Trojan horse? I know this. It was a siege strategy that appeared in the Trojan War in ancient Greece. It is also the etymology of the computer virus commonly known as "Trojan horse" in the 21st century...

No, that's not the point she wanted to express.

Klein was a little confused and couldn't realize the intention of her words for a moment:

"What are your plans? Shouldn't we call the police?"

"Of course, if I want to call the police, I won't waste my magic power on repairing the body and repairing the surrounding furniture."

Saying this, Arthur Watson walked up to Meursault's body, carefully looked at the appearance and clothing of the deceased, and nodded slightly from time to time, as if to confirm something.

And when she spoke again, her flawless and handsome face maintained a calm and composed expression, and she easily changed the subject:

"We'll talk about the rest later. Have you had dinner today?"

Klein was slightly startled:

"Not yet... No, no, we shouldn't think about eating now, right? There is a corpse lying in our living room. A corpse! Are you planning to watch it eat?"

"Oh, thank you for your kind reminder. I think I will remember this gentleman lying on the ground." Arthur Watson buttoned up his shirt again and smiled perfunctorily, "But first of all, I'm not

The kind of person who has a special fetish for corpses. Secondly, what I want to say is that you can think about tonight’s dinner with peace of mind. As for this gentleman..."

Following Klein's gaze, the beautiful young man, who was so white that he looked a little sickly, bent down, held the man in black by the collar with one hand, and stood up straight again, as if he were lifting a light black bear doll.

Effortlessly lifting the body of Meursault, the "executor".

"I'll take him to the spare bedroom on the second floor to sit for a while, and then go downstairs later... Ah, just in time, after you have had dinner, it's time to start exploring my main body."

Looking at her back as she walked up the stairs to the second floor waving her hand, Klein silently closed his mouth that had been opened for a long time. After a while, he raised his feet to catch up with the stairs and called out to Arthur who was about to open the door to the empty bedroom.

Watson.

"Is there anything else?" Without stopping, she opened the doorknob of the door, threw the heavy object in her hand into the room, and then looked back at Klein, who was gradually approaching her.

He looked straight into those green eyes that were too hazy to see the true meaning, and no longer avoided eye contact with her:

"Thank you for helping me deal with the aftermath of this body... But as I said before, Meursault is one of the leaders of the Zmangue Party, and his mysterious disappearance will soon be discovered.

And those gangsters who know his itinerary will definitely be able to find out that he has been to No. 15 Minsk Street and to Detective Sherlock's house... I think I hope to discuss with you what to do without calling the police.

Properly avoid possible troubles in the future...Yes, and maybe you don't know our neighbors, such as Mrs. Salmer's family next door, and lawyer Jurgen who came to entrust me with work a few days ago..."

"I understand. What you mean is that you don't want their current lives and personal safety to be affected by gangs." Arthur Watson raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

Being told his intention so bluntly, Klein remained reserved and even felt some strange feeling of connection with her soul. For a moment, he had to suppress his rapid heartbeat and deliberately joked to lighten the atmosphere:

"...After all, before I became a detective, I was first a conscientious young historian."

"The conscientious young historian I knew has been buried." She shook her head, thought for a moment, then invited him into the room and said, "Since you want to know, then come in. Strictly speaking, this person is

You killed sir, and the body should be your trophy..."

"I don't want this kind of trophy that will make people sleep hard!" The material gain from this battle is enough to contain the extraordinary characteristics of the "Hunter"!

Klein murmured as he followed her into the vacant bedroom facing north, shivering inconspicuously in the damp and cold weather as the sky gradually turned dark.

After turning on the control knob of the gas lamp, the darkness in the room was driven away by the light. It retreated to the gloomy rainy night outside the curtains and the red moon could not be seen. I had no choice but to deal with the cold wind blowing on the glass window.

As soon as he turned around to turn on the light and close the door, Arthur Watson had already taken out several intriguing objects, threw them randomly on the single bed without sheets and mattresses, and lowered his head to rummage among them.

Looking for something.

"This is..." Klein walked over and leaned slightly to observe the mysterious props with strange shapes, "Scarecrow?"

Just as he said, there were about seven or eight weird little people made of hay scattered on the bed board. Their oval and flat heads had facial features painted in black ink, and the curves at the corners of their mouths were weird and scary.

It's a classic smile that can be classified as a cult classic.

In the center of the chests of those little straw men, most of them have a piece of white paper with writing on them, and are penetrated by several rusty sharp nails. It seems to be inseparable from ominous concepts such as curses.

With sharp eyes, he even recognized the text on the white paper on the scarecrow's chest: "Father クソ."

...Although he couldn't understand the two symbols that seemed to be Japanese kana, Klein intuitively felt that they were not good words.

But who is the priest? What bad things has he done that would make Alice use him to stab someone?

"It is indeed a scarecrow in essence, but from the professional point of view of a spellcaster, its definition is a 'magic medium'." Arthur Watson picked out one that was relatively intact and had no rusty nails stuck in its chest.

The little scarecrow took it in his hands and took advantage of it to collect the other "Father Scarecrows" and casually spread the knowledge about the magic of other worlds to him.

"Spells, curses, sorcery... This system of spells has many different names and ways of calling it. In short, it is a powerful, dangerous and tabooed secret knowledge. The top curse masters will never be able to avoid encounters with evil and cruel temperaments.

Being linked to descriptions similar to these adjectives, being associated with horrific and bizarre rumors, even sight may become a medium for the spread of curses, and just holding the real name in hand can easily kill the target of the spell thousands of miles away..."

"But it doesn't have much to do with you, does it?" Klein guessed as he looked at the rough-made straw man in her hand.

Arthur Watson, who was adjusting the body proportions of the straw man, seemed to be choked. He paused for a few seconds before raising his eyes and rolling his eyes at the man:

"Why doesn't it matter? I learned the basics of my spells from La... from the witch who is the most proficient in spells in the world. How can I say it doesn't matter? Of course, of course I have to admit that my talent in spells is relatively...

, to use Teacher Lana’s words, it is not suitable for learning spells..."

Lana, this is the name of her witch teacher who is proficient in spells... Well, she had always vowed before that he should not confuse magicians and witches, but in the end, didn't she still have a witch teacher who taught spells?

This shows that the boundary between the two is not very clear. There is no problem at all in calling her a witch.

Klein nodded silently in his mind and motioned for her to continue speaking without any apparent expression on his face.

"...No matter what, as long as the key medium is there, I can use magic to control the body of Mr. Meursault, like this-"

Arthur Watson held the small folding knife that slipped out of his sleeve, squatted down, and neatly scraped off a handful of bloody hair from the head of the dark-skinned, muscular man, and buried it in the

Inside the straw man picked out earlier.

As she recited several mysterious syllables in a low voice, the color of the hay on the scarecrow's body seemed to deepen. Klein even had a strong premonition of being silently watched by the eyes outlined in the ink, and had to use

It almost becomes an instinctive control, suppressing the voluntary contraction of the arrector pili muscles on the back.

"Okay." After placing the straw man in his hand on the ground, Arthur Watson clapped his hands twice and said with a smile, "Stand up, Mr. Meursault."

In response, the scarecrow Meursault got up from the floor, his eyes wide open, and the "executioner" Meursault stood up straight in synchronization with him, his eyes empty, staring straight ahead.

"Blink, relax, and look more natural."

Meursault, who was supposed to be just a corpse, slowly blinked his eyes, and his expression softened, as if he was seeing the owner who fed him with his own hands.

After that, Arthur Watson gave several more simple instructions, and Klein watched from the sidelines as the plateau man and the scarecrow man did push-ups together, looked around imitating curly baboons, and danced a lame folk dance.

Funny scene, trying hard to suppress the surprise in my heart.

After carefully looking at the "executioner" in black from top to bottom several times, Arthur Watson nodded gently:

"It seems that the cause of death was due to his throat being slit. Meursault seems to have lost his speech ability now, but his reflexes, common sense and memory are still there... Well, the situation looks pretty good."

Klein quickly realized the strategic significance of Meursault's "resurrection" and stood up, and he couldn't help showing a look of joy on his face:

"As long as tonight, Meursault's men see him returning to the stronghold of the Zmangue party on his own, and no one notices the fact that he is dead, and postpones the fact of his death for a few days... no one will

I think Meursault’s death has something to do with Detective Sherlock!”

"Of course, this is also a solution. But as I said, Mr. Meursault is a very good candidate to become a 'Trojan Horse'. If you just delay his death, it will be a bit of a waste of this spell, so

…”

Saying this, Arthur Watson chuckled, shook his head, turned to the scarecrow on the ground, and gave the next instruction:

"You should go back to the Zmange Party's stronghold first. Try to avoid conversations with acquaintances on the way. Go directly back to your own room. If you encounter an unavoidable conversation, just cough to cover it up."

The little scarecrow nodded upon hearing this, turned around and began to stand in place comically; Meursault, on the other hand, walked straight to the bedroom exit, unscrewed the door lock seemingly normally, and stepped away, his movements appearing natural and smooth.

Klein stood at the window on the second floor and watched until the figure of the "executor" in a black coat left his house. His back gradually merged into the continuous rain and mist on the street, and then he breathed a sigh of relief:

"It seems that the crisis has been resolved for the time being..."

"Well, there is a high probability that the Zimange Party will not come to your door."

Because they will soon be too busy to take care of an unknown private detective.
Chapter completed!