The Great Demon Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 72: Under Order…

As the London supernatural event security management agency, White Thorns naturally had a dedicated telephone line to Scotland Yard.

Twenty minutes later, Father Thompson and Watson arrived. The rest were either busy dealing with the death of their colleague or staying at the company. On this night of London's first snowfall, everyone seemed incredibly busy.

The buildings on both sides of the street weren't very tall, with only a few windows occasionally letting in the light of gaslight. In the gaps between these buildings, the train platform was elevated three or four stories high by the elevated railway tracks. Sometimes, residents on both sides could touch the steel frames supporting the platform when they opened their windows.

However, this forced, haphazard construction didn't cause much dissatisfaction. After all, steam trains provided great convenience, and those steel frames blocking the sunlight could simply be hidden by drawing the curtains; there wasn't much sunlight anyway.

Humans, especially those from the lower classes, are better at self-deception than any other creature.

Ristor Thompson walked onto the waiting platform. A short distance away, four or five men were huddled together in a section of the train car. Even without the bright spotlights, their faces were deathly pale, and several puddles of vomit lay nearby.

Upon seeing the White Thorn's men arrive, several officers leaning against the railings straightened up with difficulty and gave a slight salute.

Actually, if it were anyone else, these officers, who had practically vomited up their dinner the night before, wouldn't have been so respectful. But Thompson's full priestly attire made them instinctively adopt a reverent attitude.

"No eyes?" Ristor Thompson asked directly.

"Yes… two bodies, gruesome deaths, both missing their eyeballs," a man wearing rubber gloves said weakly. It was clear he was the accompanying coroner.

Father Thompson nodded, then walked past the group and headed towards the carriage…

As soon as he opened the door, the disgusting and b****y scene made him frown. Watson followed closely behind, quickly feigning discomfort upon seeing the sight.

After all, it would be too strange to remain calm at this moment.

“Clearly, the Eye-Gouging Demon did this,” he said.

“The demon will be purified by the holy fire.” Father Thompson entered the carriage, his voice carrying the air of someone who had been praying for a long time.

But then, Watson suddenly paused. He didn't look at the two gruesome corpses, but instead stared at the interior of the carriage, looking somewhat puzzled.

Following his unusual expression, Father Thompson instinctively looked in the direction of his gaze, and then… froze as well.

Because they saw a line of blood on the carriage floor that stretched to a seat.

Then it stopped.

Beside the bloodstain, there were several b****y footprints!

The White Rose Security Company's field team needed to possess a certain level of combat ability; at the very least, they had to be a first-stage combat-type contractor, otherwise they couldn't carry out missions anywhere.

At the same time, they also needed to have a reasonably high level of intelligence, because those who only know how to fight... are often the quickest to die.

So even Priest Thompson, whose mind was filled with devout prayer, understood what this scene meant... it meant that after the eye-gouging demon killed two people, it crawled to another seat, and next to it, another person followed.

"Judging from the crawling marks, the size seems to match Detective Sherlock's description." Watson walked over, squatted down beside the bloodline, and observed for a while before speaking. "And these footprints are also similar to Detective Sherlock's deduction. He mentioned that the Eye-Gouging Demon wasn't a simple demon attack; a human was assisting him." Watson had already relayed Sherlock's deduction to White Rose's colleagues, and at the time, Father Thompson wasn't entirely convinced of its accuracy.

But now, he seemed to have no choice but to admit that the detective with the worst contracted demon did indeed seem to have some skill.

He... might have misjudged.

However, none of that mattered for now. What mattered was that the Eye-Gouging Demon crawled towards another seat.

It couldn't possibly crawl towards an empty seat; in other words... someone should have been sitting in that seat!

But where was that person?

"To escape under such circumstances...that's impressive," Priest Thompson remarked thoughtfully. Even Lampard hadn't survived the attack of the Eye-Gouging Demon, meaning this person was likely far more powerful than Lampard.

Before his thoughts could settle…

“No,” Watson suddenly said, “It wasn’t the person who was attacked who escaped.”

“What?!” Watson pointed to the area below the shattered glass beside him:

“These footprints are stained with blood, they came from the direction of the corpse. The person who jumped off the train wasn’t a passenger, but someone who assisted the Eye-Gouging Demon in his crimes. There isn’t a single shard of glass on the ground, which shows that this person was in a panic. He didn’t hesitate to use the brute force of his entire body to smash the glass. If the train was still moving at the time, it means that this person was so panicked that he was willing to risk falling out and dying in order to escape this carriage.” Watson was certainly not just a doctor who only knew how to treat illnesses; he could more or less glean some clues from the scene. Of course, he couldn’t be as insightful as Sherlock Holmes, so he couldn’t possibly deduce the height, weight, age, or even the color of the clothes the person was wearing from just this one detail.

Reverend Thompson immediately came over and stared at the shattered glass for a long time… In the end, he had to admit that Watson was right.

“Someone even more formidable than I imagined. Maybe from the Upper Town, but without reporting it.”

As he spoke, he looked up and saw a train timetable pasted beside the broken window, listing arrival times at each station.

Trains of this era were remarkably punctual, because conductors didn't care whether passengers had boarded or arrived at their stations. They'd stop for three minutes and then leave; if you couldn't get on or off, that was your problem.

So, as he stared at the timetable… his brows furrowed more and more, his eyes widening.

He saw clearly on the timetable that just a few hours earlier, this train had stopped at the street where Lampard had been murdered. Judging by the time, it was shortly after the Scotland Yard group left, and the next few stops would be Baker Street…

Reverend Thompson remembered the address Sherlock had written on the signature sheet.

At the same time, he knew it was cold at that hour, the streets were deserted, and the entire street was blocked off.

So, aside from those who left the crime scene at that time, no one should have boarded the train at that stop…

Just then, a police officer suddenly entered the carriage. He forced himself not to look at the two gruesome corpses and spoke with as much respect as possible, but still urgently:

“Report… someone just brought a notification that the 22nd Street police precinct has apprehended a criminal.”

“A criminal?”

“Yes…” The officer paused, then, somewhat bewildered, said, “He says his name is Andrew, that he is the summoner of the Eye-Gouging Demon, and that he has come to surrender on the orders of Mr. Sherlock Holmes…”