In the misty morning, Klein sat at his dining table, breaking specially bought oatmeal bread into pieces and soaking them in milk, modifying his eating method.
Although his body had long changed, his pursuit and persistence for good food were engraved in his soul. He could not adapt to the monotonous and repetitive breakfast style of the Loen Kingdom, so he could only try as many variations as possible, not limited to toast, bread, bacon, sausage, butter, and cream, striving to expand the boundaries and enrich his eating methods. For example, his recipe now included the popular southern pork pie, Feynapotter noodles, roasted corn pancakes, and other varieties.
"The caviar from the Feynapotter Empire is also not bad, but it's too expensive and only suitable for formal dinner parties..." Klein scooped up the softened small pieces of oatmeal bread with a spoon, put them into his mouth, and with just a slight chew, he felt the flowing milk full of wheat aroma, and the aftertaste of the bread became even sweeter.
After finishing breakfast, Klein put down his fork and spoon, didn't rush to clean up, picked up the newspapers that had just been delivered, and leisurely opened them to read.
In a while, I'll do a divination. If nothing comes up, I'll go to Sach Street in St. George District to visit Mr. Rheppard and see if his new type of transportation has investment value... Backlund is really big; each district is almost equivalent to the city of Tingen, and the East District is especially exaggerated, at least more than twice as large... The most convenient and cheapest way to travel is still foot to steam subway to foot, but it's a bit time-wasting... Klein's thoughts wandered boundlessly.
——The public carriage system in Backlund is similar to Tingen, with similar pricing. The only problem is that most of them are limited to a single district. If you want to go from Cherwood to St. George, you need to transfer several times along the way, and the price naturally goes up.
This situation made the prospects of new transportation very attractive.
Dong! Dong! Dong!
Just then, a knock as loud as a hammer echoed and drilled into Klein's ears.
Who is it... doesn't know to ring the doorbell... he muttered a couple of words, straightened his collar, came to the door, and pulled it open.
Appearing before him was an acquaintance, the highlander who had chased little Ian before on the steam subway, with dark skin, deep-set eyes, lean and strong.
According to Klein's "spirit communication" result, he was called Mersault, an "executioner" of the Zman Party, a high-ranking member.
"Excuse me, whom are you looking for? Do you have something to entrust to me?" Klein deliberately showed some confusion.
Mersault wore a black coat and an exaggerated silk top hat, but looked nothing like a gentleman.
He coldly measured Klein with his eyes and asked in Loen language with a strong highlander accent:
"You are Sherlock Moriarty?"
"Yes." Klein replied succinctly.
Mersault nodded stiffly:
"I want to entrust you to find someone."
"Come in and talk about the specifics." Klein didn't show any abnormality.
Mersault shook his head coldly:
"No need."
After saying that, his eyes suddenly became sharp:
"The person I want to find is called Ian, Ian Wright. He has bright red eyes, about fifteen or sixteen years old, likes to wear a brown, old overcoat and a matching round-topped hat. I think you should know him."
Klein laughed and said:
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Mersault seemed not to hear the denial: "He is a thief. He stole a very important item from me. As long as you can find him, you can get at least a reward of 10 pounds."
"You've provided too few clues." Klein made an excuse casually.
"30 pounds." Mersault gave a new offer.
Klein glanced at him and said:
"No, that violates my principle of confidentiality."
"50 pounds." Mersault replied coldly.
"...I'm sorry, I won't take this task." Klein paused for two seconds, then finally chose to refuse.
Mersault slowly and deeply examined him for a few seconds, his gaze gradually turning cold and fierce.
He didn't give a new offer, nor did he politely take leave. He turned sharply and quickly walked towards the end of the street.
This gang's intelligence capability is impressive... They actually know that Ian once came to me... Klein sighed inwardly, but didn't feel too much worry or fear because of this.
After all, I have faced the offspring of a false god, even if through a layer of belly... Thinking about this, his smile suddenly became bright, and he began to flip a coin to decide whether to go out today.
The answer was yes.
........
St. George District, Sach Street.
Klein, who had taken a tram, then the steam subway, then a trolleybus, finally arrived at his destination, spending a total of 11 pence.
As he stepped out of the carriage, he found that a drizzling rain was falling, and he hadn't brought an umbrella.
"According to newspapers and magazines, this is everyday in Backlund. The reason hats are popular is that ladies and gentlemen don't always carry umbrellas..." Klein pressed his half-high silk top hat, trotted to the outside of house number 9, and sheltered from the rain under the eaves.
He patted off the obvious water droplets on his body and pulled the doorbell.
But he didn't hear any cuckoo sound, nor did he notice any jingling.
"Is the doorbell broken?" Klein was about to knock on the door when he suddenly heard footsteps approaching.
His mind naturally conjured the figure of the arrival: a tall, thin, black-haired, blue-eyed gentleman in his thirties, wearing gray-blue work clothes but appearing refined.
Creak, the door opened. The man rubbed his forehead and said:
"Excuse me, whom are you looking for? What is the matter?"
Klein took off his hat, slightly bowed and said:
"I'm here to see Mr. Rheppard. I'm interested in his new type of transportation."
The man's eyes suddenly lit up:
"I am Rheppard. Please come in."
He stepped aside to let Klein in, but there was no coat rack in the hallway.
Klein could only lean his cane, not remove his coat, and follow Rheppard to the living room.