Chapter 498 - Does Mr. Holmes Live Here? (1/2)

Chapter 498 Does Mr. Holmes Live Here?

There were a total of five men running after them. Outnumbered, Zhang Heng ran to the a.s.sailants instead of waiting for them to get to him. The leader of the group and the one at the back were about five or six meters apart.

Since they were all fixated on the gypsy, they were unable to react in time when Zhang Heng came for them.

The person leading the band of pursuers was about to shout, attempting to scare the Asian man, but the easterner made the first move, punching him in the trachea. A sharp pain shot up the man’s neck, and the leader of the group crumpled on the ground, clutching his neck and wheezing as he struggled for breath.

Zhang Heng didn’t stop there. With a violent kick, he sent the person behind the leader cras.h.i.+ng into a fish stall. The unlucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d overturned the cart of salmon and was buried under a pile of smoked fish.

When the other three a.s.sailants saw what had happened to their friends, they came to a halt, looking as if they had seen the devil.

These troublemakers were not unfamiliar with fistfights, but they often targeted those weaker than them. They had only stolen crowded places before and had only been involved in a few serious fights. This was completely new to them. Both their accomplices didn’t even get the chance to swing a fist before they were pummelled to the ground.

The three men looked at each other in dismay.

Zhang Heng lowered his body as if to make chase, and the three remaining a.s.sailants turned around and fled.

“Hah!”

The busker’s eyes were as round as marbles. It was quite a hilarious scene—three attackers armed with wooden sticks running helter-skelter from a barehanded man.

Zhang Heng walked past the man, still gasping for dear breath, and retrieved his coat from the busker. He gave it a little pat and draped it back over his shoulders.

“It’s all good now. But here’s my advice to you, leave this place as soon as you can.”

Zhang Heng turned around and left without waiting for a reply. He helped the gypsy only because he happened to be there. The latter had shown kindness to the Jewish, and since he was present at the scene, he did not mind helping out.

As he was walking away, the busker came up to him, asking, “You’re really quite an interesting character. How long have you been here in London? What’s your name? Where do you live?”

Zhang Heng then openly revealed his name and address.

“Oh, you’re not an East Ender. Why are you here, then?” asked the gypsy. “Well, you’re not an East Ender either, yet here you are,” Zhang Heng retorted. “I… I have my own reasons, of course.”

The gypsy busker answered. “Whatever it is, thank you. When I have time, I will visit your place.”

“Mmm.” Zhang Heng nodded, not taking the last statement seriously.

The two parted ways at an intersection and returned to their respective homes.

When he returned to his apartment on Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson had just finished preparing a warm dinner consisting of bacon, potatoes, and pumpkin soup.

Much to Zhang Heng’s surprise, the detective wasn’t in his room playing dead. Mrs. Hudson said that Holmes had received a letter earlier and had left the house since noon.

Zhang Heng could not help but wonder what case Holmes must have come across this time. Just this morning, he was still curled up in his armchair, thinking about ways to end his life. Yet, in the afternoon, he suddenly slipped into work-mode again, completely unaffected.