Chapter 49, Chapter 16: You killed him...
Chapter 16 "You killed him"
The murders did not initially have a significant impact on the passengers of the Noah.
Many people complained that the sudden incident had ruined their precious vacation. They hoped the cruise operator would stop at a port midway to transfer the case to the local police station, while they continued their journey. Many more chose to ignore it and enjoy their trip as usual. Especially with several prominent and powerful passengers on board, this added considerable pressure to the proper handling of the case.
However, someone leaked the news, and public opinion suddenly shifted.
Because the specific cause of Professor Belfa's death was not publicly disclosed, rumors quickly spread, with some claiming that the professor died of poisoning after eating food on the ship.
Although the vast majority of passengers ate as usual and experienced no discomfort, this statement still caused unease.
After all, the risk of mass food poisoning is far more frightening than a single fatality.
Passengers who had initially paid no attention to the murder began refusing to eat and instead pressured the ship's crew to return to London as soon as possible, showing unusually cooperative attitude.
Meanwhile, the originator of this rumor—Millworth—was leisurely slicing the premium Angus tomahawk steak specially prepared for him. Its price rivals that of Japanese A5 Wagyu beef, and its marbling, evenly distributed like marble, is enough to bring a knowing smile to the faces of any gourmet at the table.
Milverton, however, remained remarkably calm, appearing completely accustomed to everything.
"We would appreciate it if you could further clarify in your future news reports that there are no quality issues with the food and beverages on our ship," the ship manager said humbly.
In fact, they knew that as long as authoritative media confirmed that Professor Belfa's death was not caused by food poisoning, these rumors would naturally fall apart and would not affect the operation of their Noah.
But understanding is one thing, attitude is another.
No one wants to underestimate a media mogul who wields the power of public opinion.
Milverton neither agreed nor refused, saying, "Contact my secretary, Jenny, for such matters."
The ship manager hesitated for a moment, then quickly replied, "Understood, understood. I'll have the cook prepare the meal as soon as possible. Mr. Milverton, please contact me anytime if needed."
Milwald did not respond.
His knife and fork continued to move slowly across the plate. After a moment, he nodded slightly, the movement so small it was almost negligible.
The signal is already quite clear.
The ship manager dared not wait any longer and immediately stepped back, fearing that staying even a second longer would displease Milverton.
Professor Moriarty and Albert, however, were focused on Watson and Holmes, who were sitting back-to-back with Milwaldton.
In the eyes of the two brothers, this encounter was both an accident and a matter of course.
They knew that Milverton had arrived earlier.
He immediately requested a window seat with a sea view. A waiter pulled out a chair for him. After sitting down, he didn't glance around, neither for reason nor for time, because the manager was soon standing behind him, listening to Milverton's request.
Holmes and Watson took their seats later.
Their seats were similarly led to adjacent seats by an unsuspecting waiter. They didn't see Milverton at first; they noticed Professor Albert and Professor Moriarty first, and then realized that Milverton's table was behind them.
Perhaps out of a sense of confrontation, or for other reasons, Holmes did not object, but simply pulled out a chair and sat down. His back remained straight, maintaining a perfect distance from the highly prominent figure behind him.
Watson frowned almost imperceptibly, but ultimately said nothing.
There wasn't even a table between the three of them; they were only separated by their backs, sharing the same air. But the atmosphere wasn't as lively as it had been yesterday.
Neither of them turned around, as if the other wasn't behind them.
Even the occasional clinking of knives and forks against the porcelain plate during the meal was unusually restrained, much like people in a crowded subway who had to sit side by side and carefully controlled their movements to avoid even the slightest contact with strangers.
This, on the contrary, reveals the subtle concern that flows between the three of them.
Professor Moriarty and his brother Albert exchanged glances, taking in everything, but neither took the initiative to break the stalemate.
After a long while, Milverton finally spoke.
Why aren't you all saying anything?
As soon as he entered the restaurant, he took the seat of honor.
Now, when he speaks, he naturally becomes the center of attention at the table.
After he said that, Barton and Michelle, who were sitting at the same table, subconsciously looked at Professor Moriarty and Albert.
Next, they looked at Milverton, who was eating his meal slowly and deliberately.
Beneath his composed demeanor, Barton and Michelle felt that he didn't really care whether people spoke or whether the atmosphere was lively. Sure enough, after the questioning stopped, Milverton started a new topic on his own: "Why isn't Miss Ivy dining with us?"
Professor Moriarty knew that Blackwell did not want to dine with Milverton, but he could not say it outright: "Professor Belfast died in her room, and she is not in the mood for a meal right now."
Milverton didn't see it that way. "Miss Ivy and Professor Belfast are engaged. Whether the murderer accidentally killed Professor Belfast in Miss Ivy's room or hated Professor Belfast to the core, they might also hate him and see Ivy as an enemy. It's dangerous for her to be alone now."
He said calmly, "Isn't that how it's always portrayed in TV dramas and movies? People who are alone always die the fastest."
Albert replied without hesitation, "You mentioned that's from TV shows and movies..."
Milverton then looked up, his expression becoming increasingly indifferent. "Detectives at Scotland Yard probably wouldn't be as casual as you. Considering the probability that the murderer would return to the crime scene, leaving the deceased's fiancé alone in the room would be neither wise nor compassionate."
“I knew Albert was unwise, but I didn’t expect Professor Moriarty to be so inconsiderate.”
He directly criticized the two of them in one sentence.
The air fell silent for a moment.
Barton and Michelle remained silent, fearing they might be implicated. However, their eyes were still silently watching the reactions of Professor Moriarty and his brother.
“So personally, you would prefer to hear that Miss Blackwell doesn’t want to be in the same place as you.” Albert readily agreed, completely unconcerned about his words.
Milverton nodded, not responding to his words, but simply said, "The way I address Ivy already shows that our relationship is quite close. Her not wanting to be in the same place as me is just a worthless guess. Even if she's afraid of me, she wouldn't risk her life."
"If she can be so fearless, is it possible that she herself is the murderer who killed Professor Belfast?"
Upon hearing this, Professor Moriarty asked, "What does this mean to her?"
“I’ve heard it said that ‘a woman who has lost love is more dangerous than a general who has lost power,’” Milverton said. “There’s a difference of more than twenty years between Ivy and Professor Belfast; whether their relationship truly developed naturally is something worth examining.”
Milverton took a sip of his drink and said, "Don't forget, the crime scene was Ivy's room. Apparently, there were no external injuries on the deceased, and the cause of death was homicide due to cardiac arrest."
"Analyzing each point, the victim was murdered without any warning, which is why there were no external injuries. The method of death is more likely to be poisoning, and in terms of criminal classification, it is more likely to be the work of a woman."
Just then, Holmes's fingertips tapped lightly on the stem of his glass. This undoubtedly attracted the attention of Milverton's group. He seemed to disagree with Milverton's assertive "woman's doing" argument, but Milverton still didn't turn around to argue with him.
After a pause of a second or two, Professor Moriarty calmly continued, "That's your guess. Miss Blackwell has an alibi."
“She died in the middle of the night,” Milwaldton said, raising an eyebrow in a defiant tone. “Was anyone with Ivy in the middle of the night?”
"You?"
Milverton's gaze met that of Professor Moriarty, who had just spoken.
Professor Moriarty said, "Her smartwatch has sleep tracking software that clearly records the entire recording of her sleeping last night."
This is not the first time Moriarty has refuted Milwaldton with sound reasoning and evidence.
Professor Moriarty had previously pointed out the error regarding sublingual medication, but Milwaldton didn't seem to be the competitive person Albert had described. He calmly and composedly accepted it, as if a teacher deliberately made a mistake so that students or juniors would proactively provide the correct information they knew.
Before he could speak, Milverton said, “Mathematicians are rigorous. To say something like that must mean they have verified the report of at least eight hours of rest. So, since Ivy was willing to provide such private recordings and reports to Professor Moriarty without being asked by the police, you must have figured out why she would switch rooms with Professor Belfa.”
His gray eyes shone brightly, with a sharp edge behind his glasses, as if he were saying to outsiders, "I'm here waiting."
Professor Moriarty, upon hearing this, naturally knew that Milverton had been setting a trap for him from the very beginning, but these things would inevitably be revealed sooner or later, and once they reached Scotland Yard, they would become an open secret.
"As you said, Professor Belfast and Miss Blackwell are engaged. The reason they switched rooms is because Miss Blackwell arranged to meet you last night, and Professor Belfast wanted to stand up for her, so he told her to go to her room and rest, leaving him to confront you. As a result, this unfortunate incident occurred."
Moriarty's long eyelashes lowered their dark gleam. "As for the reason for my intervention, the Scotland Yard police will know. Since I also want Mr. Milverton to be prepared, I'll be frank now—"
But Milwald seemed to have anticipated what he was about to say, his eyes gleaming, yet he did not interrupt him.
Professor Moriarty said, "She said you were blackmailing her."
This is an open secret among the upper class.
"Professor Belfast suggested changing rooms and speaking with you in person to protect Miss Ivy."
Milton laughed, as if he had heard something childish.
Before he could respond, Michelle, who had long harbored hostility towards him, stared at him and said, "So, you're the one who killed the professor. Isn't that right?"
To Milverton, this accusation aimed squarely at his face was like seeing a toy dagger trembling and raised. The voice might have been forceful, but to him it sounded utterly ridiculous.
He calmly turned on the recording function on his phone.
“My friend, let me tell you something beforehand,” Milwald said in an almost gentle tone, “that those present here are all witnesses.”
He nodded toward the waiters in the distance, and a thoughtful waiter rushed over to listen to the instructions.
But Milwald clearly didn't really want him to do anything.
Milverton said calmly, "I don't care how you slander and insult me. After all, I'm used to it. But do you know why no one has ever said a single bad word about me to my face?"
"Because I could get seven figures in compensation just for emotional distress."
"If you mispronounce a single word, I can add a small amount to your fine."
"I'm not threatening anyone, I'm just stating the facts. We live in a society governed by law, and speaking recklessly will be punished."
Milwald leaned back in his chair and said, "Could you repeat what you just said?"
"..."
Under that absolute gaze, Michelle's Adam's apple bobbed, but all her words seemed frozen in her throat. She felt her cheeks begin to burn, not just with anger, but with a burning shame of being completely deprived of her voice in public.
The air was so scorching that it made people restless.
Michelle instinctively looked towards Barton for help, her eyes filled with pitiful helplessness, vulnerability, and anger.
Barton received that gaze. He saw the embarrassment in Michelle's eyes, and a surge of emotion, a mixture of righteous indignation and shared misery, welled up within him. He gripped his thigh tightly under the table, using the pain to ward off pure fear, then took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from trembling: "Didn't you just suspect Miss Blackwell was the murderer? Aren't you making a false accusation too?"
"Then let her sue me."
Milvolton's bluntness and assertiveness were like an ice wall, instantly crushing the line of courage that Barton had painstakingly built.
Barton felt his heart clench, and the illusion of "reasoning" he had held earlier vanished, leaving only the chilling realization of the stark inequality in power.
“I didn’t say no. Did you hear me say ‘no’?” Milverton’s tone was completely flat. “If you can’t speak properly, then shut up.”
These words, though seemingly casual, were like a slap in the face, precisely stripping Patton of any remaining dignity as a young scholar. He didn't immediately erupt; instead, he abruptly lowered his head, staring at the gleaming edge of the silver fork on his plate, the distorted light reflecting his own shrunken, ridiculous face.
In that humiliating silence, something cold solidified in his eyes. And Michel, who noticed this, felt his anger intensify.
Dinner ended hastily and unhappily.
Milwaldton clearly didn't care and after dinner focused on looking for his unruly cat, only to find its bloodstains on the deck.
In the darkness, it was like a warning of some danger, or like the first drop of water splashing on the window on a rainy night.
Clear, vivid, cold.
Milvolton could not turn a blind eye or remain oblivious.
Standing in front of him was Watson.
The blond youth who had always been kind and tolerant towards him now had a strange and distant look in his eyes.
He seemed to draw a clear line with his gaze, making the distinction distinct.
Clearly, the scenes at the dinner table, even without looking back or participating in them, left a mark on Watson's mind simply by listening to them.
To outsiders, that one glance would be more painful than a thousand hurtful words.
Under that gaze, Milwaldton refused to speak first.
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The author says: The internet is so bad that I spend half the day struggling with it.
20 random red envelopes. Go to bed early!
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