Blake Edward, the detective, the crazily clever detective. Befriending Mort Smith, they solve mysteries together and fall into new great grand adventures. Facing lot of foes and dangers, that's gonna be a mysterious mind maze story. So, what are you...
"What name did you thought for her?" Mort asked, caressing the Berger Allemand. They were buying a leash for the dog that was available at the pet shop itself.
"Camilla," Blake said thoughtfully and contemptuously, strolling up to 115 B.E. with the leash attached on the dog's neck, "Camilla, Roman mythological Volscian warrior Queen Camilla."
Mort stopped and stood, made a face then carried on patrolling along with Blake and Camilla.
"Now I know why, to bring a surprise for Mrs Stella?" Mort perceived.
"Yes, you're belated on understanding," Blake said, grinningly, "Gorgeous!, isn't she?" he went on, reaching for the door entitled in bold gold-coloured alphabets and numbers: 115 B.E.
As he rotated the handle, Mrs Stella was there, sitting angry-looking on one of the chairs of the table but then her eyes were broad-opened when she caught sight of the Berger Allemand.
"Oh! is that for me?" she cried, getting up and approaching the dog and beginning stroke her, "It's a female. Look how lovely she is."
"She's for everyone. I named her Camilla." Blake said, "Get her some fist. Look hoe saliva-dropping she's. I hope that you accept her in the form of apologies."
Mrs Stella said considerably unthoughtfully and directly, "Yes, I'll get her food." She left the duos along with Camilla into her kitchen.
As they went, Blake's mobile phone buzzed in his pocket. He slid it out and saw a message from Kingsley:
Come quick! The maniac is on again. The second murder at Asher Street, door no. 9
Blake turned at Mort with a motion of thrill, "The second murder!"
...
The duos spontaneously took a cabby and travelled to the address Kingsley wrote. The taxi drove to Asher Street that was quite neighbouring and stopped near the door number 9. Forensics and a few policemen were talking amongst themselves. Blake and Mort unlocked the door and got out, a whirling wind blew on their faces swaying, their hair swaying to and fro. They both closed the door and the cab rumbled and revved up the way, leaving them.
The twain walked up the way to the entrance. Kinsley saw them and invited them into the crime scene, crossing the cordoned area.
There was an old-aged silver-haired woman with an old-fashioned bloodstained white sleeping gown lying on the end of the stairs, a King of Diamonds in her right hand. Thick-layered drying blood streamed out of her head. On the stairs, there was also blood.
"Mary Meggie, 69-years-old. Occupation: None." Kinsley started his palms at his waists, "The person who reported the crime: Michael Derry, a neighbour of her."
"Ok," Blake said, his eyes fixed interestingly on the age-old body. He proceeded toward the corpse and began to inspect it.
He took the King of Diamonds and turned it, "Bling-bling here's the King."
"It seems that the woman was bludgeoned and then had been pushed," he said, "But with which thing? Unquestionably, the murderer had taken it away."
He murmured something to himself then without stepping into the blood in the stair and touching the handrail, he commenced plodding upstairs. "One, two... three, four... five..." he whispered, counting the number of staircases present, "... seventeen, eighteen... nineteen, twenty... twenty-one."
"I need her bedroom!" Blake shouted.
"I'll direct you," Kinsley said, going upstairs and joining Blake along with Mort following them. Kinsley directed them in the lady's bed-chamber.
The chamber was pretty much small. There was a king-sized red-clothed bed amidst the room and one small Mahogany-built cubic table beside in the left, some piles of magazines and a book kept on it. There was a mirrored desk with drawers in it and a cupboard. The mattress was thorned creating a big K letter. There was also some sheets of papers lying down alongside the bed slightly in front of the cube-shaped table.
"A good-looking but also scanty-looking boudoir," Blake commented, entering the room, "No photographs hooked."
He approached the sheets of paper and squatted down:
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"Die!" Blake read, grimacing with his face then stood, "Expedient!"
He looked at the small table and frowned. "Old newspapers and magazines, a novel on the top," he muttered, taking the book, entitled, "The Three Thrilled"
"Oh! I like mystery novels, sure, the lady liked mysteries too." Blake cried, opening it, "Ah! Something interesting!"
"What? You found something?" Mort asked.
"No. The book is simply interesting." Blake said turning the pages, closing it then walked away, keeping the book where it was, "Nothing else! Let's go!"
