Chapter 183: Suspicion
Mireille’s sudden silent scream startled Clark awake instantly. He hurriedly rushed upstairs and soon saw the shocked Mireille and Butler Valente who had arrived first.
Clark smelled the bloody scent in the cold air, and a bad feeling immediately arose in his heart. He slowly walked to the open door of Bluebeard the Count’s bedroom. The bloody scene before his eyes was like the god of death swinging a scythe rushing toward you, shocking to behold.
Bluebeard the Count died miserably on his own bed, his entire head smashed beyond recognition. The weapon was a stone sculpture of a strange harmful beast. The handle part of the stone sculpture was directly thrust into Bluebeard the Count’s deformed left eye, making the blood-soaked stone sculpture even more eerie and mad.
Before he could think about why the stone sculpture of the Shadow of All Things hidden in Kander’s room appeared in this place, Clark, whose mind was in chaos and numbness, felt a soft body fall into his arms. Like a frightened little animal, Mireille threw herself into Clark’s arms, trembling.
In his astonishment, Clark felt cold tears penetrate the clothes on his chest and touch his skin, like two points of cold knife tips pressing there. He was somewhat at a loss, but eventually reached out to pat the back of the beautiful maid, hesitating to speak, not knowing how to comfort her.
Soon after, the last person living in the castle, the cook Hera, also arrived at Bluebeard the Count’s bedroom. After seeing the dead Bluebeard the Count, she was so frightened that her face turned pale, her legs seemed unsteady, and she plopped down on the ground.
The moment he saw Hera, Clark recalled his secret investigation of the castle last night, and his first thought was that the killer who murdered Bluebeard the Count was likely Hera.
However, Clark did not immediately reveal his identity, because he had no absolutely reliable way to prove it. Exposing himself as a law enforcement officer who infiltrated the castle to investigate the crime would be as foolish as a player in a “murder game” who jumps their identity right at the start.
Doing so would not only make him seem foolish but also likely attract the real killer’s attention. That killer would very probably come to kill him, undoubtedly pushing himself into danger again.
His identity in this world was indeed a law enforcement officer, but the real Clark did not know how to fight. Perhaps even the little maid now fearfully hiding in his arms might be more capable in combat than him.
Looking at Miss Hera, the most beautiful maid in the castle, sitting on the floor in terror, her posture no longer elegant, Clark couldn’t help but feel a trace of confusion.
Could she really be the killer? If so, her acting skills were too good.
No, her acting skills were indeed very good… At least in front of Bluebeard the Count, in public, she never showed any signs or actions of resistance.
The slight doubt Clark had just lowered toward Hera rose back up in suspicion.
Butler Valente was the first to recover from the shock. Although he always had a poker face, if you didn’t look at his eyes, it was hard to discern his actual emotions. His gaze became deeper than usual, and his voice lowered: “From now on, no one is allowed to step into the room.”
“I understand you want to protect the scene, but now there are only four of us left in the entire castle. Do you really think leaving the scene uninvestigated will keep us safe?” Clark was the first to refute Valente’s statement. Facing Valente’s cold glance, his heart pounded inwardly, but he still stubbornly stared straight at him. “This blizzard is estimated to last a long time. Do you think the killer who killed Bluebeard the Count in such a brutal manner will leave a scene that might hold evidence of their crime untouched until the weather clears and law enforcement arrives?”
Impossible! Moreover, I’m certain this killer will handle their crime evidence in an even more extreme way. If we can’t find the real killer first, more victims will appear among us until we’re all dead!”
Butler Valente raised his voice, with a hint of anger: “What makes you assume the killer will strike again!?”
Clark pointed at the stone sculpture inserted into the corpse’s eye and said, “Seeing that killing method, do you really think the killer is psychologically normal? So, sorry, Butler Valente, I can’t follow your order. Though I may not be ‘professional,’ I don’t want to sit and wait for death.”
With that, Clark conceded a step: “Of course, I understand your concerns, so we’ll investigate in turns. When one person investigates, the rest of us follow and watch them. Every thing they find must be shown to us. This way, we can investigate the scene while maximizing protection against destruction. What do you think?”
Valente’s facial expression was gloomy, his gaze fixed on Clark, though his eyes weren’t always focused on him. It was clear he was thinking.
At this moment, Mireille, huddled in Clark’s arms, said, “I… I think Mr. Clark’s words… make sense.”
Valente frowned. Just as he looked at Mireille, Hera, who had been dazed for a long time, also calmed her emotions and regained some reason: “I agree with Mr. Clark’s proposal. I think it’s the right choice, Mr. Valente.”
Seeing the three before him all reject his words, Valente’s expression grew even more displeased, but after his sinister gaze scanned their faces, he relented: “Fine then, let’s follow etiquette and heed the guest Mr. Clark’s opinion.”
These words seemed like yielding and compromise, even showing a noble butler’s hospitality, but Clark understood the deeper meaning in Valente’s words.
Emphasizing that he was a guest, a guest being sheltered yet daring to give orders in someone else’s home—how lacking in manners. It was also a subtle reminder to the two maids that he was an outsider, a calamity star who arrived at the castle on the second day and whose host died at home.
Ignoring motive and considering identity alone, Clark knew his own suspicion was equally great, as he wasn’t from the count’s castle and was the least close to Bluebeard the Count.
“Investigator, who will be the first?” Hera took a deep breath and looked at everyone.
“Mr. Valente, please go ahead.” Clark looked at Valente.
Valente gave a light hum. “No, you’re the guest. Please go first, Mr. Clark.”
“Good.” Hearing this, Clark agreed immediately.
Unexpectedly, Clark skipped the back-and-forth refusal stage entirely, making Valente’s sarcastic “concession” give the other the first move instead. His mood suddenly became inexplicably irritable.
