Chapter 35: The Debt Problem
1065 Words
Time slowly ticked down to 5 PM. The wind on the river began to feel icy. Sherlock had been thinking about his dream and that breathtaking glance from the window.
Several hours had passed; he wondered how his little worm was doing at work.
People are always pragmatic. When someone is useless, they call them trash; when they're useful, they call them adorable…
Anyway, he finally flagged down a carriage and headed towards Baker Street.
As night fell, after the sunlight had been completely diluted by the steam, Sherlock finally returned to his new home.
He paid the fare and stepped down from the carriage… just about to look up at his window;
But his gaze was drawn to two people standing in front of the apartment building.
One of them was dressed fairly well; an open trench coat revealed a suit jacket and pantsuit trousers. He looked like one of those shrewd, calculating successful bankers… or perhaps a capitalist's lackey.
As for the other one, his job was easy to identify. He was a burly man with rotten teeth, one sunken eye—probably from being punched in a street fight—and dressed in burlap, with three buttons undone in the cold weather, deliberately revealing a gruesome, poorly stitched scar on his chest.
This personnel configuration made Sherlock instantly realize what they were there for.
Debt collection… The well-dressed man was an accountant, responsible for using relatively refined methods to collect funds and interest from debtors, including legal, financial, and contractual matters.
If the debtor didn't cooperate, another person would take over.
This method of debt collection was quite common in the lower city…
So, Sherlock approached: “Hello, may I ask who you two are at my door…?”
“Your house?” The accountant frowned, sizing Sherlock up and down. “As far as I know, this should belong to a lady named ‘Jeanne Laetitia Hudson.’”
“Oh, she’s my landlady,” Sherlock said.
The man nodded in realization. “I see… Actually, we knocked on the door for a long time, but no one answered, so… have you seen her recently?”
“I don’t think I’ve seen her for a week.”
“…” A slightly frustrated silence followed. The debtor shrugged, then reluctantly pulled an envelope from the lining of his trench coat. “Sir, since you live here, if you encounter Miss Jeanne, could you please pass this debt list to her?”
“Of course,” Sherlock said, taking the envelope.
The accountant gave a wink to the thug beside him and turned to leave.
“Please wait a moment,” Sherlock suddenly said.
“Hmm?” The two men in front of him turned around. “Is there anything else?”
“Oh… I just wanted to ask, if you two suddenly died, would this debt still be valid?!” Sherlock asked with utmost politeness.
“…” This question was met with about five seconds of silence. The burly man with the fierce appearance seemed to sense a hint of threat or provocation in the question, and instinctively wanted to slap the skinny guy a few times to teach him a lesson in speech.
However, the other man's extremely polite and amiable attitude made him unsure whether the other man was actually trying to cause trouble.
“Haha, sir, we are a very legitimate debt company, not one of those street-side loan sharks. We are guaranteed by a bank.” The accountant, probably thinking Sherlock was genuinely unaware, explained with a smile, and even pulled out a business card: “If you need any financial support, you can contact us.”
The business card read “Crawford Capital Management Company.”
Sherlock nodded. "Alright, I'll pass this on to Mrs. Hudson for you."
He then watched the two leave…
The two men showed no sign of relief. In truth, if they hadn't worked for a loan company and were operating independently, there might have been two more corpses floating in the Thames tonight.
Once the two had disappeared from sight, Sherlock turned back and knocked on the landlord's door on the first floor.
This time, the door opened quickly.
Mrs. Hudson yawned, as if she had just woken up, and when she saw Sherlock at the door, she seemed taken aback: "Oh, it's you... Haha... You must have been knocking for a long time, um, I'm a heavy sleeper, sometimes I might not hear you..."
She put on an apologetic look, but when she saw the letter in Sherlock's hand and the business card of the debt collection agency on it, she finally sighed helplessly:
"Well... but these days, everyone can run into trouble, right?"
"Of course, actually I quite dislike these debt collection agencies, although they can..." "It will solve your immediate problems, but it will pay you back in the future, even more severely." Mrs. Hudson smiled genuinely upon hearing Sherlock's words. "You seem more likeable than the previous tenants."
"Really? Then... the rent..."
"Not a penny less." Mrs. Hudson took the envelope, but hesitated for a moment. "But if I ever make too much lunch, I wouldn't mind sharing it with you."
"It would be my pleasure." Sherlock didn't continue his conversation with the landlady, exchanging only a few polite greetings before heading upstairs.
He planned to get some sleep; many mysteries still fascinated him in his dreams.
Oh, speaking of the landlady.
Actually, when he opened the door, Sherlock could clearly smell the disinfectant emanating from her.
This smell couldn't have accumulated in a short time.
So, his landlady works at a hospital...? Whatever.
... He pushed open the apartment door and turned on the gas light.
The lighting here was brighter than where Sherlock had stayed before, so it was clear that after a whole day, the small room in reality showed absolutely no signs of change.
Sherlock tidied up his only 'formal attire,' patted the dampness off his beanie, hung it on the coat rack, and then went back to lie down on the sofa.
He was a little excited, and although he tried his best to suppress this burgeoning sense of exploration of the unknown world, it still took him a full 15 minutes to fall asleep this time.
Finally, with the familiar drowsiness and sinking...
In that white room, he opened his eyes.
- Writer
