Chocolat swung his tail, pretending to be vigilant, watching both sides of the corridor for Jenkins, and slipped in through the crack of the door the moment he turned the lock cylinder with a click.
Reflexively shut the door, and quickly rummaged through the room.
The script of "Mr. Pot's Forever 31 Days" is easy to find, right next to the pillow on the bed. It can be seen that this thin stack of papers is often read by people. Jenkins glanced at the content roughly, no problem, this is indeed the script.
"But why..."
He flipped back to the cover, and the moonlight illuminated the script's author's name: Mason Piscoe.
This name is quite familiar. Last week, a script writer living in Nolan City visited Papa Antique Store, bought an antique with a story, and asked Jenkins to put an antique on the third day of this month. Delivered to his home on the 11th. Because of this, Jenkins knew his address.
"Everything is a coincidence, how can there be such a thing?"
He smiled helplessly. If there was a one-tenth chance that the script was related to this matter before he saw the name, then there is still a nine-tenth chance now.
Picking up the naked cat, he glanced down at the window. After confirming that no one was nearby, he used his ability to climb the heating pipe wrapped in insulation cotton and jumped into the yard.
He didn't intend to go to bed tonight. After leaving the hotel where the Silver Jasmine Opera Troupe was staying, he headed to the home of scriptwriter Mason Pisco, facing the snow, with one person and one cat.
Although the weather was very bad, there were still patrols on the streets and Orthodox Church combat teams disguised as patrols. Jenkins had to dodge these people as much as possible during his run across half the city.
He was originally going to take a carriage, but for some reason tonight, there was no free carriage.
Because the temperature was already very low, the snow that started in the first half of the night had completely covered the ground in silver. A string of footprints stretched from behind Jenkins, and those who are interested can infer his trajectory based on the footprints in the snow. But Jenkins knew the snow would last for a long time, and the footprints would be covered again before dawn.
"right here."
Standing at the corner of the street, he saw a three-storey apartment building from a distance. Through the heavy snow, he could see the gilded doorplate reflecting the bright moonlight, and the words 21-A were very clear. Mr. Pisco doesn't own a place to live, but rents an apartment like most people in the city.
Nobles and squires acquired local houses through inheritance, but due to high housing prices and large income gaps, people generally did not own their own houses. The price of the house and land that Jenkins bought at the beginning was so low because of rumors of haunting. If the normal price was followed, it would probably be several times higher. Horizontal comparison, such as John Watson, who has the same occupation as Jenkins, and his friend Sherlock Holmes, before the former became a well-known writer and the latter's detective career really blossomed, the two had to share the rent if they wanted to live in London. In an apartment building.
Therefore, except for some lucky ones (such as Mr. Goodman) who can inherit the house, most of the middle-class residences in Nolan are leased for a period of three, five or seven years. The houses in metropolitan cities are narrow, and because the land is expensive, they are often multi-storey houses, which leads to a house being used by multiple families at the same time.
Snow drifted past the window, and the window on the second floor facing the street was Jenkins' target. If the snow is replaced by rain, the scene at this time is exactly the same as when Jenkins broke into the apartment and shot and killed the students of the Art Academy on a rainy night.
"Ha~"
He exhaled into his hand, then pinched his ear, feeling a little warmer. The coldness of the night was far beyond his expectations, his body was warmed by flames, but his exposed ears were already aching from the cold.
"After this matter is over, we must prepare the clothes for winter travel."
He said this to himself, pressed on his swollen chest, and the cat squirmed to show that he was in good condition, and then he hid behind the mailbox and continued to observe the apartment.
A layer of snow had accumulated on the top of the mailbox, covering the rusty surface. Jenkins stretched out his hand and inserted it into the cold snow to smooth it out for observation, but at this moment, he unexpectedly found a person standing in front of the window on the second floor.
This is not an illusion. The gas lamp was quickly turned on in the apartment on the second floor. Mr. Pisco, who was wearing pajamas, an overcoat, and holding a teacup, shrank his head, pushed open his window, shivered, and then directed Jenkins beckoned.
Jenkins froze for a moment, looked around, and found that he was indeed the only one nearby.
Before he had time to decide whether to run away immediately, or to break in boldly, the door of the building was opened. Mr. Pisco and the very impatient middle-aged landlady stood in the hallway, the gas lamp was still flickering because it had just been turned on.
"Mr. Williams, come in, this damn weather is too cold!"
The middle-aged man walked up to the stone steps at the door in slippers, waved to Jenkins quickly, and then immediately retreated into the room. Although there is a canopy above, there is still a layer of snow on the steps due to the wind.
Seeing Jenkins looking like he wanted to back away, he shouted again: "Sir, I know why you came here, and I know what you want to know. You can back away, but I promise, you want The answer to that can only be found here.”
Seeing that he had found the right target this time, Jenkins had no choice but to come out from the corner of the street, holding the pistol with one hand in his pocket. Before entering the foyer, he brushed off the snow from his body, and then smiled embarrassedly at the landlady.
The latter ignored Jenkins completely, and in her pajamas and hairnet, she complained loudly to Mr. Pisco that there were still visitors at this late hour.
Jenkins smirked and followed Mr. Piscoe up the stairs, while the landlady locked Fengxue behind her downstairs.
He looked suspiciously at Pisco's back. This gentleman had obviously been waiting for Jenkins' arrival. And entering the apartment and seeing the tea set on the table, which he had prepared himself, further proved his point.
Compared with the Jenkins' house, Pisco's apartment seemed small. But the living room unexpectedly had its own independent fireplace. After closing the door, Pisco stooped and flicked the fire a few times with the tongs to make the flames bigger before sitting in the armchair opposite Jenkins.