The detective is dead, I did it.

Chapter 13 Return to the Slums

Just then, a horse-drawn carriage suddenly turned out from the exit of a side alley.

The car body was jet black, inlaid with dark silver patterns, and fine silk from the neighboring Ming Dynasty hung on the windows.

Li Ang glanced at it and secretly estimated that he might not be able to afford that silk curtain in his entire life.

The carriage came to a steady stop in front of Charlotte. The coachman was about sixty years old, wearing a black tailcoat with a gray bow tie at the collar.

The other person's unhurried demeanor clearly indicated that he was a true old gentleman from London.

He walked up to Charlotte, bent down, and said, "I'm sorry, Miss Charlotte, I'm late."

"No. You've come at just the right time."

The old man straightened up, respectfully opened the carriage door, took out a pair of small leather shoes from the carriage, and bent down to place them at Charlotte's feet.

The shoes were dark brown with tiny bows adorning the surface, clearly handmade and of high quality.

Charlotte took off her dirty stockings, put her bare feet into her shoes, stomped on them a couple of times, and her brows relaxed slightly.

Then she turned to Li Ang, "I need to go back and wash up, and change my clothes."

From the beginning, her chest remained a bright red stain, which had dried and turned dark brown, making the front of her plaid dress look like a rag.

Charlotte would have taken off her clothes long ago if it weren't considered impolite to take them off in public.

"By the way, assistant, do you want some?" Charlotte waved the gray stockings in her hand.

"Do you think I would want it?" Li Ang's face turned ugly.

This guy's really treating himself like a piece of porridge, bro. Do you even know what kind of person he is?

"Looks like you don't want it." Charlotte casually tossed the expensive stockings into the dirt. "Actually, I don't mind if you use it for some weird things."

Li Ang politely declined Charlotte's offer.

Humans cannot, or at least should not.

"I hope you'll keep your word," he said, staring at Charlotte.

"Don't worry." Charlotte held onto the carriage door, placed one foot on the footrest, and looked back at him. "Although those armed detectives are brainless and love to pretend to be ladies, you can trust them when it comes to combat skills."

She was clearly referring to the two Level 2 Executives who rescued Ktura.

Li Ang did not respond.

Charlotte boarded the carriage, sat down by the door, and leaned out the window. "Well then," she waved, "see you later, assistant."

With a gentle flick of his whip, the coachman sent the carriage slowly moving away, eventually disappearing around the corner of the alley.

The night wind carried the fishy smell of the Thames and the acrid smell of coal emanating from the factory.

Li Ang stood there for a while, then suddenly frowned.

Wait a minute. I don't think I told the other person where I live.

What about the payment later? Is he going to get ripped off?

Li Ang stared at the direction the carriage had disappeared in for a long time, feeling that he probably couldn't catch up, so he could only start walking towards the slums.

After walking about ten steps, he suddenly stopped.

He felt like he had vaguely forgotten something, but after thinking for a long time, he couldn't remember it.

Never mind. Things I can't remember probably aren't important.

Meanwhile, on the other side...

Conniesha felt that what happened today was very surreal.

She sat in her elegantly decorated room, holding a cup of now-cold black tea, staring blankly at the flickering flames in the fireplace.

How did it all start?

Oh, right. She was initially considered the prime suspect in Norman's murder, even though she hadn't done anything like that, but the scene was full of evidence she had left behind.

He intended to ask Miss Charlotte for help, but instead stumbled upon the scene of her assistant's murder, which was also the crime scene of Leon Moriarty.

She thought she had caught him red-handed and could use it to coerce him into clearing her name.

As a result, they were outmaneuvered by the other party.

She waited and waited, hoping the man would come to discuss cooperation, but he never showed up.

And the commotion outside grew louder and louder, first with several gunshots, then with a lot of footsteps and angry shouts. She couldn't help but open the window and stick her head out—

Then she witnessed the most bizarre scene of her life.

Miss Charlotte, who should have died, was currently being held in Li Ang's arms.

He carried the detective girl and ran wildly downstairs, followed by about a dozen men dressed in black robes, wielding short knives and clubs, howling as they chased after him.

She had never seen anything like it before.

Connie thought for a moment that she hadn't woken up properly, or that someone had put something in the black tea she drank last night.

But then, it all ended.

Her suspicion was inexplicably cleared, and the detectives told her, "Mrs. Connie, you can go home now."

Completely bewildered, Conniesha was taken home. She sat on the sofa, a glass of cold tea in her hand, only one thought in her mind:

Could it have been Mr. Moriarty? What a wicked man. I should thank him properly next time.

......

On the other side, as darkness fell, Li Ang crossed the invisible line.

That was the boundary between the slums and the outside world. There were no boundary markers, no walls, but everyone living in the East District knew where that line was.

Beyond this line, the stone-paved road turned into a muddy road, the gas streetlights became a pitch-black alleyway, and the perfume scent in the air turned into the stench of rotting garbage.

Li Ang took a deep breath.

99% new, that's the taste!

What's even stranger is that he actually found the taste somewhat familiar.

"Hey! Uncle Jack, anything good today?"

As they passed a low-rise house, Li Ang greeted an old man sitting inside.

Looking through the window, the old man's room wasn't large, but it was crammed full of things.

The wall was covered with all sorts of strange and unusual parts, all salvaged from the factory's massive gears. I don't know how they managed to get their hands on them.

On the iron shelf in the corner were bottles and jars containing a suspiciously colored liquid.

If the detectives' association's executives saw this, they'd probably think it was some kind of evil potion from witches and drag Old Jack out into the street to burn him alive.

The room belonged to old Jack. No one knew how long he had lived there, nor where he had gotten his things.

But you can find anything here, from a sewing needle to a revolver, from a secret medicine to a drug that can keep all the dockworkers asleep for a day and a night.

Of course, the price isn't cheap either.

In this slum, Old Jack is a legend; some even say he used to be a detective, though he's retired now.

Li Ang said he didn't care about that. All he knew was that the things Old Jack had were indeed useful.

When I first started carrying sacks, my shoulders were almost ruined, but I was cured by medicine I bought from the other party.

Moreover, the other party offered me a discounted price, only twenty pence.