Chapter 51, Chapter 18: You killed him...
Chapter 18 "You killed him"
1:05 AM.
One hour remained until docking. All the lights on the Noah cruise ship were already on, and announcements echoed repeatedly in the corridors and cabins, reminding passengers to prepare their belongings. Awakened by light and sound, the entire ship seemed to have just entered night; brightly lit, with people moving about, an almost boiling vitality spreading across the decks.
Holmes and Watson were wide awake, because Blackwell was knocking on their door again.
Without waiting for a reply, she slipped inside and quickly closed the door.
"Please, you must help me."
Her voice, tinged with suppressed sobs, was exceptionally clear in the quiet cabin. "Once I disembark, Milverton will completely destroy me. I've already lost my fiancé... there's no light left in my life. How am I supposed to live?"
Blackwell's anxiety had brought him to the brink of collapse.
According to the crime consultant's initial plan, she had at least another week to deal with Milverton. Even if she angered Milverton now, it wouldn't matter; she could even put psychological pressure on him and increase her room for negotiation. But her fiancé's sudden death disrupted everything.
Now that the ship is about to dock and return to London, Milverton will no longer give her any room for negotiation. Once the deal falls apart, the secrets that could destroy her will be exposed.
The thought of such an ending almost suffocated Blackwell.
What made her even more desperate was that the criminal advisor who had promised to guide her suddenly lost contact at this crucial moment.
She had no choice but to knock on Holmes' door once again.
At that moment, just hearing the name "Milverton" made Watson feel a headache and weakness.
His initial reluctance to help Blackwell stemmed from a sense of trust and friendship. He still believed in the Milverton he once knew and was unwilling to harm a potentially innocent person based solely on one side of the story.
Now, he still refused to help her, but for entirely different reasons. It was probably some kind of instinctive intuition. Milverton was far more dangerous and unpredictable than he had imagined; the man's logic had long since exceeded his comprehension, or even his willingness to comprehend. Watson didn't want to get involved with any more of the vortex behind that name.
That body of water was too deep and too murky; I was afraid that if I fell into it, I wouldn't be able to save myself.
Watson instinctively looked at Holmes.
Now that Holmes has witnessed another side of Milverton, what will he choose to do?
Holmes' voice was as deep as the sea under the night sky.
"So, Ms. Blackwell, let's return to the original question. What do you really want me to do? Your initial commission was for us to steal the incriminating evidence from Milverton. We didn't agree immediately, and you never explained what that secret was."
He leaned slightly forward, his gaze like moonlight falling on a reef, quiet yet able to clearly illuminate all the dark outlines.
"If you are willing to be honest now and tell me what he is holding, depending on its nature, I may make an exception and settle this matter for you free of charge."
Blackwell's face was ashen, and his eyes, which had been as bright and clear as a bird's, were now much dimmer.
Judging from Holmes's tone, if he knew what he had done, he would probably have directly helped Milverton hand those things over to Scotland Yard. At times like this, she couldn't help but think of the good qualities of the crime consultant. He was completely accepting of her embarrassing and ugly side.
I can talk to a crime consultant without any burden.
Blackwell didn't give up too quickly, saying, "Even though you all know Milwaldton is a ruthless extortionist, you still won't believe me?"
Seeing that she had "misunderstood" Holmes's words, Watson quickly replied, "Miss Blackwell, you have misunderstood Holmes's meaning."
Blackwell's voice was low, yet it was like a pebble suddenly thrown into a calm, deep pool: "What if I told you that my fiancé's death... was also related to Milverton?"
The look of surprise that flashed across Watson's eyes was exactly what she had hoped to see.
She lowered her eyes, letting a sorrowful expression slowly spread across her face: "My fiancé... was also blackmailed by Milvolton. At the dinner party last night, when he saw Milvolton's unfriendly words towards me, he guessed that I had been threatened as well. So he insisted on switching rooms with me, saying he would plead for me... but who could have imagined..."
She raised her hand to cover half her face, her shoulders trembling slightly, her voice seeping through her fingers: "The next day, he actually died in that room... Milvolton dared to lay a hand on him, so how could he possibly let me off the hook?"
She covered her face and wept, saying, "Milwaldton certainly won't let me off the hook either."
These words were exquisitely crafted, weaving together reality and illusion, each step striking a chord with the listener's emotions.
Firstly, it effectively softens the nature of the incriminating evidence. Professor Belfast was able to quickly accept her and was willing to stand up for her, even using his own extortion as an emotional exchange to comfort Blackwell. This indirectly suggests that what she concealed might not be so heinous as to cross Holmes's moral bottom line.
Secondly, it also reinforced Milvolton's evil deeds, enhanced his image as a villain, and attributed the murder to Milvolton.
Thirdly, these words, spoken in just a few words, further confirm her status as a victim and the urgency of her need for help.
Her words were less a statement and more a guidance.
Watson was completely taken aback by the unexpected connection between the events and was speechless, unsure how to respond to the overwhelming grief and accusations.
Holmes, however, did not follow Blackwell's lead. His voice remained calm, even carrying a penetrating calmness. "Professor Belfast himself was also blackmailed, which was unexpected. What kind of threats did he receive?"
Blackwell was visibly startled, and before she could even form a sentence, Holmes's gaze had already locked onto her like that of a hawk.
“You must also hope that your beloved fiancé can be exonerated.” His tone was slightly lower, but every word was clear. “Everything you have said may very well be the key clue to this murder case.”
Blackwell seemed rooted to the spot by that gaze.
Too hasty.
She realized she had pushed too hard and too far.
This could very well backfire.
Holmes seemed to understand Blackwell's "hesitation": "If the murderer really is Milverton, then this is very likely the motive for the murder."
This gently pushed Blackwell.
Blackwell lowered her eyes, her fingertips unconsciously clenching the hem of her skirt. When she looked up again, her eyes were still red, but her tone was much more restrained: "If you can promise not to smear my fiancé's reputation, I'm willing to tell you what you're blackmailing me for."
In contrast to Holmes's indifference, Watson tends to offer a more timely and warm response: "Yes."
Blackwell finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"My fiancé... he once bought a 'smart drug' on the black market. It contained some kind of natural alkaloid, supposedly used to stimulate thinking and enhance concentration in mathematics. This drug circulates privately in some shady circles."
Natural bioalkaloids may not be a special ingredient for her.
But for Holmes, with his background in chemistry and toxicology, and Watson, with his medical background, this was a resounding keyword.
The most common natural bio-alkaloids that provide a stimulating effect are caffeine in coffee and nicotine in herbs.
In addition, strychnine is also a biological alkaloid, perhaps more commonly known as "bromelain." It was once a commonly used central nervous system stimulant because of its excitatory effects on the spinal cord and cerebral cortex. However, due to its extreme toxicity, it was later completely banned.
Blackwell naturally noticed the change in the two men's expressions and assumed they were surprised that the professor had taken banned drugs, so he paused subconsciously.
She carefully chose her words: "...Somehow Milverton found out about this. The purchase record, and possibly even a small amount of the drug itself... became leverage in his hands. My fiancé values his academic reputation above all else, and he simply couldn't afford the cost of this secret being made public. So he bought out the intelligence."
Watson pressed on, "Since the deal was bought out, Professor Belfast shouldn't have had any reason to be forced to commit suicide, right?"
Blackwell sighed and said, "Actually, my fiancé is still eating."
“I remember strychnine isn’t addictive.” Watson frowned, trying to sort out the contradiction. “It doesn’t reward the brain, it doesn’t produce a pleasurable feeling like nicotine, and it even tastes bitter.”
“Yes,” Blackwell nodded. “He doesn’t take it every day. The drug… makes him feel tense and uncomfortable all over. But undeniably, every time he takes it, his concentration is exceptionally high, and his efficiency is doubled. So, he still chooses to use it when he needs to be highly focused. For example, he had some in his luggage for this math salon.”
At this point, Holmes's voice calmly cut in: "Besides this drug, what other medications does he usually keep on hand?"
Blackwell was pulled back to his everyday thoughts by the question, and his speech slowed down: "They are all common medicines, such as cold medicine, stomach medicine, topical wound medicine, health supplements, and occasionally sleeping pills to help me sleep."
"I remember that drugs on the black market are often packaged as commonly used medicines for easy concealment, but this often leads to accidental ingestion."
Blackwell's brow furrowed sharply, her voice sharp with an air of offense: "Are you implying that my husband's death was just a tragic accident? That's impossible."
Holmes raised an eyebrow slightly: "Why do you say that?"
“He did…once mistakenly took a stimulant instead of a sleeping pill, nearly causing a disaster.” Her tone quickened, as if she urgently wanted to refute the assumption. “But because of that experience, he has been extremely cautious with medication ever since, and it’s impossible for him to make the same mistake again. Besides—”
She paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and made her next words sound more weighty: "His daily medication has always been managed with the help of his most trusted student."
“If it’s managed by a third party, the probability of accidental ingestion will indeed be reduced, even approaching zero,” Holmes said. “But in the case of a murder, the person in charge of the drugs is the most dangerous person.”
“You mean Patton? Why? My husband has promoted him quite a bit,” Blackwell said. “Besides, isn’t he too suspicious? He is indeed a bit quiet and reserved, but I don’t think he would be so foolish as to do something so dangerous.”
"What if this dangerous thing could be successfully framed on someone?" Holmes asked again.
He had barely finished speaking when he paused, and quickly asked Blackwell, "Was it your own idea to meet with Milverton to make a deal?"
"I, um..."
Blackwell choked up, unable to reveal the truth.
She couldn't possibly reveal her role as a criminal consultant.
Holmes, however, had already gleaned the answer from her momentary hesitation. He abruptly turned to Watson, speaking quickly and clearly: "We must find Milverton immediately. He is likely in danger."
Watson was startled. "What's going on?"
Before she could react, Blackwell had already grabbed his arm tightly. Clearly, she could tell that this doctor was the softest-hearted and most easily swayed. At that moment, she desperately wanted someone to actually finish off Milverton for her.
"Aren't you going to protect me?" Her voice trembled, but also held a hint of barely perceptible urgency. "Milwald has committed countless evil deeds. So many people want him dead, isn't it because he's utterly wicked?"
Watson was taken aback by her question. The question, which struck at his simple sense of justice, made him subconsciously murmur, "You're right."
He grasped Blackwell's hand, his palm warm and firm: "Milwald is truly wicked. A silver-tongued manipulator, he uses every trick in the book—extortion, threats, lies—he'll stop at nothing. Many people want him dead."
He paused for a moment, his voice low but clear.
“Ms. Blackwell, if I know he is in danger and choose to turn my back on him—wouldn’t that prove to him that the cold and cruel world he believes in is real?”
He gently withdrew his hand, but his eyes grew even more determined.
"And I want him to know that 'this world is worthwhile.'"
Blackwell stood frozen in place, listening to the two men's hurried footsteps recede into the distance and disappear at the end of the corridor.
She was left alone in the room, surrounded by a deafening, deathly silence that seemed to have been suddenly emptied. All the carefully maintained expressions—sadness, helplessness, terror—vanished from her face in an instant, revealing a cold, pale expression beneath.
After a long while, a low, hoarse word, squeezed out between clenched teeth, crashed into the frozen air.
"F**k."
They were in cahoots from the beginning, weren't they?
If that's not the case, then they must actually like Milford Town a lot, otherwise they wouldn't always hesitate to make a move.
What terrible luck!
Even Sherlock Holmes can't be trusted anymore.
This is really the end for me...
*
Milverton didn't have much luggage, so he didn't go back to his room.
By the time the announcement urged passengers to proceed to the lobby for the third time, he had searched almost every clean corner of the deck. Just as his knuckles turned white and he was about to accept his loss, a faint cry, almost swallowed by the engine's pulsation, mixed with the salty sea breeze, stubbornly entered his ears from below the starboard side.
He suddenly stopped and then bent down.
Before your eyes are modern artworks, each a different object viewed from a different angle: from the front, they resemble seashells; from the back, they look like rolling waves; and from the side, they resemble a feather. At night, LED lights mounted on the artworks illuminate. This is a popular photo spot for passengers throughout the ship.
The cry came from the shadows at the bottom of the largest curved sheet.
Milwaukee quickly pulled out his phone, and a beam of cold white light pierced the base. The base wasn't solid; it contained a perfectly sealed square metal cover. That was the equipment maintenance bay, used to house power supplies, LED drivers, transformers, and so on. Through a gap the width of a finger, Milwaukee II's round, fluorescent eyes stared at him in terror, his small body trapped inside the base.
Upon seeing Milford Sound, the kitten instinctively struggled upwards, scratching at the metal plate with even more frantic effort, making a soft scraping sound.
Milwald felt around the edges and realized he needed a screwdriver to open the base box, so he wasn't in a hurry anymore.
"good."
"Meow--!"
"Be good, be good."
He lowered his voice to a calm and slow tone and repeated it several times. Mi Er really did slowly stop his futile struggles, but he just paced anxiously on the spot, his tail tip wagging restlessly, as if urging him to save him quickly.
Milvolton smiled into the crack, took a cat treat from his pocket, and slowly tore open the seal.
The sweet, pungent smell of minced meat immediately wafted out.
The kitten, which had been trapped in the snare, instantly forgot its predicament. It pressed its face against the grid, its pink tongue eagerly sticking out from between the bars, futilely licking the air.
"Are you starving?" Milvolton waved the cat treat. "Sit still."
Mi Er Shi immediately shrank back, barely managing to assume a "sitting" posture, but his eyes remained fixed on the food.
Milverton simply sat cross-legged on the cool deck, tore the cat treats into smaller strips, and carefully squeezed them through the gaps. Watching the kitten wolf down its food, he slowly fed it while beginning a low, incessant lecture.
"Look at you, you caused trouble and didn't even apologize first. Always like this, only thinking about getting benefits from me." He paused, then said, "Are you planning to kill me sooner so you can inherit all my wealth, huh?"
Just then, a voice suddenly appeared above his head, "Mr. Milverton, do you need any help?"
Before he could finish speaking, a hard, cold, metallic-smelling round object pressed against the back of his head.
It's a gun.
Milverton remained unmoved, his tone unchanged: "It really is you, Miss Michelle."
Michelle: "Aren't you surprised?"
“Not surprising. There are plenty of people who want to kill me, one more won’t make a difference.” There was even a hint of mockery in his voice. “It’s just that you kept me up all night. Why didn’t you choose a more suitable time to kill?”
Michelle gave a short, cold laugh: "If I miss this opportunity I got from the crime consultant, I might never see you alone again. I have to seize this chance to make sure you die a swift and complete death."
“But do you think firing a shot here will get you out of here unscathed?” Milvolton said, his shoulder and neck twitching slightly as if he wanted to turn his head, but the muzzle of the gun was pushed back into place more forcefully. “We can actually make a deal.”
The word "deal" seemed to prick her sensitive nerves.
Michelle suddenly became emotional.
"No! I'd rather die than do business with you again!"
Anger and grief made her voice tremble, "You despicable person, you blackmailed me with my mistakes, and even wanted to tell my father. He was already in poor health, and after learning that I had caused an accident and fled the scene, he urged me to turn myself in, and then he fell seriously ill..."
Her voice rose higher and higher, like a string about to snap: "I can change! I can change! But you insisted on ruining my life! You killed him!"
The gun was pressed firmly against her as she lost control of her emotions, and Milwaldton felt a dull pain in the back of his head.
Yet he still managed to find an opportunity to speak amidst the rising and falling voices.
"Didn't you refuse to turn yourself in?"
"What?" A sudden pause flashed in Michelle's trembling voice.
This is completely different from what I imagined.
At this moment, wasn't Milwaldton pitifully begging for a way out, like a drowning dog, so that he could continue to humiliate him?
Or she could stubbornly claim that someone would come and discover Michelle's murder, and that she herself would have no way to escape unscathed.
But Milton only responded with contempt and ridicule.
“After I advised you to turn yourself in, it’s impossible for you to die immediately. You’re standing here perfectly fine. Isn’t this the result of a long-term struggle with your father, which angered him to the point of despair?”
He felt a sudden erratic breathing behind him, and the pressure on the gun barrel momentarily loosened. But this loosening was fleeting, and death was upon him again.
Then, a smile that was almost one of pity slowly spread across his face.
"You killed him, not me."
"Don't think of yourself as a champion of justice. Even if you kill me, you won't change this reality. You're just afraid to blame yourself, so you choose to blame me."
Michelle's eyes widened suddenly, a mixture of shock, piercing pain, and fury at being completely exposed, all blending into a terrifying, menacing glint in her eyes.
“Charles Milverton, die!!!”
Her scream and the pulling of the trigger were almost simultaneous.
Gunshots rang out.
Warm liquid splashed onto Milvolton's cheek, and the strong smell of rust instantly filled the salty sea breeze.
Everyone who heard the gunshot tensed up, but he remained smiling.
And Miguel II's pupils dilated with the sound of the gunshot, as if he were seeing some ultimate vision that humans could not comprehend.
At that very moment, the Noah was passing through 51.5 degrees north latitude and 0.5 degrees east longitude.
The Thames estuary is now out of sight.
The coastal cities are ablaze with lights like stars, while London is as mysterious and unfathomable as the night sky.
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Author's Note: The next chapter will be written in the first person! Then it will conclude with a summary and ending, marking the end of the main story! I think that's acceptable! But the word count will probably be quite high.
20 random small red envelopes. Goodnight! Thank you!!
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