Chapter 16: Stairs

A small cluster of flames suddenly appeared in the pitch-black corridor.

The candlelight flickered, revealing a young man with a gentle face.

Hermann frowned as he held the dark blue handkerchief before him, stained with the blood he had “accidentally” touched earlier.

Unfortunately, he was neither a scryer nor a warlock.

He put the handkerchief back in his pocket, tapping his fingers together as he sorted through the bits and pieces of details and speculations in his mind.

‘Whoever the murderer is, their target is definitely not me.’

‘I’m just an unlucky sod who got dragged into this because of a commission from Mrs. Nair.’

That’s right, he wasn’t a reporter at all, but a private detective.

He had accepted a commission from the wife of that middle-aged gentleman, Dewitt Nair, to secretly gather evidence of her husband’s infidelity.

‘This is just great.’

‘Forget gathering evidence; a little later, and I could be laid out in a morgue as “evidence” myself.’

As a private detective, faking—no, protecting his own privacy was a matter of course.

Uncertain of who the “murderer” that had captured him was, Hermann chose to put on a disguise, creating a persona for himself that was “a bit smart” but very “lecherous.”

As for his target, he naturally chose the most dazzling lady present, Rosie Moulton.

For personal reasons, he had some knowledge of all the nobles in Glenn City, including rather private information like their family situations, social circles, and personalities.

Rosie Moulton, eighteen years old, eldest daughter of Viscount Moulton, possessed outstanding beauty and temperament.

She was a famous social butterfly in aristocratic circles, a model of a noble young lady.

In reality, she couldn’t remember names, disliked initiating conversations, and couldn’t hide the look of disgust and resistance in her eyes when men tried to curry favor with her.

This was very wrong, extremely wrong.

Rosie Moulton, there was something wrong with her.

…

After witnessing Jesse Holmes’s bizarre behavior, Dewitt Nair’s face turned pale.

He grabbed Bev Hardy’s hand and left in a hurry without so much as a word.

Rosie had a few suspicions in her heart.

If everyone’s room situation was more or less the same, then Jesse had probably also heard those meaningless, maddening whispers.

The man was like an extremely unstable bomb right now; of course she couldn’t stay with him.

Helpless, Rosie and Donahue Bobby could only follow the earlier suggestion and leave the room together.

On the way, Donahue Bobby still seemed to be bothered by yesterday’s events.

He hesitated for a long time before speaking up, “Miss Moulton, yesterday…”

“Say no more, Mr. Bobby.”

“A gentleman doesn’t stand under a roof that’s about to collapse.”

She had machine-translated a famous quote from her hometown.

“That’s a judgment any normal person would make.”

Rosie paused here.

“What we can do now is remember the girl named Hannah Carter.”

“And strive to stay alive.”

‘Of course, I won’t let Hannah’s murderer go either,’ Rosie added to herself in her heart.

“Truth above all, may Miss Carter rest in peace in My Lord’s heavenly kingdom.”

Donahue lowered the hand that had been resting on his shoulder and said in a solemn voice.

After that, the two walked in silence, heading deeper into the corridor guided by the light of the two candles on the three-branched candelabrum.

What Jesse said hadn’t been a lie after all.

At the end of the corridor, there really was a long ladder that hadn’t been there yesterday, its steps ascending one after another into a more profound and unknown place.

This made Rosie even more vigilant.

A madman was telling the truth!

‘What should I do? Go up, or not?’

Rosie thought for a moment.

If she turned back now, she would have to face the scheduled voting session with the parchment scroll.

Even if she were lucky enough to survive, she would just return to her room to endure another night of torment from the whispers.

There was no guarantee she wouldn’t become the next Jesse Holmes.

Furthermore, this ladder leading to an unknown place was the only variable at present.

Risk and opportunity coexisted; a trap could also become the sharp blade that breaks the stalemate.

Having made a decision, she turned her head to look at Donahue and asked, “Mr. Bobby, I plan to go up and take a look.”

“Are you coming with me, or will you wait here?”

The horrifying image of Hannah Carter’s tragic death was still reflected in Donahue Bobby’s pupils.

He didn’t have the guts to wait alone in the dark, so he immediately stated his position.

“Miss Moulton, I’ll go up with you.”

Rosie nodded, and without further ado, she raised the candelabrum and stepped onto the stairs.

The wooden staircase, of an unknown age, felt quite solid under her feet.

The two walked side by side up the stairs to the second floor.

The surroundings were still pitch-black, but picture frames were hung on the walls at regular intervals.

At the end of the corridor was a room without a door.

One, two, three… seven, eight.

Of the eight picture frames, only one contained a painting.

It depicted a beautiful, vibrant young girl.

Rosie stared at the girl in the painting, and her head began to throb uncontrollably.

Memories were churning, boiling.

‘Janice, why is her painting here?’

“Miss Moulton, you look like you’re in a lot of pain. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It’s nothing, Mr. Bobby. I just didn’t sleep well, and my head is a little dizzy.”

‘My head hurts so much.’

‘Quiet, I need a quiet environment.’

Rosie handed the candelabrum to the man and forced a smile.

“Mr. Bobby, I’ll keep watch for you at the entrance.”

“You take the candelabrum and go inside to see if there’s anything special.”

“If there’s anything you’re not sure about, just call for me.”

Donahue hesitated for a moment but still took the candelabrum.

“If anything happens outside, Miss Moulton, you can call for me too.”

Rosie nodded in acknowledgment.

After Donahue entered the adjacent room, she couldn’t help but raise a hand to rub her temples.

All sorts of thoughts swirled in her mind, as chaotic as papers scattered by a gale, yet faintly, some details emerged, connecting into a thread that pointed to an answer.

Thud—

Suddenly, the sound of something falling came from the darkness.

It was from the next room.

Had something happened to Donahue?!

Rosie reacted extremely quickly, her hand covering the arm where her knife was strapped, while she took a step back, staring at the doorless room.

“Mr. Bobby?”

The young lady’s sweet voice called out, but she was met with a deathly silence.

‘Retreat?’

The moment that thought popped up, the regret she felt from that moment of hesitation when she said goodbye to Hannah yesterday came rushing back like a tide.

Rosie gritted her teeth.

She was the one who had suggested Donahue go in alone.

Dead or alive, she had to bring him out!

A bright glint shone in her misty-blue eyes.

Rosie lifted her skirt and pulled out an object from each of her boots.

One was a candle she had removed from the three-branched candelabrum after leaving her room that morning.

The other was the source of her confidence: a revolver.

Ssss.

The candlelight was ignited by a match.

Rosie held the candle at an angle in one hand, while her other hand caressed the revolver’s hammer.

She held her breath, quietly approaching the gaping maw of the formless beast in the darkness.