“So, you don’t think she’s the real culprit, then?”
“She might be. Or not. Either way… someone’s pulling the strings. I’ll know more once I speak with her directly.”
The investigator nodded and left.
Cedric was convinced that the servant’s wife had acted under pressure—forced into a false confession.
‘And the one who forced her hand… that’s the real thief. The one who stole my father’s brooch.’
He suspected Albert. Of course he did. But suspicion alone wasn’t enough. He needed a witness. Proof. Something to corner Albert so tightly that even he couldn’t wriggle free.
Just as Cedric was formulating his next move, eyes sharp with calculated coldness—
Knock knock knock.
The knock came faster than usual, louder too.
“You may—”
He didn’t even finish when the door flew open.
Edgar burst in, wild-eyed, out of breath.
“You will not believe what happened last night!”
“…Wow.”
Cedric…
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Emilybronte
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