Chapter 28 first quarter

Phineas Jannison, in a white coat, yellow vest and white wide-brimmed hat, came down the steps of his mansion in Buck's Bay.He whistled as he walked, and waved a golden cane in his hand.He laughed heartily, as if he had just remembered an extremely funny joke.Every night in Boston, the city he had conquered, Janison would often laugh to himself like this as he walked about every night.There was a world waiting to be conquered by him, a world in which money played a very limited role and blood made much of a man's status, and he was on the verge of it, despite recent obstacles. On the other side of the street, there was a person watching him. From the moment he walked out of the mansion, that person followed him closely.The next ghost to be punished.See how this man walks, whistles, and laughs, as if he knew nothing about immorality, and never knew there was anything immoral.Step by step.He is a disgrace to the city, but he can no longer control the fate of the city.A city that has lost its soul.There was someone who could bring them back together, but he betrayed that person.The watcher called out to him.

Janison paused, fondling his famously dimpled cheek.He half-closed his eyes and looked around. "Who is calling me?" No one answered. Janison crossed the street, took a quick look ahead, and vaguely saw someone standing motionless by the church. "Aha, it's you. I remember you. What do you need?" Janison felt the man twist his hands behind his back, and something stabbed into the giant businessman's back. "Take my money, sir, take it all! Please! You can take it and go! How much? Say the amount! What do you say?" "Into Ghost from me. From me."

When Fields set out in his carriage early the next morning, the last thing he expected was that he would find a dead body. "Go straight ahead." Fields told the driver.Fields and Lowell got out of the carriage and walked along the sidewalk to Wade Sun's company. "Before taking the carriage to the port, Bucky entered this place." Fields instructed the company to show Lowell. They searched all the address books, but they couldn't find a directory for this small store. "Bucky must be doing something shady here, or I'd rather be hanged," Lowell said.

They knocked lightly on the door, but no one answered.After a while, the door opened, and a man appeared in the doorway, wearing a long blue coat with brightly colored buttons.He ignored them and walked straight over.He is holding a box full of various things. "Excuse me," Fields said.Two policemen approached them, pushed the door of Wade Sun's office inward a little further, and pushed Lowell and Fields inside.An old man with thin cheeks collapsed on the counter, holding a pen in his hand, as if he was writing, but couldn't continue writing halfway through.The walls and shelves were empty.Lowell slowly approached the dead man, staring at him raptly, seeing the wires wrapped around the neck of the deceased, but the facial expression still looked lifelike.

Fields rushed to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door. "He's dead, Lowell!" "Dead like a cadaver that Holmes left at the medical school," agreed Lowell. "I'm afraid no one but us Dante fans could make a murder so inconspicuous." "Lowell, that's enough!" Fields watched in panic as more and more policemen were busy searching the room, and they hadn't noticed these two nosy people. "Fields, he has a suitcase beside him. It looks like he's about to abscond, just like Bucky." He looked at the pen in the dead man's hand again. "He's trying to finish what he hasn't finished. I'd rather think like that."

"Lowell, please!" Fields yelled. "Very well, Fields." But he made a circle and walked toward the body again, pausing at the mail tray on the table and stuffing the top envelope into his coat pocket. "Hurry up." Lowell walked towards the door.Fields rushed forward, but when he sensed that Lowell was not following him, he stopped and looked back.Lowell stood in the middle of the room with a look of horror and pain on his face. "What's the matter, Lowell?" "Damn ankle." Fields turned to the door, where a policeman stood curiously. "We were looking for a friend just now, Mr. Police. We saw him go into this shop yesterday, and we haven't seen him since."

After hearing their story, the police decided to put their words on the record. "Can you say your friend's name again, sir? Italian?" "Bucky." While Lowell and Fields were allowed to leave, Detective Henshaw and two others from the Detective Section arrived on the scene, accompanied by the Coroner, Mr. Barneyhout, and they dismissed most of the police. "Bury him with all this rubbish in a beggar's cemetery," said Henshaw, looking at the body. "Ichabod Ross. A waste of my precious time. I've got time for breakfast." Fields lingered there, It wasn't until Henshaw gave him a wary look that he left.

The evening paper reported the murder of Ichabod Ross in an article the size of a dried tofu, saying that he was a small businessman who had been killed in a robbery. The envelope that Lowell had stolen had the words "Vinn's Clock" written on it.It was the name of a pawn shop in a remote location on a little-visited street in Boston's East End. The next morning, Lowell and Fields arrived at the pawn shop.When laying in a windowless storefront room.They were greeted by a large man, weighing at least three hundred pounds, with a face as red as a ripe tomato, and a pale green beard covering his chin.Around his neck hung a great bunch of keys, which jingled whenever he moved. "Is Mr. Wen En there?"

"Yes, of course." He replied, and then the smile froze on his face. He looked up and down the clothes of the interrogator, "I told those New York detectives that I didn't use the banknotes that came from unknown places. !" "We're not detectives," said Lowell. "We believe this is yours." He set the envelope on the counter. "It's from Ichabod Ross." A grin appeared on his face. "Why! He won't pay his debts, and he'll be in trouble!" "Mr. Vinn, we are saddened by the death of your friend. Do you know why someone would treat Mr. Ross like this?" Fields asked.

"Oh? You seem to be very nosy. Well, you have found the right person. How much are you paying?" "Didn't we take your salary from Mr. Ross to you?" Fields reminded him. "It was originally mine!" Wen En said, "You don't admit it?" "Is it all for money?" Lowell stubbornly refused. "Lowell, don't say that." Fields whispered. Wen En's smile froze again, and he stared straight ahead, his eyes were as big as the lanterns. "Lowell? Poet Lowell?" "Oh, yes..." Lowell had to admit, feeling a little embarrassed.

"'What's more precious than a June day?'" read the big man, laughing slowly. What is more precious than a June day? If there is, it is the full time; heaven tests the harmony of the earth, and her warm ears lightly cover it; we watch, or listen, and hear life murmuring, or see life shining. "The word on the fourth line is 'tenderly'," Lowell corrected his misremembering, with a hint of irritation in his tone, "Look, it's 'Her warm ears gently cover...'" "Don't say that there are no great poets in the United States! Aha, it's unbelievable, I also have your home address!" Wen En declared proudly.From under the counter he took out a leather-bound volume of "The House and Hangouts of Our Poet" and opened to the chapter on Elwood. "Oh, I still have your autograph in my list of publications. Longfellow, Emerson, and Whittier are next, and I buy most of your books. Joke Holmes' name also Among them, if he didn't sign too many things, he would still rank relatively high." The big man's face was as red as rosacea, and he looked excited. He took a key from a large bunch of keys, opened a drawer, and took out a piece of paper from which Lowell's name was written. "Well, that's not my signature at all!" said Lowell. "Written by a man who can't even hold a pen! I demand that you hand over all your false signatures at once, sir, or you will be killed this evening." Got a letter from my lawyer, Mr. Hillard!" "Lowell!" Fields pushed him away from the counter. "There are so many illustrations in the book, and this man can find my home with these illustrations, how can you let me sleep soundly at night!" Lowell yelled. "We need this guy's help!" "Yes." Lowell straightened his long coat, "but it depends on the person to ask for help." "If you want, Mr. Wenn," Fields turned to the pawnshop owner, and snapped open the wallet, "We want to know about Mr. Ross's situation, and then we'll leave. How much will you sell for the information you have?" "I won't sell it for a penny!" Wen En smiled from the bottom of his heart, his eyes seemed to be squinting into his head. "Are you doing everything just for money?" Wenn suggested that Lowell's forty signatures would be enough to cover his payment.Fields raised his eyebrows at Lowell, motioning for him to accept, Lowell grimly agreed.Lowell signed a two-column letterhead, "A luxury item." Vinn made an appreciative assertion of Lowell's calligraphy.He told Fields that Ross was a former newspaper printer who printed counterfeit money.Ross made the mistake of giving counterfeit bills to a gambling gang who used the money to scam local gamblers. Ross even used the money to buy things and then used some pawnshops to sell the stolen goods, although some pawnshops were reluctant (this When Mr. Wei uttered the word barely, his mouth twisted so badly that his tongue was on top of his upper lip, and his nose was almost wet).Rose's murder was only a matter of time. Returning to the corner, Fields and Lowell recounted to Longfellow and Holmes what they had heard. "I think we can guess what Bucky had in his handbag when he left Ross's shop," Fields said. How can you participate in the manufacture of counterfeit banknotes?" "If you can't make money, I guess you will," Holmes said. “Regardless of Bucky’s involvement in counterfeiting money for whatever reason,” Longfellow said, “it seems like an opportune time for him to get out.”