "Can't I just ask the cafe owner downstairs for information and wait for you to return to the apartment? I don't think my financial level has anything to do with Alino. We haven't been in touch for a long time, and I don't care about her. But she is my relative after all, and I can't let her lie in the police morgue like this. It's not affection but responsibility."

"He was right, Sherlock." Watson, vigilant, relaxed suddenly and then stood on Salomon's side. "Maybe you encountered a very strange case today, but this does not mean that everyone is suspicious."

"I never guess, but you make sense. Let me hear what you want to say." Sherlock Holmes nodded, and seemed to easily accept Salomon's statement. This puzzled Watson. His cohabitation man was a very stubborn guy, why was he so easy to talk to this time?

Salomon felt that he should be more careful, so he planned to find an opportunity to return to the crime scene to see if there was anything that would remind Sherlock Holmes of him. As for the Scotland Yard police officers surrounding the scene, Salomon promised that they could see nothing and hear nothing, and that no one could find the small gift he prepared for the candidates before Sherlock Holmes.

The questions raised by the detective can be roughly divided into the victim's family relationships, interpersonal relationships, and past experiences. Salomon has done his homework, and his memory allows him to smoothly deal with the questions raised by Sherlock Holmes. However, for some questions that are not stated in the archives or some more personal questions, Salomon did not add to the slightest. Instead, he sincerely answered that he did not know the details, but heard that someone had mentioned something.

Thirty minutes later, Mrs. Hudson saw the tall and strong visitors stepping on their tiptoes on the steps, like a big tiger. Behind him was John Watson, who were talking in a low voice, and the landlord who had been waiting at the stairs for fear of a quarrel on the upstairs relaxed. Salomon stepped on the old wooden steps lightly and said to Watson, "But I can't provide you with more clues. I don't know her life. I must know more than me. I just heard that the cause of her death was bizarre. No matter what, all mysteries must be solved by him. Oh, Mrs. Hudson. I dare to pat my chest to ensure that there is no black tea in the whole city of London."

"Thank you, sweet-mouthed guy." A smile appeared on the landlord's wrinkled face. "You can be much more considerate that annoying guy upstairs. Watson, don't look at me like this, you should take care of him. Yesterday someone heard him shooting in the room. Do you know what the neighbors would say!"

"I believe Mr. Sherlock Holmes has his own reason to do this," said Salomon perfunctorily. "Please allow me to go first, Mr. Watson, I have booked a hotel, so you won't have to worry about it. Thank you for your tea and cookies. I will definitely visit you again if you have the chance, Mrs. Hudson."

"Look, this is the likable young man." After Salomon left, the landlord's wife said to Watson without hesitation, "I'll be relieved when Sherlock Holmes can be like this young man."

"He's suspicious," said Sherlock Holmes. When Watson walked back to the living room, he found him huddled in a soft chair, staring straight at the seat where the client had sat, holding his cell phone. "I didn't say all the doubts, because I think his close combat ability may be stronger than us, and my pistol hasn't been on the bullet."

"Because you shot all the bullets yesterday."

"It must be Mrs. Hudson told you. But your old cane was still stuck in the umbrella stand, but I think he was closer to the umbrella stand than us. In short, the client gave me a pretty wrong feeling. It was not intuition, but observation and reasoning. It was not that simple. The client still had many secrets that he didn't tell us." Sherlock Holmes asked, "Do you remember where his taxi went after he left? I know you didn't care, so I've arranged for an informant to follow him. After a while, we'll know what was wrong with him."

Watson sat on the soft chair opposite with a questioning heart, and the air was silent. Whenever he wanted to ask something, Sherlock Holmes's eyes would tell him that the soul of his cohabiting man was not here, but searching everywhere in his memory maze. Suddenly, the phone she was holding in Sherlock Holmes rang, pulling the private detective back to the world.

"Ha...as expected!"

"What's wrong?" Watson asked hurriedly.

Sherlock Holmes looked up and looked at Watson meaningfully, "He's gone."

"What does it mean?" Watson's eyes widened, "What does it mean to be missing?"

"It just disappeared suddenly, Watson. He did not book a hotel room, but went to the restaurant near the crime scene, and then disappeared." Sherlock Holmes showed excitement that he could infect others. He jumped from the soft chair and walked around the small living room excitedly. "I feel like I'm approaching the mystery, Watson. I've figured out the shape of the mystery, but there is still a layer of smoke covering it. I have to confirm it, let's go!"

This chapter is not over, please click on the next page to continue reading! "Where are you going?" Before Watson could react, a coat was stuffed into his arms and a revolver filled with bullets. "This is my gun! How did you get it?"

The detective did not answer such boring questions.

"Go to the crime scene. I was bound by common sense, and I was bound by my own imagination." Sherlock Holmes narrowed his eyes, clenched his fists, and almost rolled down the stairs with a jumping posture, making a loud noise, which made Mrs. Hudson rushed out and watch without even taking off her apron. However, Holmes had no time to take care of the landlord's emotions, and he had more important things to do. "We go faster, maybe we will meet some people there."

Salomon walked into a small rental house. There was no light on the room. The only window was tightly sealed by wooden boards. Only a small amount of damp gray sunlight could shine through the gaps. The tiny dust slowly flew in the smelly air. He carefully checked the gift he left in the corner of the room. The half-dead vampire - this unlucky guy - was nailed to the cross by Salomon with a silver stake engraved with an evil rune. Its lower body had been crushed into a pool of rotten flesh. The vampire's regeneration ability was suppressed by the silver stake, causing it to fall into pain forever.

It looked at Salomon in horror and it could not shout out, because its tongue and throat had been pulled off.

This secret mage, who was even more cruel than a vampire, ignored its fear and carefully examined its physiological condition to estimate whether this idiot could live until the detective discovered the truth.
Chapter completed!