London at the end of the 19th century was not a good place to live. The air was always filled with fog with odor, and it rained frequently, and the sun was not common, so the rich locals liked to spend their holidays in country houses far away from London. Bofu didn't care about this. Anyway, as a big monster, he would not be defeated by air pollution at all - this is far better than the air pollution in Beijing in the future... He was interested in the dark world of London. "It's really not much, but there are still some small things in the countryside of England and Scotland. In terms of density alone, it is even higher than many places on the European continent... But little fairies, flower fairies and other legendary creatures are a bit miserable... Just a hundred years ago, this kind of thing was not a rare supernatural creature at all."

Not to mention Bo Fu's sigh, there were many reports on various superstitious rumors in the Times that were spread in front of him. However, basically all of them were rumors and ridiculous fabrications. However, if a newspaper did not have such things, its sales would be worrying and advertisements would not be sold. Therefore, even serious newspapers like the Times had to set up this area in the supplement - "This newspaper in ancient and modern times is exactly the same... People all over the world are basically superstitious and boring, hahahaha."

But then again, the real darkness is actually hidden in these reports - whether it is a news page or a rumor-producing page... The dark side of the world is hidden between low-level fun and various murder reports. Bo Fu saw one now, and it was a directly related to him - on the page that specializes in publishing various murder cases and pornographic cases...

"The Scottish headless knight reappears! The local police call it nonsense! 'We can catch the murderer!'; 'The murderer is a homeless man!'" Below the horrifying title is a series of small words - although the font of this title is actually small and black. It is completely inferior to the huge bold word above "Murder! Sir xx in the prostitute's room was secretly murdered! When he died, he was naked and lying with the prostitute!"...

Bo Fu first read the report above with relish - the pornographic words and the obscure metaphor makes people slap the British! Then he looked at the report below. After reading the first line of words, he already knew it. The place where the case happened was the place where he massacred a manor and created the headless knight. Then he began to read the report carefully, and after removing all the horrifying and exaggerated adjectives, he actually said only one sentence - two days ago in the morning of the Highlands, someone found a headless corpse. The body was confirmed to be a local farmer and could not be found. The police believed that a homeless man wanted to murder this poor man when he saw money, but they were vague about whether he had robbed it or not. How much money he got... Bo Fu learned a lot of things with a slight sense of mind. The unlucky farmer had five pennies on his body, and he put it openly in his pocket.

Then he continued to watch, and in a series of random fabrications, he said that the locals believed that the headless knight who appeared in the legend was cut off and took him away. The police refuted this was nonsense and claimed that they had locked up the suspect. For these, the focus of the newspaper's report was on the legendary headless knight. The so-called suspect of the police simply used a few words to describe the matter... "It has entered the active period... Some people really don't know how to live or die, and they actually tried to use black witchcraft to arouse the headless knight I was doing." Bo Fu did not use his divine thoughts to learn more about the whole facts - because that was too boring, "It's just that it's fun to investigate like a mortal, hahaha."

"Warson! I found a blind spot! I have to say that the local police are far inferior to Restrade in Scotland Yard! They turned a blind eye to the obvious facts of the time. The so-called homeless man is just a bad guy they introduced!" A tall and thin man held a pipe in his hand and said to another man sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper with a clear mockery tone.

At the same time, Bofu has also turned the Times to a page that specializes in publishing various notices, obituaries and messages. He looked at one of the obituaries "Sir Charles Baskerville's death", Bofu looked at the main text below "Due to a sudden heart attack, the respected Sir Charles Baskerville passed away on May 14, 1886..."

"Has the cute puppy finally found his prey again... It's so gratifying." Bofu murmured, picked up the rum cup beside the table and drank it all. Then Bofu put down the newspaper casually and picked up another newspaper, which wrote an extremely ambiguous and obscene title in exaggerated letters. "Are there already tabloids these days? If the British hadn't had a minimum limit and the photography technology was not enough, I guess the third edition of the girl would have appeared 80 years in advance... But, I didn't expect that the third edition of the girl would have appeared 80 years in advance...

I miscalculated! I actually had such shameless things..." A piece of cardboard slipped from this newspaper. Bo Fu's keen eyes had already seen this photo of a woman with her butt raised and was spanked. The woman in the photo was only wearing a petticoat dress and not a lantern underwear. A big white butt in the photo... Bo Fu flipped over the newspaper and then glanced at the title a little, "It's indeed a shoddy and nonsense tabloid, all relying on clipping such things in the newspaper to gain the market... But why do I just like this tune?"

At this time, a visitor came to 221 Baker Street. He was a tall and thin man with a long nose like a bird's beak, protruding between a pair of sharp and gray eyes. His eyes were very close to each other and brightly glowed behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was wearing clothes that his party liked to wear, but it was quite dewy, because his coat was dirty and his pants were worn. Although he was still young, his long back was bent, and he leaned forward as he walked, but he was a very gentle young man. "Doctor James Mortimo, what kind of questions do you want to ask the crime expert Sherlock Holmes?" asked a middle-aged man with a hooked nose and a long figure with a pipe in his mouth. His friend, Dr. Watson, put his arm above the fireplace and stood and looked at Dr. Mortimo.

Dr. Motmore took out a document. An ancient document and looked at Sherlock Holmes with a look of "Can you look at it?" "Yes, documents from the early eighteenth century..." Sherlock Holmes said, then took the document and spread it out, "Please pay attention to Watson, pay attention to the changes in the letters in it, which is a characteristic of the age of this document."

The document is a letter written to his sons by a frightened country estate owner, which describes a story about the curse of their family. The story contains a poor wife, a fierce husband and a loyal beagle...

"An interesting myth, isn't it?" Sherlock Holmes said casually after reading the documents, "But you are not here just to let me see this story, right? By the way! Watson! Please bring the Times today! I remember where I saw the name Baskerville."

Watson brought the Times, and Dr. Mortimor showed a marvelous face, and his hand was lying in his pocket. But before he could take out the things in his pocket, Holmes had quickly turned over what he wanted to see. "Ahhh! Obituary! Obituary about Sir Charles Baskerville, heart disease? Is this a month ago?" And Dr. Mortimor had already taken out the newspaper folded in his pocket, which was a Devon Notes, a local tabloid. He opened the folded side towards Holmes, and it was on it.

It was also an obituary. Since it was a local newspaper, the obituary was published almost two weeks earlier than the Times, and there were more commemorative strokes about the great achievements of the characters than the Times. Sherlock Holmes flipped the newspaper casually, "It was basically useless... After removing those praises, we could only see this man making money abroad and returning to his hometown. More than a decade later, he died of a heart attack due to a night walk. But I think Dr. Motimo must have something else to say to us."

When Dr. Motimo began to tell the story, on the side of London, Bofu had already called a carriage and ran towards the London Railway Station.

On the second floor of 221 Baker Street, Holmes and Watson were listening carefully to Dr. Mortimor.

"In this way," Dr. Motimo said, and his feelings began to get excited, "and he would tell everything I had not told anyone, and I even concealed the coroner. Because a person who works in science is most afraid of appearing to be believed in a circulating superstition in public. Another motivation of mine, as the newspaper said, would be as bad as it would be, if anything worsened its already terrible reputation, then no one would dare to live in the Basqueville Manor. For these two reasons, I think it would be correct not to say everything I know, because it would not be of any benefit, but for you, I have no reason to be unspoken and thorough.

"The residents of the moor lived far away from each other, and the people who lived closer together developed a close relationship. So I had many opportunities to meet Sir Charles Baskerville. Apart from Mr. Frankland and biologist Mr. Stapleton, there were no more educated people within a radius of dozens of miles."

"I saw it more and more clearly in the last few months. Sir Charles' nervous system was extremely nervous. He believed in the legend, although he often walked in his house, but he refused to go to the moor at night. Mr. Holmes, to you, it seemed so unbelievable, but he believed that his home was already at the forefront. He asked me more than once if he had seen something strange on his way to the night, or heard the howling of a hunting dog. He had asked me many times, and always with a panic-shaking tone."

"I remember very clearly that one evening I drove to his house in a carriage, about three weeks before this fatal incident. He happened to be in front of the main hall. I had already gotten out of my carriage and stood in front of him. I suddenly saw his eyes with a terrifying expression, staring at my back. I turned around suddenly, and just as I had time to see a black thing like a big calf running over quickly. He was so panicked and horrified that I had to walk to the animal that had once walked.

I searched around the place where I passed. It had run away. However, this incident seemed to have had a very bad effect in his heart. I stayed with him for a night, and at that time, in order to explain his emotions, he kept the record I showed you when I first came. The reason I mentioned this little episode is because it may be of some importance in the subsequent tragedy, but at that time, I did think it was just a trivial matter, and his horror was unreasonable."

"It was only after I followed my advice that Sir Charles planned to go to London. I knew that his heart had been affected, and that he was often in anxiety, no matter how illusory the cause was, obviously seriously affecting his health. I think that a few months of urban life could turn him into a newcomer. Our mutual friend, Mr. Stapleton, was very concerned about his health, and he had the same opinion as me. However, this terrible disaster happened at the last moment before his departure."

"On the night when Sir Charles died suddenly, I came to Baskerville Manor within an hour after the accident. I verified all the facts mentioned during the autopsy. I observed his footprints, looked at the gate facing the moor, and it seemed that he had been waiting for someone there, and I noticed the shape of the footprint below that point. I found no other footprints. Finally, I carefully examined the body, and no one had touched it before I arrived. Sir Charles lay on the ground, his arms stretched out, and his fingers were inserted into the soil; his facial muscles tightened with strong emotions, and even made me unable to recognize, and there were indeed no scars. I saw--justly not far apart, not only clear but also fresh."

“Footprints?”

"Footprints."

"Is it a man's or a woman's?"
Chapter completed!