Chapter 363 Sunday Mystery Club

The young man sitting next to him trembled as if he was startled when he heard the sudden question from the sleeping passenger. He turned around and showed a shy smile unique to young people.

"Mr. John, are you awake? Are you asking how long it will take to reach the city?"

He thought about it for about three seconds, and seemed to have gone through precise calculations in his head before he answered seriously: "It's going to be very soon, we'll be in the city in about an hour or so. "

"Is there another hour..."

John Watson looked out the window and saw that the sky had completely darkened.

Through the faint yellow light of the two oil lamps hanging in front of the carriage, one could vaguely see the open fields on both sides of the road and the stars in the sky.

'The distance between Woolsthorpe and London is nearly 100 miles (160 kilometers), and the carriage's traveling speed is only about 12 miles (20 kilometers) per hour, which means that I have been asleep for six or seven hours. Yet? ’

Just when John Watson was wondering how he fell asleep for so long, a new memory suddenly popped up in his head.

It turns out that he didn't just fall asleep as soon as he got in the car. He also woke up halfway through the car and looked at the monotonous and boring scenery by the window in boredom.

Seeing that he was bored, the young man sitting next to him took out some books from the package and asked him if he wanted to kill time by reading.

John Watson readily agreed. He was worried that all the books in the sanatorium library had been read by him. It had been a while since he had learned unknown knowledge, and now his head seemed to be itching.

But in fact, he also knew that there was a very high probability that the books taken out by the young man he met by chance were knowledge that he had already browsed. After all, although printing technology is advanced in this era and the streets are full of readily available texts, in fact they are truly rare. Knowledge still circulates only in a small area - and John Watson carries such a small library in his mind.

It should be impossible for the boy sitting next to him to pull out words he has never seen before.

But John Watson obviously underestimated the teenager. The teenager, also named John, took out a mystery novel called "Three Coffins".

The book is full of three major factors: impossible crimes, terrifying and weird atmosphere, and whimsical conspiracies. Among them, the secret room conspiracies part amazed John Watson. He had never thought that a mystery novel could be like this. It’s whimsical, but behind the seemingly absurd and irrational nature is a layer of careful logic!

At that time, after John Watson carefully browsed the entire book, he closed the page with satisfaction, like a gourmet who had tasted a rare delicacy, and took a long breath, and sincerely praised:

"Suspenseful, thrilling, exciting, full of whimsy but following basic logic... It's like a glass of strong single malt whiskey. After a sip, you will feel hot and trembling at first, but then the tip of your tongue will start to ripple with lightness again. The return is sweet!”

"This is simply an epoch-making mystery novel!!!"

"Compared to this work, the previous works I wrote are as tasteless as a glass of thinned low-alcohol beer..."

John Watson was deeply affected. When Dr. George spoke highly of "A Study in Scarlet" before, he complacently believed it to be true, but at this moment it was just

But what shocked him even more was what the boy said next.

"Oh! So Mr. Watson, are you also writing mystery novels?" Young John suddenly scratched the back of his head shyly and said shyly, "I'm actually a little embarrassed to say it."

"Mr. Watson, the book "Three Coffins" you are holding is actually my work... I went to London this time just to bring my work to the publisher to see if it can be published and sold directly. ”

This sentence completely destroyed John Watson's inner confidence as a literary man.

He looked up and down in disbelief at the young man sitting next to him who not only had the same name as himself, John, but also had a similar appearance to his younger self, as if he had seen another version of himself.

A self that is more proficient in literature.

A self who has never been involved in the hidden world and whose hands have been stained with blood.

Perhaps it was because of the same name and similar face, or perhaps seeing that the boy was already one-eyed at such a young age, which gave rise to a rare sympathy in the heart of this normal person who had just left the lunatic asylum.

John Watson has a good impression of the young man sitting next to him. It seems that as long as he can help the young man, he can also help himself who was once impoverished.

So he specifically asked for the other party's contact information and temporary address, and said he could meet for afternoon tea in the city tomorrow to discuss writing methods and inspiration for mystery novels.

At this time, the smiling girl in the front row seemed to have heard the key point of afternoon tea. She turned back and looked at John Watson with a smile, and said in a soft and melodious tone like an oriole: "This Mr. Watson seems to be very If you are keen on mystery novels, why don’t you join our Sunday Mystery Club?”

"We get together every Sunday to discuss the content of mystery novels, and also discuss the details of recent domestic and international cases."

"Little John has always been a long-distance believer in our club. I believe that Mr. Watson, you have also seen his talent for mystery novels. There are also several members of the publishing house in our Sunday Mystery Club. They all feel that with his talent, he will be able to publish in London." There’s even more wonderful work being created in town.”

"So this time I came here specially to accompany the two brothers and sisters into the city."

"By the way, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Agatha. Agatha Christie is also a mystery novelist."

The smiling girl named Agatha stretched out her hand. Her arm looked as white, transparent and delicate as top-grade ivory carvings. You could vaguely see the emerald-green veins under the skin. Five of them were cut into Almond-shaped nails are pink and tender.

The little girl in a newsboy hat who was sitting with Agatha turned back and looked at John Watson with a strange and scrutinizing gaze. There seemed to be a trace of doubt and disgust in her beautiful light silver eyes?

"Elizabeth." The little girl said coldly, with a tone of disgust in her words.

"Elizabeth, don't be so rude!" Young John seemed to dislike his sister's cold attitude and scolded softly.

But this scolding was only met with a speechless eye roll from the little girl Elizabeth, who even muttered incomprehensible complaints.

"...Damn Seba... If it weren't for father... I would break you... to pieces."

The smiling girl Agatha immediately reached out her hand to cover the dirty words that the little girl was about to blurt out. Her long and curly eyelashes blinked slightly, and her charming eyes shone with some irresistible expectation.

"So Mr. Watson, would you like to join our Sunday Mystery Club?"

………………

It's late at night, and the restless city of London is dormant like a tired beast.

But the night is not too late yet, theaters, clubs, casinos, and pubs are still brightly lit, and the rich are still singing and dancing all night long, squandering money and desires.

Unloading docks, labor factories, and crushing enterprises are also running day and night. Workers continue to fight for life despite the recent fear of the Whitechapel Massacre and the monster in the House of Lords.

John Watson was walking on the streets of London, looking at the familiar yet unfamiliar city in front of him. For the first time, he felt so clearly the sequelae of losing his memory for more than two years.

"The world is developing so fast!" he exclaimed.

In the end, John Watson did not agree to the request of the girl Agatha and did not directly join the Sunday Mystery Club that the other party called.

But in fact, he was still very interested in this club full of mystery novelists.

Especially after reading another mystery masterpiece "Tragedy on the Nile" by the young girl Agatha, he admired John and Agatha, two young people who had already created works that shocked the entire mystery literature world at a young age. Although he is very good at killing and fighting, it is obvious that his literary accomplishments are not as good as those of these two young people.

He also has a sense of pride in his heart. He believes that since he has not created outstanding works yet, he is not qualified to join this Sunday Mystery Club, which gathers many talented novelists.

So she politely declined Miss Agatha's invitation and just asked for the address of the club. He bluntly said that when he creates better works, he will definitely take his new works to participate in the Sunday Mystery Club activities.

After leaving the long-distance carriage, John Watson did not rush directly to the Sherlock Holmes Detective Agency at 221B Baker Street. Instead, he found a clean hotel on River Street to stay in. When he was discharged from the hospital, Dr. George was already very considerate. Tell him Miss Holmes's address and give him some cash.

John Watson unknowingly walked to the place where he once grew up

After John Watson got off the car, he walked all the way to the George Mueller Church Orphanage where he had stayed.

He looked at the metal fence in front of him that he had worked so hard to read when he was a child. Now it was covered with green embroidery. He could easily bend and break the iron bars with just a little force.

He also passed by the bridge cave and ruins where he once lived. A group of hungry and cold orphans looked at him with vigilant eyes, as if they were worried that this thin man who suddenly appeared was the murderous Jack the Ripper who has been discussed in the streets recently. , because he is tired of disemboweling prostitutes, and now he is so crazy that he wants to attack these little brats who have no father, no mother, and no one pays attention to them!

Facing the fearful gazes of these skinny and trembling little kids, John Watson seemed to see his old self. He just smiled, left two baguettes and left silently.

"Okay, I've finished watching my cowardly life in the past. It's time to accept the missing memories and embrace my other self."

That night, the George Mueller Church Orphanage was invaded by thieves.

Evidence of the director's abuse of orphans and embezzlement of charity funds was left in the mailbox of the London Daily News. He was soon dismissed under the operation of a group of pseudo-philanthropists who claimed to be kind and kind, and was replaced by another new one with a far-reaching reputation for charity. Dean.

A group of little orphans thought they could finally escape their hungry and cold life. Even during the dinner service, they no longer thanked God, but thanked the unknown thief!

Little did they know that the kindness of that kind man pushed these newly hopeful orphans into a new abyss of terror. The newly appointed Dean Epstein loved to play with children the most. !

………………

The next day, the morning light came.

John Watson also walked to Baker Street.

Although it is not yet normal business hours, there are already many passers-by walking on Baker Street Avenue. It is obvious that this is an extremely hard-working community.

But these passers-by, who looked like they were rushing to work, had another explanation in the eyes of John Watson.

He walked very slowly on the street, stopping from time to time to look up and around. He immediately noticed prying eyes coming from the tops of two tall buildings on Baker Street.

And at first glance, the street seems to be crowded with people, but in fact, the attentive John Watson has clearly remembered the face of every passerby in his mind.

He naturally discovered that some passers-by seemed to be in a hurry to go somewhere, but in fact they were lingering on Baker Street.

Every time I walk through the streets, I change my outfit slightly, either taking off my windbreaker or changing my hat.

But this can't change the looks on their faces at all. One of the long-haired ladies alone has appeared back and forth in front of John Watson five times! And it’s a different outfit every time!

When John Watson walked to the middle of Baker Street, a genuine resident finally happened to push the door open. The other person looked at the familiar figure staying in front of the door and shouted with slight surprise: "Mr. Watson?!"

"Mr. Watson, are you finally back?!"

But John Watson had no impression of the middle-aged fat man in front of him at all.

He could only smile awkwardly and reply along with what the other person said.

"Long time no see. I just returned to London yesterday and rushed back early this morning."

"Come back in a hurry?" the middle-aged fat man asked doubtfully: "What are you doing in a hurry? Has Miss Holmes hired you to come back as a detective assistant again???"

The troubled uncle shook his head in disbelief in the next second, "Impossible...Now that the Holmes Detective Agency has expanded to such a big room, Miss Holmes should have no shortage of manpower, so why do you still have to do it?" Will you choose to re-employ Mr. Watson?”

"Hey, it's only been a few months since we last met. Why are you injured again, Mr. Watson? This scar on your face looks really scary!"

"Re-employment?" John Watson murmured the word and thought in his mind:

"According to the opinion of this uncle I have never met before, I have actually been fired by Miss Holmes a long time ago?"

"Then why did Miss Holmes send me to a mental sanatorium and even gave me that extremely precious prosthetic eye?"

"Perhaps... what this uncle heard was just false news?"

"No matter what, I still have to personally thank Miss Holmes for giving me this prosthetic eye... Let's go to the detective agency first."

Click, click, click, John Watson knocked on the door of the detective agency.

However, the person who opened the door was an unfamiliar face that he had never remembered before.

The other party looked at the scarred John Watson and asked in a wary tone: "Who are you?"