Lionel knew that it wasn't far from Baker Street, about half an hour's walk, but it wasn't a suitable place to go recently.
The serialization of The Sign of the Four was nearing its end, at the climax of revealing secrets, and the area around 221B Baker Street was swarming with fervent fans of Holmes.
His situation in London this time was too special; he didn't want to be exposed, at least not in the next few days.
Going to the headquarters of Good Words magazine, on the other hand, would take at least 2 hours, requiring him to cross the East End of London, and at night.
Although he hadn't personally experienced the public order in the East End, he had written extensively about it in his "Sherlock Holmes" stories.
Moreover, in a few years, "Jack the Ripper" would appear there...
It wouldn't be impossible to go back and knock on the second violinist's door, get a meal, and borrow some money, but Lionel really didn't want to lose face in front of a great man.
Lionel thought for a long time and decided to explore the vicinity first to see if he could get a few pence for dinner, and ideally, take the underground or a public carriage.
He wrapped his coat tighter and began to walk aimlessly along the street.
The path under his feet gradually extended from the middle-class district near Regent's Park towards the noisy working-class residential areas.
Gas streetlights became sparser, their dim yellow light illuminating mottled walls and piles of rubbish.
The air was also mixed with the smell of coal smoke, poor quality tobacco, and fermented beer.
Various "night owls" appeared in his sight:
Workers fresh off the night shift with faces covered in coal dust; beggars huddled in street corners or doorways; the roar of machines emanating from brightly lit printing workshops...
He also saw a "Penny Lodging House"—its curtain open, revealing many people sitting crowded inside.
Unable to lie down, they could only bend their backs, resting their heads and arms on a rope stretched across the room to barely rest; this was the price of one penny per night.
If one spent an extra penny, they could get a "bed", which was merely a wooden cubicle with a thin layer of straw and hard boards, like a coffin.
All of this made him truly feel the other side of this "world capital" beneath its glamorous facade.
At this moment, his legs began to ache, and hunger also set in.
He saw a pub ahead, with "The Bent Pickaxe" written on its sign, which was also a curved pickaxe, and yellow light was emanating from its windows.
Lionel took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping inside.
Inside the pub, smoke billowed, and the air was thick.
Behind the bar stood the balding owner, wiping glasses.
At several wooden tables sat customers dressed as laborers, mostly drinking, smoking, playing cards, or conversing in low voices.
Lionel walked straight to the bar:
"Good evening, sir. I apologize for the interruption, but I've had a bit of an accident. My wallet is lost, and I'm currently penniless. I need a few pence for a meal, and then I need to find a way to get to my friend's place. Would you allow me to do something for you in exchange for some remuneration?"
The owner stopped wiping the glasses and looked him up and down.
Lionel's clothes weren't lavish, but the fabric and tailoring clearly showed they weren't cheap, and he had a clean demeanor and refined speech.
The owner squinted and asked,
"You've had an education?"
Lionel nodded:
"Of course."
The owner stroked his chin, seemingly having thought of something:
"Hmm, coincidentally, 'Old Pipes' Jim suddenly died yesterday, and now we have no one here to read the newspaper. Can you read the newspaper? If you read it well, so everyone can understand, I'll give you sixpence and a dinner. What do you say?"
Read the newspaper?
This was an unexpectedly easy job.
Lionel barely hesitated, immediately nodding and agreeing:
"No problem, I'd be glad to."
"Alright!"
The owner was straightforward, pulling a crumpled tabloid from under the bar and handing it to Lionel.
He pointed to an article on it:
"Read this first, it's fresh and hot! Find a somewhat empty spot, and be loud!"
Lionel took the newspaper, glanced at its name—The Rowdy Gazette—and found a corner with slightly better light to stand in.
He cleared his throat, unfolded the newspaper, and prepared to begin his temporary job.
However, when he saw the newspaper's sensational headline and accompanying illustration, his mouth twitched involuntarily—
"Sherlock Holmes Ventures into Witch Island, Cleverly Solves Vampire Mystery and Wins the Heart of a Beauty!"
Lionel: "..."
He felt a sudden darkness.
But for the sake of sixpence and dinner, he steeled himself and began to read:
"...The night was as black as ink, and mist swirled over the River Thames...
Our brave and fearless detective, the esteemed Count Holmes, was at this moment piloting his speedboat, named 'Justice', in pursuit of a suspicious cargo ship.
This cargo ship was not loaded with ordinary goods, but ancient sarcophagi from Transylvania!
Inside the sarcophagi, slept a vampire bride of peerless beauty, yet deeply cursed..."
The previously noisy pub gradually quieted down, and many customers were drawn in by the bizarre opening.
Lionel suppressed the urge to scoff and continued reading.
The Holmes in this "novel" had completely abandoned his detective duties, transforming into a dashing, skilled "rogue" proficient in supernatural knowledge.
He could not only hypnotize gargoyles with violin music but also concoct silver bullets with chemical reagents to fight werewolves...
He was also surrounded by countless noble ladies and mysterious women who were infatuated with him.
"Count Holmes smiled faintly, his perceptive grey eyes sweeping over every guest at the ball..."
Lionel read, feeling his cheeks flush slightly:
"'The true murderer,' his deep, magnetic voice resonated—
'did not use any complex machinery, but exploited people's deepest fears! And, an aphrodisiac from the East.'
With that, he gracefully turned to the terrified Duchess beside him, 'Madam, you need not fear, I am here.'..."
At first, Lionel read with some stumbles and awkwardness, but gradually, he began to get into it.
This purely entertaining "pulp fiction" also had its own charm!
He began to incorporate vocal inflections, mimicking the tones of the characters in the story, and even deliberately pausing at particularly exaggerated plot points to create suspense.
"...No sooner said than done, just as the enormous bat-monster swooped down, its sharp claws about to seize poor Miss Mary!
Count Holmes lunged forward, his walking stick—oh no, it was no ordinary stick, but a magical weapon inscribed with alchemical matrices personally taught by Sir Isaac Newton—
Suddenly swung! A blinding golden light..."
The customers in the pub were completely captivated.
They put down their drinks and cards, watching Lionel intently, uttering gasps, exclamations, and laughter as the plot progressed.
This kind of story, full of excitement, adventure, and suggestive elements, clearly suited their tastes very well.
When Lionel finished reading the climax of this installment's serialization—
Count Holmes, at the last moment, exposed the millennium lich disguised as a butler, and broke the vampire bride's curse with a "kiss of true love";
Of course, he also conveniently received the gratitude and passionate kisses of both the vampire bride and the Duchess, two great beauties.
—The pub erupted in a round of enthusiastic applause and whistles.
"Well done, fellow!"
"That was a splendid reading!"
"Much more spirited than Old Pipes Jim!"
"Another segment!"
Lionel listened to these praises, a feeling of absurdity welling up inside him.
But his wondrous adventure in London had only just begun...
(End of Chapter)