“Excuse me, does Mr. Laurel live here? Is he home?”
There was no wind today, and the city was once again shrouded in thick fog. The morning sun could not penetrate the cloud layer with any strength, leaving the entire street looking somewhat gloomy.
As the drunkard eyed Shade with suspicion, Shade was also sizing him up. Although the client, Mrs. Lemel, had been unable to provide a photograph of the lawyer, the physical characteristics of the drunkard before him were completely inconsistent with the description provided by the client; this certainly wasn't the lawyer.
“Laurel? Go look for him at the pub at the end of the street.”
As he spoke, the drunkard attempted to slam the door shut. Shade strongly suspected that this fellow had also just stepped out of the pub.
Thinking this, he reached out and held the door open. No matter how hard the drunkard pushed, he couldn't close it. A smile that Shade believed to be very approachable appeared on his face
“Sir, I also wanted to ask, when did Mr. Laurel move here? Also, what does he do for a living?”
Because he didn't want to breathe through his nose to avoid inhaling too much alcohol vapor, his voice sounded somewhat muffled.
“Him? He was already here when I moved in three years ago. He’s a lawyer—someone who specializes in solving legal problems for people, handling things like estates, divorces, and such *hic*!”
The drunkard mumbled. After Shade thanked him, he finally allowed the man to close the door.
With his hands in his pockets, Shade observed the door in front of him, then turned back to look at the bustling street. Carriages passed by; a newsboy looked at him hopefully, while a housewife leading a child walked along the wall, scolding the youngster. After declining the newsboy, Shade looked toward the pub at the end of the street
“Although I have information, I can't trust it entirely. I still need to meet this lawyer. If all else fails, I'll just break into the house; since he's been a lawyer for many years, it's impossible for him not to have a large volume of documents.”
If it were midnight, Shade could have used an illusion to confuse the drunkard and slipped inside silently when he knocked. Unfortunately, Shade's occult arts were restricted during the day. An outsider blessed by the Silver Moon was a powerhouse of the night... though in truth, he wasn't actually *that* powerful.
The pub at the end of Queen Mary Street was called the "Pig's Head Pub." Judging by the name, it likely had no distinguishing features.
Although it was only nine in the morning, there were still quite a few people inside. After pushing the door open and stepping inside, Shade took a breath of the strange scent—a mixture of alcohol and fermenting food—and saw that nearly half the tables were occupied.
Because it operated on the street rather than in a narrow alley, the hygiene here was at least decent. There was even a young man wearing a hat sitting by the wall playing a lute, the sound blending perfectly into the pub's clamor.
Shade scanned the environment of the pub, concluded that the fire safety measures were inadequate, and then walked toward the bar. Tapping the counter, he took out his wallet and raised his voice to be heard over the noise
“A glass of water—no, a rye beer.”
The busy bartender glanced at him
“5 pence.”
Shade placed 7 pence on the counter. The bartender gave him a surprised look.
“Who is Mr. Locke Laurel?” the detective inquired.
“Just for an extra two pence?” the young bartender said in astonishment. Seeing that Shade wanted to take the money back, he hurriedly swept the small coins into his own hand
“Two pence is still money... That one over there, the tall man playing Rhode cards with others by the wall.”
The client had described the lawyer as a man with brown hair, dark brown eyes, taller than Shade, and possessing a beer belly.
Following the bartender's gesture, he indeed saw five or six people gathered around a table by the wall. Among them, the man sitting at the table was the only one wearing a white shirt.
While this wasn't the slum of Tobeisk's North District, the people living nearby generally hovered between satiety and hunger. On a weekday morning, most of the people lingering in the pub were idlers, so they dressed casually, making the lawyer in the white shirt very conspicuous.
“Do you know anything about Mr. Laurel’s situation?”
Shade didn't walk over immediately but asked instead. The young bartender, whose face was covered in dense freckles, flashed a worldly smile and made a rubbing motion with his fingers. Shade thought for a moment and pushed the glass of rye beer toward him
“My treat.”
“You...”
The bartender had probably never met someone like this, but he still placed the beer on the shelf behind him and took five pence from the small cash box, stuffing it into his pocket
“He’s a lawyer. He comes here to play Rhode cards every Wednesday, Friday, and on weekends.”
“Has he been a lawyer for a long time? Does he spend much on gambling here?” Shade asked again. The bartender looked at him for a while, and seeing that he had no intention of producing more money, said somewhat helplessly
“Yes, he’s been a lawyer since he moved to this street five years ago. As for playing Rhode cards, it's just a hobby; he's not even a gambler. I suppose people with an education can control themselves well.”
Shade leaned his arm on the counter and turned to look at the lawyer, whose back was to him. From the current situation, there was a high probability that Locke Laurel was a genuine lawyer. Combined with the divination from the Seer's Association, it was basically certain that this person was legitimate. However, Shade still needed one final confirmation before the investigation could be considered closed.
And quite conveniently, Shade could barely be considered a Rhode card player himself.
Bidding farewell to the seemingly bored bartender, he walked toward the group of players while organizing his deck. He naturally removed all the special cards and replaced them with ordinary playing cards; a pub like this was not a safe place.
He then pretended to be drawn in, standing with the crowd of onlookers to observe the match between the lawyer and a crude, sweating middle-aged man. The latter was clearly unlucky; every time he drew a card, he spat out foul language. In the end, he slammed his cards onto the ground in a rage, abandoning the small pile of change and cards on the table, and stormed toward the bar. It seemed he had run out of money to continue.
“Anyone else want to play?”
The victorious middle-aged lawyer looked quite smug. People whispered among themselves, discussing the highlights of the previous round, but no one seemed moved to join.
Shade, of course, did not step forward immediately. He waited until Lawyer Laurel looked somewhat impatient before calling out loudly from behind the crowd
“If you don't mind playing with a stranger, I think I could give it a try.”
The people made way for him to reach the table, and Shade placed his set of old Rhode cards on the round wooden tabletop.
The lawyer sized him up with a refined air, took a large gulp from the glass in front of him, and then gestured for him to sit
“5 pence a round. Double for a bust, triple for a twenty-one, and quadruple if you draw a King and Queen. Only the highest multiplier applies. Let me warn you, this isn't a game for young people.”
The stakes were relatively small, but if one kept losing, it could still become terrifying.