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...
"WE MISS IT! WE BLOODY MISSED IT!" Blake yelled with a frenzy of ferocity. He slammed the door close and Camilla emanated to rush and greet them, gazing at Blake, googly-eyed, thinking about the swift shift in Blake's comportment.
"Ahh! Camilla! You're the only one that can soothe me down." Blake said, crouching down and caressing the robust dog's thick and bulky furs that resembled much of a blanket.
Blake stood on his feet and plodded upstairs along with Mort. They both entered the room, the languor-looking Mort hunkering on his armchair with a sigh of ennui and Blake on his stool at his desk.
"What next?" Mort asked, exhaling heavy.
"No, it's who's next... not what's next," Blake corrected, bitterly, "All to do is to wait for the next murder."
Mort stayed silent not wanting to mess with Blake.
Blake abruptly murmured to himself, his eyes widening, "Stabbed, stabbed, stabbed and again it will be another more stabbed." He paused for a minute or two, "But why did he shot?... He didn't shoot anyone, but, announced that the game was over... which means that he had already caught his prey, one of the ballet dancers."
Blake turned his face to Mort and asked with a furore of excitement, "Can I have the newspaper where the ballet show was advertised?"
"Sure" Mort responded gently, pleased to render his dear companion a service. He stretched his hand til the small glass table and gripped the journal then brought it to Blake. Mort pointed at the heading entitled in big bold letters: Grand Ballet Show at Theodore Threatre
The text was printed in thin tiny letters:
Rendezvous on Tuesday, 24th for the Grand Ballet Dancing Show at Theodore Threatre, Axel Street.
Meet your favourite ballet dancers at the same time: Andrian Genard, Alex Deby, McFrancis, Emma Charlotte, Isabella Amelia and Emily Derk.
"One of them... dead," Blake said, holding the journal back to Mort.
...
The sun finally spread its lights out and Blake and Mort were fully prepared for the murder they were going to study. Kinsley took them to the place of the crime scene concurrently explaining them about the murder, "Emily Derk, a ballet dancer who performed in Grand Ballet Show at Theodor Threatre last night was spotted killed in her bed by his face-to-face neighbour, Daniel Duke who called the police, straightaway."
Blake simply nodded as he knew who, what, where and when but was interested in the neighbour, "Mmm-hmm... and the neighbour, I'll like to have him after the inspection."
It was a mere classic-looking two-floored house with scenically artistic murals. There were picturesque paintings of colour-changing rust-coloured leaves carried away by flurries, a bouquet of vividly-coloured flowers and a ballet-dancing girl wearing a white tutu on the walls. There was a scent of polished furniture arousing inside the house.
They entered the room of the ballet dancer and perceived the white-skinned girl dressed in slightly blood-soaked ballet clothing laying on her scanty-looking bed in a strange-appearing position, a faint crescent of light passing through the few windows and shining on her.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Why's is she in this weird-looking position?" asked Mort.
"It's a passé en relevé," replied Blake, gentlemanly.
Blake passed through the barricade tape and studied the corpse closely with squinted eyes as conventionally murmuring to himself, "Same ballet items of clothing... stabbed in the abdomen... and... a... erm... sliced throat by the cut-throat."
Blake crouched at the bedside and abruptly frowned at the sliced throat and started to smile and smile turned into a scoff then the scoff turned into a burst of laughter. He exclaimed, laughingly, "It looked weird though."
He looked at Mort and Kinsley remarked their vexatious faces. Mort muttered in a low voice, "Are bloody pseudobulbar affect or what?"
Blake shook his head in disgust, exhaling in disgust and mumbled, "Funny little agelasts." He looked back at the corpse and examined the sliced throat then gave an expression of excitement, "Ha! ha! Good-oh!"
"What have found?" questioned Mort, puzzled.
"The stabbing was of a knife... but... the throat is slightly sliced... I would say... by a prong of a belt," answered Blake, coolly and fluently.
He laid himself down the bed and searched for something. Graciously, he found something, a piece of paper. He caught gripped of it and scrutinized at it, his eyes broadening synchronously. He took it and slipped it in his coat-pocket clandestinely then stood on his feet and approaching Mort and Kinsley, "Forget about the statement of the neighbour." He said these words directly.
