Fantasy Writers 1860

Dorian leaned forward slightly: "Was that banknote folded or unfolded? How long did he let you look at it? Do you remember the serial number?"

Price opened his mouth, then closed it again. "It unfolds quickly, in about half a minute. As for the serial number... do you make a point of noting down the serial number of a banknote?"

Dorian didn't ask any further questions. With just a glance, Lily snapped the two iron bracelets onto Price's wrists with a "click" before anyone could react.

The moment the bracelet was fastened, the row of indicator lights began to flash erratically... Of course, this was just the result of the oscillating structure inside the pendulum.

"Please describe it again," Dorian's voice softened, "Did you see the banknotes folded or unfolded?"

"The...the unfolding." Price paused slightly.

The red light flashed twice.

Please say it again.

"It's unfolded!" Price's forehead began to bead with cold sweat.

The light continued to blink, completely erratically.

"If you unfold it, do you see the signature on it?"

"I...I saw it."

"Whose signature?"

"Uh... the president of the Bank of Britannia?"

"What's the bank manager's name?"

silence.

Price's lips moved, but no sound came out.

This question is not difficult to answer. All banknotes have the signature of the Governor of the Bank of Britannia printed on them. Anyone who has ever used banknotes has seen and knows this.

But this seemingly simple question, one that everyone should know the answer to, struck Dorian like a heavy blow during his aggressive, rapid-fire questioning, leaving his already tense mind blank.

What's your name? Who are you?

Stop being so dense, think faster!

Inspector Rasde stared sharply at Price and spoke for the first time: "I've never seen a tailor's hands without a single callus. Sir, your hands are smoother than mine."

Price's face turned pale instantly.

Dorian leaned back in his chair and said in an almost casual tone, "Mr. Price, or whatever your real name is... anyway, when you were hired, did the person who hired you tell you...?"

The man in the chair suddenly stood up, the bracelet slipped off his wrist and slammed onto the table with a thud.

"I...I don't need your compensation anymore!" He got up to leave.

However, he had only taken a few steps when he was stopped by several police officers.

"Under Britannian law, anyone who attempts to obtain compensation by making perjury or false statements can be sentenced to up to three years in prison," Reid said calmly to Price's retreating figure.

"take away."

Preston's face immediately changed. "Misunderstanding, misunderstanding, officer! Don't arrest me, I'll confess, I'll confess everything! The Morning Star hired me! The Morning Star!"

The sight of Price being dragged away by two policemen and his heart-wrenching screams immediately silenced some people in the crowd and dispelled their last shred of doubt about the "lie detector."

It seems that the "lie detector" really works!

Then some more people quietly moved from the left side of the line to the right side.

Not only did they not pursue the matter, they even gave us 5 florins for travel expenses. Taking a step back opens up a whole new world; that's more than enough.

"Detective, is it that terrifying over there? He's already confessing before anyone has even asked him anything." Dorian chuckled.

"It would be truly terrifying if criminals made Scotland Yard feel like home," Reid said.

Lily remained seated, silently staring at the lie detector on the table with a strange look in her eyes, as if she had seen something unusual.

"Well then, I'll go work on Plan Two." Seeing that the situation had stabilized and the number of people in line had decreased considerably thanks to Price's vivid performance, Dorian quietly signaled to Clancy that he needed to leave for a while.

At the same time, Inspector Leeds beckoned to an officer, whispered a few words to him, and the officer quickly jogged away.

……

Dorian quietly circled half a block, emerging from a narrow alley. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, tousled his hair, and smeared ash on his face, looking like a down-on-his-luck conman who had just left the group.

He blended into the shadows of the pillars of a café across the street and leaned against the wall, counting the people leaving the line on the left.

In the past ten minutes, five people quietly moved to the right side of the line, and seven others simply turned around and left without saying a word.

Now, one of them is walking towards him.

He was a lean-looking man wearing a wrinkled gray trench coat with his hat pulled low. He slipped out from the back of the line on the right with quick but unhurried steps, glancing back as he went, almost bumping into a pillar.

Dorian peeked halfway out of the shadows and whispered in a tone of mutual appreciation, "Brother, you came from over there too?"

The man in the gray trench coat turned his head sharply and looked him over warily.

Dorian gave a wry smile and pointed to his disheveled appearance: "Don't even mention it. Who would have thought they'd have the Scotland Yard chief and a lie detector on their side? We're just making a little money, is it really necessary to make things so difficult for us?"

Upon hearing that he was in the same line of work, the man in the gray trench coat relaxed. He looked around and leaned closer: "That's right, I'd never heard of Scotland Yard developing such advanced technology as lie detectors before."

"If this thing gets deployed in the future, we'll all be in for a rough time. We'll invite you over for a chat, and they'll know we're liars." Dorian started chatting with him, gradually steering the conversation toward the question of who sent him to block the door.

"The Morning Star arranged for me to come. What about you?"

"The Chronicle," Dorian replied. "How much did they pay you?"

"As, I told you to just call out when you arrived, who knew it would turn out like this. What about you?"

"Not as much as you, three Ass Qigur." Dorian sighed, revealing a "I'm totally ripped off" expression.

"That Morning Star newspaper is pretty generous. How many people did they actually hire?"

"I estimate at least twenty-odd, and their people said there would be more later..."

He suddenly stopped talking, as if realizing he had said a bit too much.

Dorian did not press further.

"Alright, I'm off now. I'll treat you to drinks another day."

In this way, Dorian learned a lot from many people. Besides pure swindlers and unemployed people, there were also many who genuinely knew nothing, only that there were easy day jobs here to earn a little money to supplement their family income.

He also spent a small amount of money to provide these people with some assistance.

Feeling he had gathered enough information, Dorian quietly turned and walked into the alley. After taking a couple more turns, he leaned against the damp brick wall and let out a long sigh.

Then he straightened his shirt, rebuttoned his cuffs, swept his hair back, and walked out of the alley.

As he passed a shop window, he stopped and straightened his collar in front of the face reflected in the glass.

The disheveled, down-on-his-luck swindler was gone; standing inside the glass was a respectable gentleman.

He strode back to the magazine office entrance.

By this time, many of the people who had been blocking the entrance had dispersed. Clancy was standing on the steps looking around when he saw him return, and a look of relief appeared on his face.

"How is it going?" Clancy asked.

"I am saddened by the editor-in-chief's situation, but I also wish him well. I am saddened that more than a dozen newspapers have done the same, but I am happy that being targeted by so many people shows that your 'Lentinian Weekly' is developing rapidly and is thriving."

Clancy frowned. Dorian's words were not wrong, but for some reason, they just sounded strange.

This guy says strange things like that from time to time.

Perhaps that's how writers are; isn't it said that one can't truly live without being obsessed?