Chapter 46: The 1924 Train Murder Case (19)

But what was rather amusing was this: just as Hert Arnold was accusing the NPCs of confusing the players, writer Jill, painter Hunt, thief Mackey, and arms dealer Bartholomew all entered Tang Mu’s room. In an instant, Tang Mu’s little cabin was crowded to the brim.

This was truly... absurd.

Everyone from the VIP car, except for the black attendant Eli, had come. All players?

Tang Mu pondered for a moment, then set aside her ledger and smiled at the assembled guests. “Since no one admits to being an NPC, let’s talk about whom you plan to vote for tomorrow. I’ve torn off a dozen sheets of paper; each of you take one and vote anonymously.”

“When you’ve finished, hand them in, and we’ll start counting.”

“Alright.”

“Fine.”

No one objected. Each took a sheet from Tang Mu and wrote down a name, heads bowed.

A few minutes later, Tang Mu collected the votes.

“Now I have everyone’s voting results,” she said. She deliberately surveyed their faces. On the surface, everyone seemed perfectly normal.

But, “Are you all sure you’re players?”

“Well, I’m a player, but as for the others, I’ve no idea,” said Hunt the painter. “I don’t have any talent for deduction. Rather than listen to all this endless talk, which makes my head spin, I’d rather use this time to practice my quick sketches.”

“Mr. Hunt, could you show us your sketches? Perhaps we’ll find some special clues in your drawings.”

“Certainly,” Hunt replied. “But my drawings are in my room; I’ll go fetch them.”

When Hunt returned, less than five minutes had passed on Tang Mu’s watch.

“Here they are,” Hunt said. “Quick sketches are different from other paintings; you can finish one in about fifteen minutes. So while you were busy debating, I made quite a few.”

Hunt was indeed talented. His drawings were not only swift but exquisitely detailed. Each person’s manner and expression were captured vividly in charcoal lines.

On every sketch, Hunt had thoughtfully marked the start and end times.

Seeing this, Tang Mu pointed to the times and asked, “Do you always mark the time when you sketch?”

“Of course!” Hunt replied. “Quick sketching is all about speed and precision. Every time I start, I note the time, and when I finish, I record it again. It helps me track my progress. But Miss Tang Mu... what does my drawing have to do with this deduction?”

Tang Mu didn’t answer immediately. Calmly, she leafed through each drawing.

Except for the period when Hunt left his seat, he had secretly sketched everyone in the VIP car, capturing their static features.

14:35–14:51: Ottilia rises and goes to the restroom.

14:52–15:09: Everyone is present on the train, sitting quietly in their seats—except Tang Mu.

15:10–15:25: Only Dale, writer Jill, butler Jim, and leather merchant Hert Arnold are at their seats.

Hert Arnold’s wife, Ottilia, had gone to the bar, apparently talking to the conductor James, likely asking for snacks and desserts.

15:25–15:40: Hunt didn’t sketch.

15:40–16:01: ...

To be honest, Hunt’s drawings didn’t reveal much.

Because the victim was discovered dead at 15:00.

Around this time, Hunt had drawn only two sketches.

One from 14:35–14:51, showing Ottilia heading to the restroom; the other from 14:52–15:09.

“Alright, I’ve finished reviewing your sketches. The others may pass them around. If there’s nothing else, let’s move on to the voting.”

She pointed to the names of Bartholomew and Mackey.

“Mr. Bartholomew has three votes, and Mr. Mackey has nine. These are your current results. Unless something changes, tomorrow will likely be the same.”

“So, Bartholomew and Mackey, do you have anything you wish to say?”

“So tomorrow I’m going to be voted out?” Mackey finally seemed to realize.

“Yes,” Tang Mu replied, rolling her eyes at him. “You have the most votes. Once Mr. Eli opens the box to count them tomorrow, you’ll be dealt with, understood?”

“...” Mackey hesitated. “So what do you want me to say?”

“Even a suspect has rights. This is your chance to defend yourself.”

Mackey was silent.

“Even if I wanted to avoid punishment, I wouldn’t drag my good friend down with me. Bartholomew and his mother have done me great kindness. If it’s my crime, I’ll own up to it. Why would I shift blame onto my brother?”

“So, you’d take the fall for Bartholomew out of gratitude?” Only an NPC would so desperately confuse the players, leading them to vote incorrectly.

Tang Mu sighed deeply.

“Fine, since you’re playing this way, there’s no point in rushing to identify the culprit now.”

“Honestly, I see players who don’t seem to care for their own survival. If you’re so eager to die, do it on your own time—don’t drag others down with you! Some people still want to live!”

“But... it’s not that we don’t want to admit it. It’s that everyone’s pretending.” This was from Jill, the writer, still clutching her quill pen, looking troubled.

“This is pointless.” Tang Mu stood, impatiently waving them out. “If players can’t even prove their own identities, with intelligence like this, they might as well wait for death. I’ll admit defeat this round. But even if I’ve lost, I don’t want my soul trapped with yours. Becoming monsters together would be even more agonizing.”

“As for Mr. Bartholomew... if you really are the culprit and a player, you could shift all suspicion onto Mackey. In the end, you might be the only survivor. That’s not unreasonable. But I still hope you’ll consider everyone’s lives.”

Tang Mu deliberately said this to sow discord.

Never underestimate human nature. Once greed and delusion are stirred, the consequences are more than a mere Bartholomew can bear.

As Tang Mu was about to leave, James couldn’t help but ask, “Where are you going?”

“I’m looking for Eli,” she replied. “He was once my friend. But after a failed game, his soul was trapped here forever. I want to see if I can awaken his deeper consciousness.”

James, seeing Tang Mu intent on snatching someone from the grasp of the Queen of Spades, couldn’t help but hint, “It’s useless, Miss Tang Mu. Once someone bears the black attendant’s mark, their soul becomes wholly loyal to the Queen of Spades. Eli’s case is even more complicated... He’s no longer playing as a player but as an NPC. In this situation, his self-awareness is severely diminished.”

“So Eli won’t remember you,” James said. “That’s a clear rule, publicized in the game hall.”

“Yes, I know.”

Tang Mu scanned the NPCs in the game.

Very well, James had proven himself a player. As for the others...

“But even if Eli’s memory is sealed, before he was trapped in this scenario, he was a living, breathing person.”

“He had family and loved ones. They still wait for him, day after day, through endless hardship, hoping for his return.”

“Our longing for him has never ceased.”