Sherlock Holmes

The blood on the ground had solidified, and a white corpse looked particularly eye-catching.

Even though the light was dim, it was still possible to see that the dead lady had mesmerizing snow-white skin, unblemished blond hair, slender limbs, plump breasts, and an exquisite face that surpassed those of the street women in the lower city.

However, such a beautiful body was completely cut open from the chest, and the huge slit extended to the lower abdomen. The skin and flesh were opened, revealing the empty blood cavity inside, and the limbs were also covered with shocking huge wounds.

Sherlock just looked at it

He didn't get closer to observe, let alone say a word.

A full 20 seconds passed.

Deacon Bader's towering brows furrowed slightly. The Sheriff on the side even thought that this guy might not have been frightened by the bloody scene.

At this moment, Sherlock finally made a move. He was very incompetent and threw the cigarette butt he had finished smoking into the gap between the steam armor knees next to him:

"Where are the clothes?" he asked nonchalantly.

"What?"

"The clothes of the deceased." Sherlock looked around again: "I didn't see the clothes of the deceased."

"This" the Sheriff hesitated slightly.

"The crime scene has not been touched by anyone. There were no clothes at the beginning. They should have been taken away by the murderer." Catherine came over at some point. She answered while looking at Sherlock expressionlessly. : "The duty of these police officers is only to protect the scene. They don't know the details of the murder. If you want to know anything, you can ask me."

Sherlock showed a rare gentlemanly demeanor: "Thank you, beautiful lady."

"No need to thank me, I don't like you. I just hope you can find the murderer quickly." She did not hide the indifference in her tone: "I hope your ability will not be as inferior as your quality. "

Maybe it was because the class gap was too huge that Catherine didn't want to hide her dislike for the detective in front of her, but it was also because the class gap was too big and she didn't embarrass him because of her dislike.

This commoner was not qualified to be embarrassed by a Judgment Sister.

So she just dismissed it, but she was extremely serious and informed the other party of all the clues she got.

As for Sherlock, he naturally would not have any resistance to this. He was not stupid, and he would not be looking forward to some kind of cross-class intersection like the Sheriff behind him.

He knew what he should do, and he also knew that he came here. In fact, he just wanted to try this case about the Holy See to see if it could bring some novelty to him.

Of course, since the Holy See has chosen him, he has to come whether he wants to or not.

In short, he listened to the clues from Catherine very calmly.

One speaks and the other listens.

In this way, this pair of men and women with a huge gap in status showed some strange tacit understanding at this time.

After a few minutes.

Sherlock finally frowned and said, "You guys basically didn't find anything."

Catherine remained expressionless: "As I told you before, the fewer people who know about this matter, the better. If we want to call on the people from the Tribunal, why do we need to find you, a private detective, to handle this matter? "

"It makes sense." Sherlock was not depressed at all. Instead, he smiled brightly and walked into the alley alone.

Catherine and Deacon Bader looked at each other and followed slowly; as for the short old priest, he had been standing motionless since he got off the carriage, like a statue. , and even faint snoring can be heard.

In the alley, the figures of several people divided the light of the gas lamp into fragmented patches.

Sherlock stepped over the muddy blood stains, leaned down, picked up a piece of minced meat, and glanced at it in the dim light:

"A cut liver, such a fragile tissue can be cut so neatly. The murderer's skills are pretty good."

His words were not spoken to anyone, but to himself in a habitual way.

"A piece of sternum is connected to two ribs, and the cut surface is equally neat." He picked up another bone and said: "This kind of dissection should not be completed in a short time. Judging from the degree of blood coagulation, the time of death is It was around 5 o'clock this morning. By the way, why is the murderer suddenly so obsessed with the number [four]?"

"Four?" Catherine said slightly confused.

"Yeah, this guy cut almost everything that could be cut into four pieces." As he said, he picked up a few more pieces of minced meat, skillfully pieced together a whole lung lobe, and then placed it on the open body of the body. in the chest.

"What are you doing?" Deacon Bader, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke. His voice was not loud, and there was no hint of disgust, but the scarlet notice strangely conveyed a great sense of oppression.

Most of the deacons of the Judgment Department are contractors and have reached the second stage. After all, only those with strong power can be qualified for those cruel and dangerous tasks.

However, Sherlock did not panic because of this pressure, and the movements of his hands did not stop at all:

"Sorry, Mr. Bader. I know this is a bit disrespectful to your wife, but the murderer should have left us some clues. Look here."

He spoke very quickly, pointing to a section of freshly coiled intestines and said: "A very shallow wound, running from top to bottom. After the murderer cut open his chest and abdomen, he did not rush to chop it up, but used a knife to cut the internal organs. There are some traces."

In just a few words, Sherlock had already chopped up the entrails all over the floor.

The Sheriff stood at the entrance of the alley and watched from a distance, but hesitated several times.

He had a very uncomfortable thought in his mind: It would be impossible for a normal person, even a doctor, to piece together the chopped internal organs so skillfully.

Could it be that this civilian detective in the lower city is constantly cutting internal organs? Practice makes perfect?

"alright."

Two minutes later, Sherlock had put away all the rest.

And between the fragmented internal organs, you can really vaguely see knife marks.

"YES?"

Deacon Bader's vision was obviously different from ordinary people's. Under such dim light, he could quickly identify the traces between the patchwork organs.

A bloody word scratched between the internal organs with a sharp knife——YES.