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"What?" Charlie couldn't believe his ears.
Lumian was also surprised, and cast a sympathetic look at Charlie.
Seeing the two companions walking upstairs, the police officer who handcuffed Charlie briefly explained: Charlie was terrified and confused: "How could it be, how could she die..."
"She was alive when I left, really! I swear to Saint-Viève!"
"According to the preliminary autopsy report, the time of Mrs. Alice's death was between 11:00 and 1:00 am last night, and apart from you and Mrs. Alice, there were no traces left by anyone else."
Maybe others are not human? Thinking of the ghost of Montsouris, Lumian couldn't help but slander.
At this moment, a policeman who had quietly left just now came down from the fifth floor, holding a shining diamond necklace in his left palm wearing a white glove.
"I don't! Did you hear that? I didn't!" Charlie yelled, struggling.
This had no effect, and he was carried away from the "Golden Rooster Hotel" by two policemen.
At this time, several tenants had heard the sound and came to the stairs and saw this scene.
This includes Gabriel, who seems to have just stayed up all night to finish a draft.
"Do you think it was Charlie who did it?" Lumian looked thoughtfully at the empty corridor and asked the playwright beside him.
Gabriel came out early and understood roughly what had happened to Charlie.
He shook his head and said, "I don't believe Charlie did it. He's not a good guy, but he's not a bad guy either."
Gabriel pushed the black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose: "He was cheated of money before and almost starved to death, but he never thought of stealing things from our neighbors.
"This shows that he either has his own principles and bottom line, or he is very afraid of the law. Either way, it is enough to prove that he will not murder that wife."
Lumian nodded first, and then laughed lowly: "But people are impulsive and change."
After speaking, he went up the stairs to the fifth floor.
This is the top floor of the "Golden Rooster Hotel". The ceiling above has large areas of traces of being wet and dried by water. It seems that some water will seep when it encounters heavy rain.
Lumian walked to the door of Room 504 where Charlie lived, took out the small piece of wire that he carried with him, and opened the wooden door. Charlie's suitcase, bed, and wooden table were all turned over by the two policemen before, and various items were placed in a mess, but their number was quite limited.
—When chatting and drinking with Charlie in the basement bar before, Lumian heard him mention that when he was unemployed, he went to the pawnshop to mortgage the only suit of formal clothes, mortgaged a lot of things, until now he was unable to redeem them.
Stepping inside, Lumian suddenly saw a portrait as his eyes moved slowly.
Taped to the wall opposite the bed, it depicts a woman in a long green dress.
The woman looked about twenty-seven or eighteen years old, with brown-red hair, green eyes, red lips, delicate face, and elegant temperament.
Lumian was stunned for a moment, feeling that the woman in the painting looked very familiar.
He knew that this should be Suzanne, the famous prostitute whom Charles mistaken for Saint-Viève. Matisse.
But he had never seen this woman before, so it was unreasonable for him to think that she looked familiar.
Some time ago, when he was dancing the dance of tricks in room 207, he attracted a translucent figure that was obviously stronger than other creatures.
That figure was also a woman, and Susanna in the portrait. Matisse is very similar, except that one has blue-green hair, one has brown-red hair, one is long enough to cover a naked body, and the other can only be tied in a normal bun.
Also, that figure is even more charming, as if it can directly arouse the hidden desire in everyone's heart, and Susanna. Matisse's portrait didn't excite Lumián.
"Reckless prayers brought about problems?" Lumian nodded invisibly.
After checking for a while, he left room 504, took the calcium carbide lamp, went to Market Avenue and took a coach to the observatory area.
Go underground and go to Aosta. On the way to the area where Trull used to haunt, Lumian looked at the patches of darkness behind the stone pillars from time to time.
Regarding this, he laughed at himself and said, "You won't meet the ghost of Montsouris again, will you?"
If this is the case, he has to consider whether there is a special connection between the ghost of Montsouris and something in himself, or whether the pollution of that person has been sealed, but it has indirectly changed his "constellation" and made his luck worse. become extremely bad.
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Fortunately, Lumian's worries did not come true. He successfully saw the bonfire and saw Aosta sitting under the stone pillar. Trull.
The man with a hood and a black robe glanced at Lumian and smiled from the heart: "Mr. K allows you to attend our occult gathering, every two weeks at nine o'clock on Wednesday night."
At nine o'clock the night after tomorrow, Lumian nodded with a smile: "Where is the meeting place?"
"You come to the place where I live an hour in advance to find me, and I will take you there." Aosta replied without hesitation. Lumian said "Yes" and said, "I'll pay you the balance at that time."
"Okay." Although Aosta was a little disappointed, he could still accept it.
Lumian turned to ask, "Is there anything I need to pay attention to when attending that party?"
Lumian smiled: "You have seen my face and know my identity. After the first meeting, should I consider burying you in some corner of Trier underground?"
Aosta shivered instinctively, forced a smile and said: "You are so humorous.
"But I don't know who you are, where you live, or what you do. Moreover, your current appearance should not be the most real state."
After frightening the other party, Lumian found a rock and sat down. While enjoying the warmth brought by the bonfire, he asked chattingly, "Hundreds of thousands of Felkins?" Lumian was a little surprised: "A high-level courtesan earns more than most best-selling authors?"
"Isn't this normal?" Aosta had a strange expression on his face, "Senior courtesans can sleep on the beds of congressmen, bankers, and senior officials, but best-selling writers can't."
"I prefer the body." Aosta is quite frank.
Lumian asked again: "No." Aosta shook his head.
"If there is such a female ghost, I would like to meet it once."
Lumian stood up and said with a low laugh, "Then you should be prepared to come here dozens of times a night, and you will eventually die suddenly."
"" Aosta's expression instantly froze on his face.
At 3:00 p.m., No. 27 Market Avenue, Police Headquarters, Candide Market District.
Lumian, who spent nearly 300 Filkin on three sets of clothes of different grades, cheap cosmetics, and other disguise items, appeared in the very noisy hall with people coming and going.
Some were ushered in, some were lucky enough to leave, some were arguing loudly, swearing and swearing, some knocked up tables and knocked on stools, "I'm Charlie. A pro bono lawyer in Corrente, I want to see my client."