Soon after they set off, heavy rain started to fall. A strange sultry atmosphere came down with the raindrops. When approaching the town hall where the mayor's office was located, the sound of rain was mixed with an incessant commotion. They saw a crowd of wounded soldiers crowded outside the iron fence surrounding the town hall, blocking the entrance to the fence and cursing inside. Some even grabbed the bars and shook them constantly, as if they were going to break in by force.
The guards inside the fence held their spears out to deter them.
"What the hell is this?" Hennessy hurried over, and Jorgen and Elin followed closely behind.
"Commander Hennessy, Commander Hennessy! This way!" A guard inside the fence waved at Hennessy and the others. They ran over, avoiding the sight of the wounded soldiers, and entered from a hidden small entrance.
"What happened?" Hennessy asked.
"These guys suddenly came to make trouble, saying we swallowed up the supplies that Stormwind City gave them."
"Supplies? Where did the supplies come from? Stormwind City hasn't sent us so much as a piece of horse dung!"
"We explained, but they wouldn't listen at all. They said they were going to..."
"Going to...oh, the mayor...is he all right?"
"He's in his own office. We've increased the guard. But if they intend to, uh, solve the problem violently, our strength may..."
"These lunatics," Elin looked at the gathEling place of the rioters, "probably over two hundred of them."
"I'll have my men come over." Hennessy said. "By the way, where are the captains of these bastards? Does he intend to allow his men to attack our government offices?"
"He's not here, Commander Hennessy. I guess he's probably in the camp outside the town. You know, he has always neglected these people..."
"Son of a bitch, I ought to go over and beat him up." Hennessy turned to Jorgen and Elin. "It looks like only you two can investigate the letter thing. I can't leave this alone. Is that okay?"
"Go ahead, be careful. These guys roll around like wild dogs in the mud." Jorgen said.
Hennessy nodded at Jorgen and then gave him the address of the letter department.
Jorgen looked at those wounded soldiers in the distance. They stank of blood, their yellow bandages on their heads and arms were loose, their eyes were furious, and they kept shouting impromptu slogans, as if their injured and immobilized parts had accumulated excess energy for them. Under the gray sky, they were like large rust stains native to Southshore , becoming part of the chaos along with the murder.
I've never seen such frenzied wounded soldiers before, Jorgen thought. Something unusual must be happening. The situation could get even worse.
"Come on, Jorgen. What are you looking at?" Elin said.
By the time they reached the Fishermen's Trade Union's letter department, Jorgen and Elin were soaked. It was just a small hut, with a thin, tall middle-aged man with glasses sitting at the desk, with several mailbags stacked behind him. After explaining their identity and purpose, the letter manager looked incredulous:
"I thought the investigators from Stormwind City would be welldressed gentlemen. But I didn't expect... I don't mean to offend, but I can hardly imagine such slovenly people having the rational thinking to handle complicated cases."
Elin sighed, shook his head, and then grabbed the manager's wrist behind his back, pressing it down, and pushing his shoulders down, knocking his teeth into the desktop. The manager whimpered.
"Gentlemen? No problem, I can dress like a gentleman, but my methods of solving problems won't change." Elin said.
"Listen, we've been handling murder cases all day, didn't even finish our lunch, and have been raining all this time. We're irritable enough already. Don't test our patience. Now answer me directly: Do you have any impression of the name 'Foudaire'? "
"Wuwu and whimper..."
"Let him go, Elin."
"Uncooperative citizens are the second people I dislike most." Elin took his hand away.
"Cough, cough!" The manager rubbed his neck, which had just been squeezed against the edge of the table. "...The name 'Foudaire' I know, of course I know. We have less than ten letters a month here, and he can be counted as a 'regular customer'. He sends a letter here every three months, always the same address."
"What's the address? Do you remember?"
"17 Seashell Street. Well, I don't actually know why he wrote it that way, because there's no 'Seashell Street' in Southshore ."
Hearing "Seashell Street", Jorgen frowned.
"No?" Elin asked, "Where did you send the letter then?"
"Nowhere. Every time someone comes to pick up the letter on his own. Always on the third or fourth day after the letter arrives, never fails."
"Tell us more about this." Jorgen said.
"Well...it goes back about three years ago. Maybe almost four years? I don't remember exactly... Anyway, this man, I don't know his name - suddenly appeared in this office, saying that before long there would be a man named Foudaire sending a letter, addressed to '17 Seashell Street'. He gave me a lot of gold coins to keep this letter for him to pick up when the time came. Since then, every three months, such a letter would come here, and he would come in person to pick it up. That's about it."
"What did that man look like?"
"He was tall and always wore a very widebrimmed hat that made it hard to see his face...almost completely obscured by the shadow of the brim. I guess he was about thirty years old."
"Just these features? That's almost like saying nothing at all." Elin said.
"Gentlemen, I don't know what case you are working on, perhaps this man is an extremely wicked fugitive? I hope not, if so, just thinking that for three years I have often dealt with such a mysterious and dangerous man, I would hate myself." In any case, I will try my best to help you. In fact, I have a letter from Foudaire that just arrived..."
Jorgen and Elin exchanged glances. The information provided by the manager exceeded expectations.
"Wait a minute, let me find it. It's in this packet..."
Five minutes later, the manager pulled out a pale yellow envelope and handed it to Jorgen.
Jorgen took it and examined the handwriting on the envelope. As the manager said, the sender column was filled with "Foudaire Mins" and the recipient address column was "Southshore , Seashell Street, 17".
The envelope was sealed with red wax. Ordinary letters only needed to seal one corner folded to the back, but the person who wrote this letter seemed particularly cautious, and the waxed area was very wide. Jorgen tore open the seal and shook out the thin sheet of paper inside. There was only one sheet of paper.
"What's written on it?" Elin asked.
"Will be arriving soon. Be on the lookout. — That's all. The meaning is quite clear, isn't it?"
"Foudaire was contacting someone. He told that person that Dalia was coming to Southshore . We have to catch this guy."
"You said when that guy would come pick up the letter just now?" Jorgen asked the manager.
"Well, since the letter arrived this morning...it would be the day after tomorrow. At the latest the day after that."
"All right, then," Jorgen said. "We'll be back. Keep this letter here for now."
"But you've already opened it!"
"Seal it up again. Don't tell me you've been a letter manager for so many years and haven't learned how to seal a letter."
"But the seal on this envelope was too much already," the manager said with difficulty, "I can't seal it neatly."
"Don't worry about that. I don't care how you do it, just make it look like a letter. By the way, keep everything that happened today confidential."
"I won't, gentlemen. It is an honor to help you solve the case -"
Elin interrupted the manager's words: "Don't look so excited. You must swear never to reveal this to anyone else. Even if someone threatens your life and only by telling can you save your life - I advise you not to say it. You may save your life by betraying this oath, but we two will come immediately to take your life, and the result will be no different in the end. Do you understand? "
After leaving the office, Jorgen said to Elin, "Don't you think that last sentence just now was a bit over the top? Something like 'taking his life'? "
"I know, even if he talks, we can't kill him. But this is the only entertainment I can get after joining Military Intelligence Section 7."
When they got back to their lodgings, it was late. Jorgen ate something casually and went to bed, intending to sleep. Outside the window was noisy: breaking bottles, dog barking, fist fighting. This kind of thing seemed endless. There were few moments of tranquility in his life, and this had been an especially busy day.
Even so, he fell asleep unconsciously, but woke up too early because of a dream of Shelley. It wasn't a pleasant dream. He saw in the darkness, flames spewing in all directions, and several people with distorted features chasing Shelley in the path of the flames. At first he seemed to be holding her hand and running with her, then suddenly he was underground watching her run. Finally, those distortedfeatured people suddenly turned to him, the flames obscuring his eyes - that's when he woke up with a start. At that time it was still midnight, and it took him a long time to fall asleep again for the second time.
The next morning, he came to the security bureau and found that Hennessy looked even more fatigued than him.
"How did it go yesterday?" Jorgen asked.
"Getting rid of those bastards took half my energy for the month. I don't want to talk about this topic for now."
"The information I got yesterday was quite good..."
"Wait, Jorgen. We're busy again, we can talk about what you found yesterday on the go. Do you believe it? Ryan was killed."