Caspian and Palm made their way through the narrow, wet streets, climbing a small hill toward a structure that looked like a château nestled between the other buildings. After knocking on the large, ornate wooden door a few times, a man finally opened it. He was a man in his fifties, wearing glasses—tall, bald in the middle, with white hair on the sides.
"Mr. Mortis… You didn't mention you were coming."
"I had told Mr. Jacob before that I might drop by without notice."
"And who might your friend be?"
"My assistant… Palm. You can just call him Palm."
"Very well… please follow me," the man said, ushering them inside.
The interior of the manor truly resembled a castle. In fact, there were many houses like this in the surrounding area. These mansions had likely once stood in the middle of large gardens, but now seemed lost among other buildings.
The interior was mostly sparse. Occasionally, paintings and candelabras on the walls caught Caspian's eye. Despite the grandeur the building projected from the outside, it was impossible to find the same sense of magnificence inside.
"Isn't it difficult to manage this entire house on your own, Mr. Olly?" Caspian asked. He learned the name of the butler from the detective's notebook.
"...I recall you asking that same question before, Mr. Mortis. As I said then, most of the rooms are closed off. Only Mr. Gerald's bedroom, the dining room, and the sitting area are in use. Aside from those, two more rooms are opened once a year when his son and his family visit. At those times, we hire employees for short-term help," explained the butler.
"I see… It's a professional habit; sometimes there is value in asking the same questions more than once," Caspian said, trying to cover his lack of information. He realized he would likely have to use this excuse often, as he had no detailed information about what the deceased detective had talked with these people.
The reason he and Palm had come here wasn't just to make money. It was also to find the reasons behind his own murder—or rather, the murder of the real Caspian Mortis.
They decided that if the murder was related to his work—perhaps someone seeking revenge or trying to prevent him from uncovering a piece of evidence—then starting with his ongoing cases was the most logical step. If they found nothing here he would then review the cases of people who might have wanted revenge against him.
They entered the sitting area where the butler led them.
"Wait here for a moment. I shall inform Mr. Gerald about your arrival." the butler said, leaving the two of them alone in the room.
Caspian and Palm began examining the room. Like the corridor, it was minimalist. The furnishings were simple and understated. It felt like an ordinary person's home. According to the notes, Mr. Gerald was quite wealthy. His assets weren't limited to this manor; he owned a factory in the capital and numerous estates across the country and abroad.
Shortly after, Mr. Gerald entered the room with his cane, accompanied by the butler. Contrary to Caspian's expectations, the man looked remarkably fit and vigorous for an 88-year-old. It seemed he used the cane merely as an accessory.
As Caspian stood up to greet him, Palm followed suit.
"Mr. Mortis... welcome. You've arrived earlier than I expected. You mentioned you had other business to attend to for a while."
"My business was finished sooner than anticipated, so I wanted to come here immediately," Caspian said, maintaining his composure.
"I'm pleased. And your friend…" Gerald said, waiting for an introduction.
"Ah... my assistant, Palm. He'll be helping me for a while," Caspian said with a natural smile. It hadn't taken long for him to overcome yesterday's awkwardness; through a bit of conversation and reading, he was getting used to the language.
"I see... welcome. Mr. Olly, would you prepare some drinks for our guests?" he said, sending the butler away.
"Mr. Caspian, may I ask what you are thinking regarding the matter we discussed before?" the old man asked, a hint of anxiety in his voice.
Caspian checked the door to see if anyone was listening before he spoke. Then, leaning in a bit closer to Mr. Gerald, he whispered.
"If it is okay with you, I would like to stay here with my assistant for a couple days, hidden from your employess. If you can provide us with a room where no one will disturb us, we can track whoever is entering the house at night."
"Certainly. That is possible. I will send both of my employess out for errands. You may enter late this afternoon while they are out." Mr. Gerald agreed.
Caspian pulled his notebook and pen from his pocket.
"It would be perfect. Then, I would like to ask a few questions before that."
"Please."
"First of all, has anything been stolen from your home?"
"Mr. Mortis, I remember very clearly answering this question before."
"I know," Caspian said—though, in truth, he didn't. While these questions were the last thing noted in the notebook, there were no notes about the answers. If he wanted to solve the case, he needed to know.
"Sometimes it's useful to ask the same questions more than once. Please, think about it one more time," he said, looking at Gerald with a reassuring smile.