Chapter 275: Chapter 275

The banking industry was developing at an optimistic pace, and the nation's most discerning and shrewd merchants and nobles were already beginning to get involved. Though still imperfect, the basic framework of a banking system was in place. Beyond the less-than-reliable small loans offered to small-time farmers and factory owners, private banks also provided insurance services for middle-class families—functions that religious and state banks did not offer. It was said that large-scale private banks had already emerged in the Cheslan Kingdom, but in Nolan, Jenkins's only option was the Travelers' Bank.

He entered the bank under a disguised identity and, after presenting his seal, easily managed to change the information on the anonymous account. He had acquired this account to handle the letters from Eldron. In the foreseeable future, his correspondence with them would continue for quite some time, and it was likely to involve financial transactions.

Tucking banknotes into the envelopes every time would easily attract the attention of border inspections when the letters crossed into another country. Though the era was technologically behind, its financial concepts were not. The large-scale movement of paper money was bound to cause trouble, so the best method was to conduct small, frequent transactions through a bank.

Looking back, his initial goal had been merely to test whether the address on Green Avenue was a cultist's residence. Now, he had been forced into opening a bank account.

"I seem to have invested quite a bit of money already."

Jenkins sipped his tea, waiting for the staff to finalize his account, all the while calculating his gains and losses.

"I've definitely poured too much cash into this Eldron business," he mused. "I'm short on funds now, so I can't be so free-spending anymore. I'll have to think carefully when I write my reply tonight. I remember that in both letters I read, they seemed to want to ask me about investment opportunities..."

Amusingly, the female bank teller assisting him seemed to be dressed a bit improperly. A button on her blouse was undone, revealing a lacy brassiere beneath. Jenkins kindly pointed it out, only to be met with a bewildered expression from the woman.

Due to the special nature of the account, the local bank manager met with Jenkins personally and gave him a checkbook that could be used with a simple signature. Follow current novᴇls on ⓝovelFire.net

But with only a ten-pound deposit in his account, Jenkins figured he was unlikely to be using it anytime soon.

Carrying the seal and checkbook, he walked back out onto the main street. Although the watchmaker's shop was near the bank, he decided against getting his pocket watch repaired to avoid having his current persona appear in places his real self frequented.

His next stop for the day was the city's pet management center on the outskirts. He had been wondering if he might run into Hathaway and Miss Mikhail again, and sure enough, as he stepped out of the carriage holding Chocolate, he saw the carriage bearing the Mikhail family crest.

Involuntarily, Jenkins recalled the scene he had witnessed the night before while peering out from the wardrobe. His pleasant mood instantly soured.

Leaning on his cane, he entered the center's courtyard and went through the same procedure as last time. Jenkins never hesitated to spend money on Chocolate, and he tipped generously. Consequently, after getting his documents stamped in the second-floor office, the kind-faced woman even gave Jenkins a cat teaser.

But Chocolate was utterly disdainful of the toy. As Jenkins walked out, dangling the teaser in front of the cat, Chocolate swatted it aside with a flick of his paw.

"Heh, you seemed to have plenty of fun playing with that metal piece of mine last time, didn't you?"

Jenkins asked, stroking the cat's head. The feline didn't answer, simply closing its eyes and tilting its head up to let Jenkins pet him.

"Mr. Williams, what breed is this cat of yours? Why hasn't it grown at all?"

He looked up and realized it was Miss Mikhail who had spoken. She and Hathaway were standing side-by-side beneath a huge oil painting of a cat. Both women were holding small, collared cats of their own. An inscription at the bottom of the painting noted the cat's pedigree and the noble status of its owner.

"I found Chocolate on the street. I doubt he's a valuable breed, is he? Otherwise, he wouldn't have been abandoned, especially since there's nothing wrong with him..."

As he spoke, Jenkins's voice trailed off. He paid no mind to why the two ladies were there, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"That's right... Chocolate is so adorable, he isn't disabled, and he barely eats. Why would someone deliberately abandon him at an intersection on Maidenhaven Road in the middle of the night?"

His gaze toward the cat once again filled with suspicion.

Before Jenkins could dwell on it, Chocolate shot out of his arms. Hathaway hastily put down the cat she was holding and tried to stop him, but of course, she failed. To this day, Jenkins had never seen any creature more agile than Chocolate.

Worried that Chocolate might cause trouble, he hurried after him. By the time the two ladies, hindered by their high heels, caught up, they saw Jenkins crouching down, gripping the cat around its middle, but frowning at a nearby door.

It was a very ordinary wooden door, bearing a white label that read "Fifth General Management Office." But the sight was enough to make Jenkins temporarily set aside his suspicions about Chocolate.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Williams?"

Miss Mikhail asked softly, while a servant behind her took the cat she had been holding.

"It's nothing. But I remember the last time I brought Chocolate here, he refused to wear his collar and ran off everywhere. He ended up right at this spot. But I recall the door here wasn't wooden then; it was a relatively new iron door, and you could feel a chill just standing in front of it."

What had actually left a deeper impression on Jenkins was the cat spirit that had drifted out from behind that door, which he had dispersed with his cane. But the incident with the hospital specter had just ended, so he hadn't given much thought to the spirit's origin, especially since paranormal events had been rampant throughout the city at the time.

Thinking back now, the spirit's behavior had been strange as well. Not only did it show no sign of intelligence, but even the color of its spiritual aura was subtly different from that of an ordinary ghost.

"An iron door? Impossible. To make the environment here suitable for pets, there are no metal doors on the second or third floors of this building."