Chapter 7: The Ancient Profession
The salesperson at this jewelry store seemed reasonably competent.
“Please allow me to put away the brooch from earlier, madam.”
The man was not young; his voice carried a hint of ambiguity, as if he remembered handing a ruby brooch to the three ladies before him just moments ago.
But now…
“The brooch? You mean the red one?”
Miss Candy’s expression showed just the right amount of doubt—not outright denial, but a limited admission.
“I left it right here on the counter, see? Just here, directly in front of the price tag—I’m not accusing anyone, but these words aren’t exactly reassuring.” She traced her fingertip across the counter.
Roland listened to their back-and-forth shifting of blame until the salesperson’s voice grew choked with tears.
“God above! Please don’t joke about this!”
The three women remained unmoved; no matter who was asked, they insisted the brooch had been placed on the counter, firmly denying any falsehood.
“Yes, right here—I told you.”
The salesperson’s voice grew louder, desperate.
At that moment…
Onlookers began to voice their support.
“It’s your own fault; why doubt these three ladies?”
“Women capable of theft? That’s no laughing matter.”
“I bet it was a gentleman—bold and deft—who cleverly made off with that brooch. Not that I’m praising him, but it must’ve taken incredible skill.”
“And plenty of courage.”
“Compared to the theft from two weeks ago, this is nothing. That case showed the thief’s strength, balance, and agility—I can’t even imagine how that man scaled a three-story windowsill silently, slipped into the bedroom, and stole valuables, all while outwitting the patrol afterward…”
“Must’ve been a burly, strong man.”
“But how did he squeeze through that narrow window?”
“That’s not our problem to solve.”
The men nearby began defending the three sisters—not out of sympathy, but because they simply couldn’t believe these women capable of such a thing.
It was utterly absurd.
The conversation gradually turned into a discussion of the previous case.
The salesperson, on the verge of tears, pleaded: “That was not cheap, ladies… please, have mercy…”
Amid the chaos, another salesperson bent down and slipped through a gap in the crowd.
Just as Roland expected.
Soon, the patrol officers arrived.
This only thickened the tension in the store.
Some grumbled about upcoming appointments; the ladies emphasized that even women should not be touched roughly as if they were animals; some even brandished canes to keep the officers at bay—
They stood at an impasse for twenty minutes until Miss Candy reluctantly spoke:
“…I’m never coming here again. Tell me, if I come out with my servant, how am I supposed to explain this to my husband afterward?”
Her timing was impeccable.
The voices around her clamored in support.
Roland listened quietly.
To be honest, at this moment, the jewelry store was no different from a small market.
Voices clamored, space was packed, and the perfume increasingly failed to mask the sweat.
“…For your convenience, I allowed the ladies to touch me and my servant. But let me tell you, this is not a good start. And you, the salesperson who slanders honest people, just wait—you don’t deserve this job.”
The reluctant young woman selected one of the ladies to go to the back room, giving the male officers a pretext.
He apologized to the men and women in the store and then made an even more “excessive” demand.
In the end, including Roland, everyone was hastily searched by the police.
Most ladies’ dresses had no pockets, intricate and heavy as they were—not enough to warrant undressing—and the officers wouldn’t do such a thing anyway.
So, the search consisted of lightly touching the hems of skirts and carefully pinching sleeves.
Yes.
That counted as a search.
The gentlemen were searched even more simply.
After ten more minutes.
The three officers, empty-handed and glum, repeatedly confirmed with the salesperson before recording the missing brooch, then bowed and apologized, their backs filled with sarcastic insults as they slunk away.
That was the end of it.
“I’m never coming back!”
Roland heard the woman venting triumphantly as the crowd gradually shifted outward with murmurs of support.
Roland pressed against the counter, feigning to look down and tug at his hem, seizing the moment to stretch out his hand.
Just at the edge of the counter, beneath, he felt something soft.
Sticky candy.
Something was stuck to it.
It was the brooch.
He gently clasped it in his hand.
At that moment—
A pair of slender, soft hands happened to collide with his.
Time seemed to pause for an instant.
He could hear her breath growing heavier.
“You’re right. This is a store that wrongs honest people. I won’t come here again,” Roland said loudly, smiling toward the woman, clutching the brooch as he pried open her hand.
“Goodbye, madam. May tonight’s banquet ease your recent displeasure…”
Under her gaze, Roland stepped away from the jewelry shop.
This must be the lost one.
Red. Ruby. A circular brooch.
Miss Nina had no use for it.
Roland tapped his cane, fidgeting with the brooch in his hand, and slowly retraced his steps—intentionally choosing a narrow, deserted alley to avoid the busy main street.
Soon, hurried footsteps echoed behind him.
The three women were following.
The steps grew closer.
At a corner, someone grabbed his arm roughly and slammed him against the wall.
A sharp dagger pressed against his neck—alongside a voice, no longer disguised.
Very young.
“You took something you shouldn’t have, sir,” she said.
The blade lightly slid along Roland’s neck, then dug into the flesh.
“I merely found a brooch, madam,” Roland said softly, his face turned to the side as he was pinned against the wall. “I found it.”
“Hand it over, then get lost.”
Her tone dropped, no longer affected: “Or I’ll carve up that pretty face of yours—oh…”
She paused.
“You’re really beautiful.”
Roland pressed his lips together, saying nothing.
“Do you know how much that brooch is worth?” Her voice held a teasing edge. The blade slid away from his neck to trace his cheek. “Not as precious as this face. Or maybe you’d rather I make a few cuts before you comply—wait.”
Suddenly, she realized something and exclaimed:
“You’re blind!”
“Yes, madam,” Roland replied, unfazed by the cold blade at his throat. He shifted slightly, tilting his head, and added softly, “You may call me Collins… Roland Collins.”
Collins, Collins.
This town was small; even moderately wealthy families were well known.
She stared at the pale-faced youth, looked into his beautiful but hollow amber eyes, and slowly withdrew the blade…
The next moment—
The dagger plunged sharply into the brick wall beside Roland’s cheek!
Clang!
“Listen here, punk, I don’t want trouble. Your rich people’s quirks are none of my business—give me the item, and we’ll go our separate ways.”
Roland slowly pulled his hand from his pocket.
He showed her the brooch resting in his palm, then immediately clenched his fist.
“I do have a quirk,” he whispered softly. “I always lose certain things: little shoes, engraved cutlery, brand new shirts, or lamp shades… I suppose whoever finds them isn’t me. She must have a place to sell these pricey trinkets… don’t you agree?”
Roland suddenly felt the arm pressing against his chest tighten.
Very tightly.
“What do you want?”
The woman ground her teeth, as if waiting for him to retort.
Roland blinked.
“I want twenty cat whiskers,” he said, doubling the number to be safe.
“Female cats.”
He emphasized the gender.
The silence that followed was longer than any before.
The woman released him, pulled the dagger from the brick, and even stepped back a few paces.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Her voice was strangely odd.
“I’ve told you my quirks,” Roland straightened his collar and smiled. “I want twenty female cat whiskers, a sapphire—not necessarily large, but pure and pointed—and a jar of lamp oil from a lamp that’s seen a woman cry through the night…”
The strange requests made the woman burst out laughing.
“Ha… ha ha… you’re quite amusing…”
“So, do you agree?”
Roland opened his palm, pushing the brooch forward.