What appeared in front of him was an acquaintance, the plateau man who had chased little Ian on the steam subway before, with dark skin, sunken eye sockets, a thin and lean man from the plateau.

According to the results of Klein's "psychic", he is called Meursault, the "executor" of the Zmanger Party, and a leader with a high position.

"Excuse me, who are you looking for? Do you want to entrust me with something?" Klein deliberately showed a little confusion.

Meursault wore a black coat and a flamboyant silk top hat, but he was not at all a gentleman.

He looked at Klein indifferently, and asked back in Loen language with a strong plateau accent: "You are Sherlock Moriarty?"

"Yes." Klein replied succinctly.

Meursault nodded stiffly and said, "I want to entrust you to find someone."

"Let's talk about the specific situation." Klein didn't let himself show any abnormality.

Meursault shook his head coldly: "No need."

After finishing speaking, his eyes suddenly became sharp: "The person I am looking for is Ian, Ian Wright. He has bright red eyes. He is about fifteen or sixteen years old. He likes to wear brown and old coats. Wearing the same color bowler hat, I think you should know him."

Klein laughed and said, "I don't understand what you're talking about."

Meursault didn't seem to hear the other party's denial: "He is a thief who stole a very important item from me. As long as you can find him, you can get at least 10 pounds as a reward."

"You provided too few clues." Klein made an excuse at will.

"30 pounds." Meursault made a new offer.

Klein glanced at him and said, "No, this violates my principle of confidentiality."

"50 pounds." Meursault responded coldly.

"...I'm sorry, I won't accept this task." Klein was stunned for two seconds, but finally chose to refuse.

Meursault looked at him slowly and deeply for several seconds, his gaze gradually became cold and fierce.

He didn't make any new quotations, and didn't say goodbye politely. He turned around abruptly and walked quickly to the end of the street.

This gangster's intelligence capabilities are pretty good... He actually knew that Ian had come to look for me... Klein secretly sighed a few words, but he didn't feel too much worry or fear because of it.

After all, I am someone who has faced the heir of the evil god directly, even though there is a layer of belly... As he thought about it, his smile suddenly brightened, and he began to toss a coin to decide whether to go out today.

The answer is yes.

����

Saatchi Street, St. George's.

Klein, who changed from a railed stagecoach to a steam subway to a trackless stagecoach, finally arrived at his destination, spending a total of 11 pence.

As soon as he got out of the car, he found that it was raining outside, but he didn't bring an umbrella.

"According to newspapers and magazines, this is Backlund's daily life. Hats are popular because ladies and gentlemen don't carry umbrellas at all times..." Klein pressed his half-height silk top hat, and walked quickly. He rushed to the outside of house No. 9 and used the eaves to block the rain.

He patted off the obvious drops of water on his body and rang the doorbell.

But he didn't hear the voice of cuckoo and cuckoo, and he didn't notice the jingling.

"The doorbell is broken?" Klein was about to knock on the door when he heard footsteps coming from far and near. JrNovels.com