The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

The pipe organ is enormous, with its densely packed pipes and wooden structure providing ample natural hiding space, making it a top-tier container for collecting artifacts.

George turned around, re-examining the lunar phase symbols on the wall, and quickly calculated in his mind.

Without a sound, he began to ignite his spirituality and accelerate his thinking.

Seven sets of symbols, each month corresponding to three engravings... different combinations of long and short engravings...

"This isn't just an ordinary lunar phase record," George whispered, his thoughts racing. "This is a clock."

Elliott paused, startled: "A clock?"

"The cycle of lunar phase changes is about twenty-nine and a half days. If we interpret these markings as time scales..." George gestured in the air with his fingertips.

"Each lunar phase symbol represents a specific point in time, and when converted to an hour hand, it corresponds to the direction of the 'first quarter moon'..."

George glanced at the center of the chapel, quickly estimating the relative positions of the various symbols in his mind.

Finally, his gaze fell back on the organ, the direction indicated by the missing moon phase pointing directly to one side of the organ.

He walked to the left side of the organ, where there were several decorative pipes that were noticeably thicker than the others but did not appear to be sound-producing components.

Their tops are engraved with intricate patterns, while near the bottom there is a decorative metal ring.

"George, what did you find?" His sister's voice came from behind.

George did not answer, but began to tap one of the pipes.

Once, twice, three times...

He tried to match the number of taps to the lunar cycle, but the tube did not respond.

Elliott stood to the side, watching him nervously.

George stopped what he was doing, closed his eyes, and thought.

If the number of taps is incorrect, then what should it be?

If it's a church, could it be sacred numbers, or considering that the pipe organ itself is a musical instrument...?

My mother used to play the piano...

He opened his eyes and walked toward the organ's keyboard, which was already covered in dust.

With a gentle touch, a few notes echoed in the empty chapel.

Musical staff.

George had a sudden inspiration.

He returned to the decorative pipe and tapped it lightly with his fingers—but this time it was not a simple count, but a precise tapping of a specific scale rhythm.

Although this pipe is a decorative item, it can produce different pitches depending on its position.

The waxing crescent moon corresponds to stage three, which is written on the first line of the treble clef, and its note name is Mi. In other words...

"Thump—"

After striking the corresponding pitch, a slight "click" sound suddenly came from the bottom of the sound tube, and the three of them watched as two things rolled out.

A gem and a key fell out of a hidden storage compartment that was no bigger than the palm of your hand.

George reached out and picked it up.

The gemstone was a well-cut diamond, about half the size of a thumb, whose fire was still dazzling even in dim light.

There was also a finely crafted silver key with a symbol engraved on the handle that looked like a tree with branches and roots.

George held the two items up to his eyes for a closer look.

The diamonds are of superior quality, but the key doesn't seem to be able to open any locks; it appears too small for ordinary door locks.

"What is this?" The younger sister leaned closer to look, her eyes full of curiosity.

George shook his head and put the two items into his inner jacket pocket: "I don't know yet. But these must have been left by my mother."

He looked towards the chapel door: "We should go out now."

Sybil nodded, took one last look at the lunar phase markings on the wall, and followed George toward the door, with Elliott following behind.

The three of them returned to the main house along the forest path they had come from.

George walked in front, his pace quickening as he had come. His hand slipped into his inner pocket, his fingertips gently tracing the diamond and the key, a series of questions swirling in his mind.

As they emerged from the woods and saw the outline of the manor house, George had already suppressed his most pressing thoughts.

Then they noticed a carriage parked in front of the manor gate, with two servants unloading several leather trunks from it.

A gentleman wearing a bowler hat and a three-piece suit stood on the porch, talking to Uncle Albert.

George recognized the man's back—although they had never met, he knew who it was from the photo.

James McGill, a renowned lawyer specializing in handling matters concerning aristocratic families.

The person in charge of the inheritance procedures has arrived.

George quickened his pace and stepped forward.

"George! You've come at the right time," Uncle Albert greeted him. "This is Mr. James McGill—you may have heard of him?"

The lawyer turned around.

He was around forty years old, with a broad forehead and a strong jawline, and a pair of blue eyes that could be both playful and sharp.

His suit was well-tailored, but it wasn't the most fashionable style; instead, it exuded a kind of old-fashioned professionalism.

"Your Excellency De La Porte," McGill said with a slight bow, his tone polite, "It is regrettable that we meet for the first time under such circumstances. Please accept my sympathy for your father's condition and my condolences for your mother."

George returned the bow, saying, "Thank you, Mr. McGill. You must have come all this way."

A faint smile appeared on the lawyer's lips.

"It's my duty, and..." He glanced at Arthur, who was standing to the side talking quietly with his Uncle Albert, "I'm also happy to see some old friends."

Upon hearing this, Uncle Arthur turned around with a bright smile.

"Speaking of which, James and I have collaborated several times in the New World. His methods—how should I put it?—are a blend of Brittany's glamorous and respectable nature with colonial cunning."

The cheerful, slightly overweight man put his arm around the lawyer's shoulder: "Without a doubt, a masterpiece of imperial law!"

McGill's smile remained unchanged, but he blinked and said, "You flatter me, Arthur. I'm just trying to use the law to my advantage."

George listened to their conversation, a slight thought stirring within him.

My uncle knows this lawyer and has even worked with him before? That might not be a bad thing.

A lawyer with personal connections to family members may be more useful in handling inheritance matters.

"Please come inside. We've already had tea and refreshments prepared." Uncle Albert gestured for him to enter. "You can settle in first, and we can discuss business later."

McGill nodded. "With pleasure."

The group entered the mansion.

The younger sister excused herself, saying she was tired, and went back to her room to rest. George was then led to the living room.

Tea and refreshments were already laid out, and the old lady Violet was also seated on the sofa.

"James, welcome," the old lady said gently. "It's a pity Edward can't greet you in person."

McGill bowed slightly. "Thank you for your hospitality, madam. I have already inquired about the Viscount's health from Mr. Albert."

After a few pleasantries about the journey, London, and the weather, he turned to George.

"Your Excellency De Laporte, I have prepared most of the documents for the inheritance proceedings. All that is needed is your signature, and—"

The lawyer's gaze became somewhat meaningful.

"Some necessary additional terms."

George nodded: "I understand."