Holmes's heart beat slightly faster as he pulled out the book; it was quite heavy.
He walked to a table far from the old caretaker, Wilson, and opened the cover under the dim light of a desk lamp.
Tucked between the pages were three sheets of paper that clearly did not belong to the book. They were yellowed, thick, and had rough edges, possessing a unique toughness; they were likely parchment.
He carefully unfolded the first page. There was no text, only complex cryptographic symbols written in dark brown ink covering the entire page!
At the top of the parchment, written in slightly clearer ink, was a line of text: [Ps 71:19].
Holmes quickly turned to the second page, which was also filled with precise cryptographic symbols, with the text at the top: [Gn 6:16].
The third page of cryptographic symbols had at the top: [Heb 8:13].
These three citations were the keys, the clues to deciphering these three pages of coded parchment!
To decipher a code of this level, even for him, required a quiet environment and a significant amount of time for deduction.
Holmes calmly and carefully tucked the three pages of parchment into a hidden pocket, then held On Angels in his hand.
Just then, the library door was pushed open, and Wright returned. His expression was even worse than when he had left, carrying a hint of suppressed anger and frustration.
"That conductor, his name is Harold."
Wright walked over to Holmes, lowering his voice, his tone hurried.
"I found him, and just as I was about to talk about the choir and that 'new hymn,' Claire appeared like a ghost!"
"She explained that Mr. Harold was preparing for an important community performance and that time was tight, so she took him away without any room for argument! I feel like she's everywhere!"
Holmes nodded calmly and raised On Angels in his hand.
"I have something, but it needs time to decipher," he said, concise and to the point.
At this moment, the old caretaker, Wilson, who was sitting in the corner, suddenly began to cough violently. It was a heart-wrenching cough that caused his hunched body to curl into a ball.
Watson's medical instincts were triggered, and he immediately stepped forward, gently patting the old man's back. "Sir, are you alright? I am a doctor."
Wilson wheezed, his cloudy eyes looking at Watson through his lenses, then seemingly inadvertently sweeping over Holmes and the book in his hand, before shaking his head slightly.
With withered fingers, he tremblingly pointed to a floor plan of the Theological Seminary hanging on the wall on the other side of the library, then made a gesture of prayer, before lowering his head and coughing violently again.
Holmes's gaze sharpened instantly!
The old caretaker's seemingly meaningless action, combined with the direction he pointed on the floor plan, indicated the location of the Theological Seminary's chapel.
Was this a warning? A hint? This seemingly senile old man was using this method to pass information to them right under Claire's nose: there was something in the chapel.
Just then, Catherine, who was sitting in a chair, suddenly let out a pained groan, her body sliding limply to the side!
"Catherine!"
Wright exclaimed, immediately turning and rushing over, while Holmes and Watson also quickly gathered around.
Catherine's eyes were tightly closed, her face pale as if transparent, her breathing weak and rapid, and fine cold sweat oozed from her forehead, as if she were enduring great pain.
"What's going on?" Wright asked anxiously.
Watson quickly checked her pulse and pupils. "...It's a symptom of anemia, possibly due to excessive grief compounded by the previous shock and stimulation..."
He looked up, his gaze stern as he looked at Holmes and Wright. "She needs to rest in bed and replenish sugar and fluids."
As if the timing had been calculated, the library door was pushed open again.
Dean Claire walked in, her face wearing just the right amount of concern. "Good heavens! What happened to Miss Hawkins?"
She walked quickly to Catherine's side and knelt down to check on her.
"Oh, poor child, it must be excessive grief."
"Miss Hawkins looks like she needs a good night's rest."
"Take her to the infirmary; we have basic equipment and beds here."
Dean Claire stood up and instructed the shadows at the door: "Someone, come help carry Miss Hawkins to the infirmary!"
After speaking, she turned to look at everyone.
"The mountain road is too dangerous at night, and Miss Hawkins should not be moved. Mr. Sherlock, I'm afraid you all will have to stay here for the night. I will have some guest rooms prepared."
"Rest assured, we will take good care of her."
Two orderlies entered in response, preparing to lift Catherine. Watson looked at Holmes, exchanging a silent question: should they insist on leaving, or go along with staying?
A flicker of thought crossed the depths of Holmes's eyes. Claire's arrangement was flawless, keeping everyone "legitimately" within the Theological Seminary and under her control.
Leaving meant the trail would go cold, alerting the enemy, and Catherine might be in danger on the way. Staying, though like walking on thin ice, presented both opportunities and dangers.
He glanced at the unconscious Catherine, then at On Angels in his hand, which contained a shocking secret, and nodded slightly.
"Then we will trouble you, Dean Claire." Holmes's voice was calm and without emotion.
Claire also noticed the book in Holmes's hand. She said calmly, "I apologize, Mr. Sherlock, but if you wish to borrow books from the library, you need to register them."
"Why don't you hand the book over to us for registration, and someone will deliver it to your room later."
Holmes looked at Claire in silence, and Claire met his gaze without yielding an inch.
"Of course, Ms. Claire, but this book may contain clues left by Joseph, so I hope you will keep it safe."
Finally, Holmes handed the book to Claire, placing meaningful emphasis on the word "safe."
...
Catherine was carefully carried to the infirmary by two orderlies, with Watson following closely behind.
Holmes and Wright were led by another expressionless orderly to the so-called "guest room," which was actually a small, cramped room located deep in the dormitory area, near the back mountain.
The room was sparsely furnished, with only two beds, a table, and two chairs. The walls were cold, and the only window was covered by heavy, dark curtains, with the thick shadows cast by the steep mountain wall outside.
"Please get some rest early. The Dean has instructed not to walk around at night to avoid disturbing the children."
The orderly's voice was flat and emotionless. After speaking, he closed the door, and a faint sound of a lock clicking could be heard from outside.
Wright immediately rushed to the door, pressing his ear against the panel, his face pale. "It's locked! Damn it!"
He twisted the doorknob hard, but it didn't budge.
Holmes ignored the lock and quickly walked to the window, pulling back a corner of the heavy curtain.
Outside the window was not the courtyard or street he had expected, but a steep mountain wall, almost vertical, covered with sparse shrubs and craggy rocks.
Moonlight struggled to pierce through the clouds, casting twisted, dancing shadows on the rocky cliff.
A narrow stone path, wide enough for only one person, hugged the mountain wall and extended upwards, disappearing into the shadows of the dense canopy, leading to who knows where.
"A path to the back mountain," Holmes whispered, his gaze scanning the direction of the stone steps and the structure of the mountain wall. "It's not completely blocked, but climbing at night is extremely risky."
"The clues were taken by them. I doubt they'll give them back to us. What should we do next?"
Wright paced anxiously around the room.
Holmes lowered the curtain, turned, and sat down at the table, carefully taking out the three pieces of yellowed parchment.