Chapter 60: The Persistent Woman

Although the unexpected visit caught Charl off guard, fortunately, Mrs. Lawrence was also a reasonable person. After reading through the detailed report, her sense of disappointment regarding today's visit was much mitigated.

"Since the investigation is already concluded, why wasn't the report handed over to me immediately? Was it because of Mr. Sparrow Hamilton's sudden illness?"

The aristocratic lady inquired politely, placing the report beside her. She was fashionably dressed, and her ruffled collar beautifully accentuated her fair neck. Although she appeared significantly older than Madame Lassoya, she possessed a very distinguished aura.

"After taking over this detective agency, I organized Uncle Sparrow's remaining cases. My original intention was to append to the end of the report the final surveillance session that was left incomplete due to Uncle Sparrow's illness, so I conducted another surveillance on Lassoya last Saturday..."

Charl put on a troubled expression, then gently shooed away the orange cat that had walked over out of worry. He sat down on the single-armchair and spoke to the client with a deeply concerned tone:

"During my investigation, Madame Lassoya's background appeared to be rather extraordinary. It seems that she... has connections with illegal local social organizations."

He tapped his fingers on the armrest, revealing his anxiety:

"It is extremely dangerous."

He then assumed an even more troubled look, trailing off without continuing, prompting Mrs. Lawrence to nod in tacit understanding.

Charl had no idea what she had managed to deduce.

"You believe that continuing the investigation would bring danger, and submitting the report might expose your and Sparrow Hamilton's surveillance activities to that shameless woman, so you gave up further investigation."

The aristocratic lady summarized, essentially guessing Charl's exact thoughts:

"Yes, that's right. I didn't want to get mixed up in trouble over this. Of course, by doing this, I am also voluntarily terminating the investigation. If you wish, I can return the advance payment Uncle Sparrow collected, and you are welcome to take this report with you, but I have nothing further to do with this matter... Forgive me for saying so, but I also hope you won't entangle yourself too deeply in it."

Madame Lassoya was connected to the illegal organization, [Blood of Mercury], and that organization was recently plotting a major incident. Since the professors had helped Charl sever all ties with the [Blood of Mercury], Charl had no desire to have any further contact with illegal organizations.

"Detective, thank you for your kind intentions, but I couldn't care less about what kind of background that woman has. Don't I have a background of my own?"

Mrs. Lawrence, single-mindedly seeking evidence of her husband's infidelity, said with her chin held high.

"But that Madame Lassoya, she..."

Charl did not know how best to express it. He truly did not want this already pitiful woman to meet a grim fate due to misunderstanding his intentions.

"Not only does she have connections with upper-crust nobility, but she is also tied to the local underworld. You see, she is the kind of person who... whether through legal or illegal means, can bring misfortune upon us."

Charl tried his best to exaggerate the other party's influence.

"Detective, I appreciate your good intentions, but I am not merely a housewife confined to the home."

Hearing this, Charl immediately recalled the basic background information of this client. Although Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence were not nobility, they were major factory owners, and the assets in their hands were more than enough to frighten any newcomer lacking worldly experience. The two of them had not built their fortunes from scratch; they both came from flourishing families, and their marriage contained elements of mutual interest.

Had Detective Sparrow not built such a strong reputation for investigating extramarital affairs, a client of this caliber would never have sought him out. Therefore, when Mrs. Lawrence claimed she had considerable means of her own, she was not simply boasting.

Seeing that Charl still wanted to say something, the aristocratic lady shook her head and said with a feigned air of mystery:

"Detective, this world is actually not as simple as we think."

The ordinary woman said this to an outsider who was a ring-warlock. The scent of her perfume was quite strong, yet surprisingly not pungent—at least, little Mia showed no signs of dissatisfaction toward the client.

"The world is like an isolated island, Detective, but the true reality lies beyond the island. In this world, there are some very extraordinary people—powerful, effective, eerie, and dangerous. I've met a few such individuals during the housewives' afternoon tea parties, and they are capable of solving my troubles."

Charl certainly understood what she meant by refusing to elaborate. Amidst his shock, he momentarily had no idea how to react.

The kingdom enjoyed a deep cooperative relationship with the orthodox churches. Although the three major arcane academies all remained hidden outside civilized society, they also maintained varying degrees of connection with the nobility and the royal family, a point Professor Sanchez had mentioned when discussing Miss Louisa. Meanwhile, unofficial ring-warlocks might also appear among ordinary people for the sake of gold pounds or other reasons, so Mrs. Lawrence likely hadn't simply fallen for a fraudster when she claimed to know ring-warlocks.

"Is that so?"

He was certain his expression at that moment must have looked quite strange:

"That is a relief. But Madame Lassoya is truly dangerous; regardless of what methods you have at your disposal, please be extremely careful and cautious."

The young detective said, nodding.

"Yes, of course I understand that. If I truly intend to do something, I will naturally be very cautious, and I will not allow myself to show my face before her... This investigation report is excellent; I can use it to track the whereabouts of that shameless woman and my husband."

She rolled up the report and tucked it into her small ladies' handbag. Then, taking out her wallet and opening its brass clasp, she retrieved two golden coins, each representing one pound, placing them on the coffee table between them. Her fingernails, painted with red polish, gently tapped the coins:

"I am truly sorry for the death of Detective Sparrow Hamilton; he was a very reliable man. This is the final payment for this commission, Detective. The rest of the matter has nothing to do with you and will not implicate you."

The aristocratic lady smiled politely at Charl, then straightened her dress and stood up.

The original balance due was "one pound and seven shillings," which had now been rounded up to "two pounds." Charl wondered whether he should voice his thanks. He stood up to see the client out, exchanging polite remarks while vaguely sensing that the other party would never appear in this house again:

"Mrs. Lawrence..."

In the first-floor foyer, Charl still called out to the aristocratic lady just as she was about to step out the door. Naturally, he could not expose his identity as a ring-warlock, but he still wished to prevent her from meeting a tragic end:

"Please be sure to be careful. Even if you know very good friends, Madame Lassoya herself is far from simple—she is a thoroughly dangerous person."

Mrs. Lawrence turned around and smiled at him:

"Detective Hamilton, you truly are a kind man. But I suppose, compared to your uncle, you aren't really suited to be a detective here."

*"Hmph? Why is Sparrow Hamilton's reputation so poor? Little Franklin seemed to dislike him too last time."*

Charl thought to himself, standing on the stairs and watching Mrs. Lawrence open the first-floor apartment door and board the carriage waiting for her outside.

The young detective walked to the doorway, standing on the stone steps of Number 6 St. Deran Square, watching the private carriage circle halfway around the square under the gloomy sky before driving away into the distance, feeling deeply uneasy about the events that might soon unfold.

The sultry summer city of Topersk seemed on the verge of rain.