Given Mr. Pisco's "all-knowing" nature, Jenkins had originally expected that upon his arrival, some vagrant, newspaper boy, or even a passing stray cat would deliver the key and the gold pounds to him.
"No ticket number? Oh, right, we do offer short-term safe-deposit boxes. Are you here to retrieve something from one? I'll need the key number, please."
As she spoke, the woman at the reception desk held out her palm to Jenkins.
Jenkins still didn't have the key.
The woman shook her head, sat back down, crossed her legs, and resumed knitting her sweater, not even glancing at Jenkins.
"The lost-and-found is to the right as you come in. Just take whatever you like."
Retrieving items from the lost-and-found required no paperwork, but Jenkins thought hiding the key and the gold pounds there was a bit too risky. He hadn't held out much hope and had even planned to have Chocolate sneak back in to search later, but to his surprise, he actually found a letter addressed to him in the lost-and-found box.
The address on the envelope was perfectly clear: "For Mr. Jenkins Williams"
He opened the envelope to find nothing inside, but finally discovered a sentence written on the inner flap:
"The items are at the Travelers' Bank. The safe-deposit box number is under the stamp on the last letter; the verification password is my birthday—if you don't know it, look on my tombstone. The key is your own house key; I was the one who found the locksmith for you when you moved."
Jenkins was speechless for a long time.
"So that's why the last letter had a stamp, even though it wasn't sent through the post... But was it really necessary to make it this complicated?"
In fact, he was beginning to doubt whether Mr. Pisco was truly dead. If the man were to suddenly pop out of the house across the street at that very moment, Jenkins wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.
But this method of secrecy was indeed brilliant. After commissioning the "Huntress" on the black market to investigate his new neighbor, Jenkins took the key and the envelope to the Travelers' Bank.
Since he had to use his own house key, he entered the bank under his real identity. On second thought, this was the first time he had ever set foot in the place for legitimate business, and his mood inexplicably improved.
All day, he had been worried about running into Hathaway, but so far, he hadn't spotted her brilliant red hair. When the receptionist walked over, he was startled for a moment by her red hair, but he quickly realized he was overthinking things.
"Sir, are you all right?"
The female receptionist looked quite concerned; Jenkins had just reacted like a man having a heart attack.
Because it was a completely legitimate transaction, and Jenkins had the safe-deposit box number, the password, and the key, the process of retrieving the brown leather briefcase went off without a hitch.
The only interruption was the receptionist, who kept trying to sell him on the bank's deposit services. According to her, the Travelers' Bank was planning to officially launch a high-interest savings account service later in the month to provide relief for ordinary citizens and to help small business owners and merchants.
The so-called "high" interest was, in reality, only slightly better than the near-nonexistent rates they offered before. The woman assured Jenkins it was a "can't-lose investment," but he had no intention of listening.
He waited until he was home to open the briefcase. This time, there were no letters inside, only an apartment key and a stack of gold pounds. He counted it carefully; it was about 2000 pounds in a mix of denominations, making it convenient to spend.
Jenkins didn't know if he would receive any more letters from Mr. Pisco, but he sincerely hoped the man wasn't dead. The playwright's "all-knowing" nature could be irksome, but Jenkins always felt immense goodwill toward friends who had genuinely helped him.
By the time he had gathered all the necessary materials from the black market, it was nearly evening. He had spent so much of Mr. Pisco's money that less than a pound remained. When he stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the apartment building, the driver stated the fare, and Jenkins realized his remaining change was just enough to pay for the ride.
"Really, couldn't you have at least left me the fare for the ride home?"
He grumbled, half-joking.
After some thought, he donned his black robe, then took his cat and knocked on the apartment door. The same landlady answered. She listened to his explanation suspiciously, her gaze flicking down to the key he held.
"If you're a friend of Mr. Pisco's and you're here to collect his belongings, then why didn't I see you at the funeral?" Content orıginally comes from novel⟡fire.net
"I was out of the country until recently. I'm a merchant."
He spoke with the "foreign accent" of Candle Mr. "I only received the letter he sent before he passed away last month. This key was inside."
The landlady scrutinized him for a good while longer before finally allowing the stranger inside. She warned him that this was a one-time opportunity; he was to gather everything now and not return.
Mr. Pisco's apartment was already empty, and all his belongings had been moved to the basement. The building's basement was damp and chilly, and the landlady seemed to have no plans to renovate it for a new tenant.
There were no gas lines in the basement, so Jenkins had to use a candle for light. The landlady didn't follow him down, merely telling him to be quick and to keep an eye on his cat so it wouldn't wander off.
The floor was thick with dirt and dust, and cardboard boxes of all sizes were piled up like a small mountain. Cobwebs clung to a corner, and beneath them sat a heavily rusted, old-fashioned textile machine.
Once he confirmed the landlady was gone, Jenkins patted Chocolate, who was perched on his shoulder. He then activated his Eye of Reality and scanned the area, spotting a faint spiritual glow in the far recesses of the basement.
The wall was obscured by clutter. After some effort, Jenkins managed to clear the junk away, only to find nothing but a grimy wall.
Touching the wall felt like pushing his hand through a transparent film of water. A small amount of his spirit drained from him automatically, and a door materialized on the surface of the wall.
Jenkins sighed, placed Chocolate on a nearby cardboard box, and then summoned an illusion to stand in his place.
"Wait here for me for two hours. I'm going down to take a look. If there's danger, I'll come back immediately. If you feel I've been gone too long, just head straight to the church, alright?"
Chocolate nodded obediently, gazing up at Jenkins. Pleased by his cat's good behavior, Jenkins picked up the briefcase full of materials, raised his candle, and pushed the door open.