Chapter 587 Ch586 The Chaotic Pocket Watch

Chapter 587 Ch.586 The Disordered Pocket Watch

"I don't know why she insisted on finding me a wife."

Second-floor bedroom.

Randolph was working on the final release of the "Fountain of Youth". Roland was served by Theresa and chattered with Beatrice: One moment he said Randolph was pitiful, your brother would not even give up his life for money, and the next moment he said your brother was only a handsome gentleman when he was working...

Randolph was so angry.

"Is the Fountain of Youth my own business? Lord Roland Collins?"

Lord Roland Collins just told him 'miserably': I am blind.

Then he continued to mutter to Beatrice's ear: "If you suddenly put your cool hands into his collar..."

"Roland Collins!"

"Okay, Mr. Whiskey." Roland spread his hands and pointed to the brown wine on the table reflecting the oil lamplight: "What can your servant do for you?"

Randolph stared at him for a moment: "Come and give me a back massage."

Teresa: Puff.

Beatrice: Hee hee.

"What are you kidding me?"

"You were the first to joke with me," Randolph rolled his eyes and threw the pen in his hand on the table, leaving a trace of ink on the paper: "I don't know why she insisted on finding me a wife."

Back to the original topic.

Teresa believed that Bethany Cavendish was just a conservative and respectful lady. As a family elder, there was nothing wrong with her words - but both Roland and Randolph more or less noticed a hint of something strange in each other's words.

Randolph couldn't say it, but he felt something was wrong.

"She's too eager, Randolph." Roland pointed out the problem. "Unless the wife candidate is herself, I think everything makes sense."

This time it was Teresa's turn to roll her eyes.

"Rolland, this is not humorous at all."

"Why don't you call me 'Mr. Collins' like you do outside?"

Teresa:...

"I almost forgot to ask, Randolph. Does your father like to collect clocks?" Roland stroked Beatrice's blonde hair carelessly, and the girl with a pointed chin had a hint of laziness on her face just right - this made Teresa angry and relieved.

"Clocks?"

Randolph lowered his eyes slightly: "...No, Roland, I haven't heard of him having such a hobby."

"How often is the room cleaned?"

Randolph didn't know this question either. When he stayed here for a short time, he had to clean almost every day, but if he returned to London and handed it over to Bethany Cavendish to manage - who knows?

"Does the pattern on the door have any symbolic meaning?"

Randolph silently turned his chair to another direction, his dim blue eyes like a quiet river frozen in late winter.

"Roland, tell me directly. What did you find?"

Roland's tone was calm: "There is a ritual in progress in the villa."

Creaky.

Teresa's weight instantly shifted to her toes.

She hunched her back, like a novice who was bumping on a horse but couldn't find the reins. One arm was bent, covering her dizzy forehead, and the other stretched forward, trying to support Roland's shoulder.

Roland grabbed her hand and held it hard.

"Don't worry, Teresa."

"...No! No! There must be someone! There must be someone who wants to harm the master! It must be the Cavendish bitch! They used to-"Teresa's voice was sharp as if she was the party involved in the midnight murder case. Her face was like a piece of paper wetted and crumpled by anger, staring at Roland fiercely and unable to recover.

But before that.

Randolph had his own doubts: "Teresa, what happened to them before?"

Teresa's face was uncertain, and her dry lips were tightly pursed.

Just then.

There was a knock on the door.

Knock knock.

Twist open a crack.

"... Barton?" Randolph saw that it was his ritualist, and waved his hand quickly: "Come in, I have something to ask-"

"Master." The square-faced man looked embarrassed, and pointed behind him as he walked in.

A cane was against his waist.

Bellos Taylor, wearing a nightcap, was furious, with sharp eyes: "Who are you? Dare to steal my head?"

Randolph:...

Rubbed his forehead tiredly.

…………

……

Interestingly, although Bellos Taylor could not remember who he was, he knew clearly that this was his home and his territory.

"…So, you are guests?" Old Bellows looked suspicious: "Whose guests?"

"That depends on who you remember." Randolph said in a light tone.

Bang!

Bellows slammed the table with his wooden stick!

"Answer my question! Boy!"

"I am Taylor. Randolph Taylor, Dad. You are Bellows Taylor - you can find the similarities, right?" Randolph looked at the man holding the wooden stick quietly.

A trace of surprise flashed across his angry face.

Then.

He became even more angry.

"Although you are a good young man, I am afraid you can't fool me!" The old man raised the stick in his hand proudly: "I don't have children, stupid thief."

Roland felt that it was time for him to say goodbye.

He led Beatrice out of the room with Theresa and Barton.

Bellows Taylor was about to stop him, but when he saw Beatrice waving goodbye to her with a smile, he hesitated.

Then.

The door was closed.

"... I always feel that something is wrong with you. Tell me, who sent you to steal things? And there are two women? Thieves nowadays are really..."

Randolph felt depressed.

He stared at his father's old face in the firelight, which was once full of ambition, but now looked like a madman who built a nest in a garbage dump.

He no longer had the spirit to command the waves, and the power to make people bow to him forever.

He was old and covered with spots, and his skin was so thin that his bones were sucked, and he drooped like a reptile.

When he got closer, Randolph could still smell a faint odor from him.

His crotch was bloated, and he had several layers of cloth bags to avoid the trouble of cleaning up after excretion - he could hardly live a normal life on his own. His body moved forward, but his soul turned back without hesitation.

"What is this?"

Just when Randolph was silent, Bellos put down his cane early and picked up a pocket watch on the table.

Randolph's pocket watch.

"This is..." He carefully examined the hands of the watch, and then put it to his ear to listen.

Click.

Click click...

Instantly, he threw it down in a hurry as if his hand was burned!

"It's a bomb!"

He roared!

"Bomb! It's a bomb!"

He threw the pocket watch away, and ran away barefoot without looking back without picking up the stick on the ground!

"It's a bomb!" He ran and shouted: "Bomb! There is a bomb in the servant's room!"

Randolph raised his head slightly, and the blue ocean in his eyes surged silently.

The glass surface of the silver case pocket watch had two cracks.

"Dad..."

Randolph was like a pocket watch.