Chapter 227: Chapter 227

With winter fast approaching, the windows in the study were kept shut to maintain a comfortable temperature. Through the glass, he could see the usual traffic of pedestrians and carriages on the street below. It was another day of foul air. The effects of the workers' riots seemed to have completely dissipated, and the tireless factories once again churned out sweat and black smoke, day and night.

A stooped man hurried past the fence, his profile oddly familiar. Jenkins's eyes narrowed sharply, and at the same moment, he felt the metal nut on his chest grow warm. But he quickly composed himself, for just a few seconds later, a disguised Miss Miller also passed by the gate.

"Have they found him already?"

He wondered, his brow furrowing.

"Mr. Williams, have you thought of something?"

Perhaps it was Jenkins's calm demeanor, contrasted with his furrowed brow, that gave Detective Ignaz the wrong impression, prompting him to ask.

Jenkins shook his head, but his gaze fell upon some covered papers scattered on the table. He asked,

"I'm just curious. What did Mrs. David hire you for?"

"I'm sorry, I must maintain client confidentiality, even if she is now..."

"Of course, if the police inquire, I will tell them everything. I just hope this affair doesn't tarnish the reputation of these two poor souls."

The detective's gaze drifted to Mrs. David with a hint of pity. Jenkins surmised that he had been investigating something dishonorable, most likely an extramarital affair.

"Do you think it was poison? I ask because I'm quite fond of detective novels, and in a situation , poisoning seems the most likely culprit, wouldn't you say?"

"We can't jump to conclusions so easily. It could be some rare, underlying medical condition... Mr. Williams, real murder cases are quite different from what you read in books. It's difficult to determine the cause of death through simple observation. That being said, it's quite rare to find someone as composed as you are in the presence of a corpse." Check latest chapters at novel✦fire.net

Whether the remark was a test or something more, Jenkins knew he had to deflect the suspicion.

"I've seen far more gruesome corpses. The antiques at Pops Antique Shop aren't just goldware, jewelry, furniture, or paintings. Some collectors have... unique tastes, like collecting ancient bodies. There was a viscount, for instance—my apologies, I can't disclose his name. Two months ago, Pops somehow acquired a coffin, and I helped him clean it out. The body inside was completely desiccated, wrapped in white linen strips, and the color of its skin... my apologies."

Noticing the young maid beside him start to gag, Jenkins quickly changed the subject. His story was true, for the most part. The only difference was that the buyer hadn't been a viscount, but a follower of the Church of Death and End. It was official church business.

Detective Ignaz's eyes darted between the wineglass on the carpet and the maids, his suspicion of the three women obvious. Jenkins reasoned that, under normal circumstances, he himself had little connection to the case. He would likely be free to leave after giving his statement. The detective was no rookie; once he cleared his own name, he could use his connections to distance himself from the whole affair. The three maids, however, would become the primary suspects. If the trail went cold and the detective established his alibi, it was almost certain one of them would be branded the killer—particularly whoever had handled the glass.

"Ladies, may I ask who prepared Mrs. David's wine?"

To Jenkins's surprise, Detective Ignaz actually voiced the question.

"What is he doing? Has he already found the killer?"

Jenkins wondered, perplexed. For a detective who was the last person to see the victim alive, getting directly involved would only bring trouble upon himself.

The third maid raised her hand. She was also young, with a scattering of freckles across her face. Jenkins didn't know her well; they had never exchanged words.

The maid's eyes darted from the detective to the wineglass, a look of panic spreading across her face. "Sir," she stammered, "you can't possibly suspect..."

"No, no, miss. Please, relax."

If the detective hadn't cut her off, the woman might have fainted from the sheer stress of her words. As it was, she was still trembling so violently that she would have collapsed if not for her companions holding her up.

"You prepared the wine, and you brought it up?"

"Yes, sir. Oh, but it truly had nothing to do with me! The mistress bought that bottle from the Ponton winery herself. Back when Mr. David was still alive, they would..."

She let out another shriek, her eyes rolling back in their sockets as she gasped for breath.

Another flurry of activity ensued as the others tried to calm her. Jenkins shot a look at the detective, who merely shrugged, a look of pure innocence on his face.

"Please, don't worry. We can't be certain it was poison. And even if it was, the toxin wasn't necessarily in the wine... It could have been the glass."

Jenkins murmured reassuringly.

The maid, who had just regained her composure, went pale again. "The glass... I was the one who washed and prepared it."

"No, no, no, it might not have been the glass either."

Jenkins added hastily, his eyes sweeping over the detective and the other two maids before landing on the corpse.

"It could have come from somewhere else, for instance, for instance..."

The writer—an antique shop apprentice by trade, currently playing detective—now added "actor" to his list of roles. He managed to stammer out five "for instances" before rubbing his chin anxiously and continuing in a flustered tone, "Or perhaps someone broke in and poisoned the glass or the wine! Yes, that must be it."

He grew more confident with each word, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yes, that's exactly it! The killer could have come from outside the house. She might have ingested the poison much earlier, and its effects only tragically manifested just now. It could have been anything—food from a funeral, her lipstick, any number of things could have been the target."

"That's from the *Detective Knight Biography*, isn't it?"

Bester, one of the maids, piped up in a trembling voice. An embarrassed look immediately crossed Jenkins's face, though inwardly he was delighted.

"Excellent, miss. You're playing your part beautifully."

The detective seemed to realize something, his eyes narrowing. He turned to scrutinize the expressions of the three maids, then approached the body again, crouching down as if to confirm a suspicion.

"That does remind me of something."