The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1013 Ch.1012 Beatrice's Friend
The idea that "there are rats in the walls" is just like the idea that "bookworms will crawl into your head through your ear holes and eat your eyeballs" or "a monster will come out of the spout of a teapot and bite the nose of a disobedient child"—it's all nonsense meant to scare children.

Such things include old women whose faces are invisible at midnight, only the sound of their canes can be heard; grotesque creatures that crawl under children's beds; and eyeballs peeking through keyholes and cabinet door cracks…

It has to be said that, precisely because adults all grew up from children, they have a knack for scaring themselves.

—The horror stories adults prepare for each other are not so colorful. They are usually just a sentence, such as "You've gained weight," "You've lost weight," "You look so old," "You look so young," etc.

Randolph believed that Brontë had told Beatrix too many stories she shouldn't have heard.

Roland, however, did not think so.

"Tell me about mice, darling. Where did you see them?"

Beatrice bit her thumb, and then Teresa quickly pulled her hand away.

“…I don’t know.” The girl shook her head, seemingly eager for Roland to believe her, and pointed to the small mirror pasted on the wood veneer of the wine cabinet: “‘Coffin’ told me.”

This time, no one thought it was a 'joke' anymore.

"Who is 'Coffin'?" Randolph nervously pulled his sister to his side, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. "Which maid? Can you still recognize her?"

Beatrice hesitated, as if she wanted to say something but then stopped herself.

Obviously.

Randolph's assessment of his sister was correct.

This naive yet mature girl couldn't lie. When faced with a difficult question, she wouldn't react like a normal person, exclaiming, "My God! You almost killed me! You've perfectly mimicked a donkey!"

She wouldn't do that.

She hadn't learned how to deal with the dust of the waking world, living like a mirror that ran counter to imperfections.

It is flat, smooth, and without holes.

You can only see your own face in her eyes.

“Tell me, Beatrice. Who is the ‘coffin’? Who approached you? Barton! Why did someone enter the house without anyone warning me? Call all the servants out! And Theresa—”

Beatrice was terrified.

She held her brother's large hands tightly, shrinking her neck in fear and worry.

Her tears were welling up in her eyes. For this lovely girl who rarely shed tears, each carefully chosen tear felt like a pebble that had fallen thousands of feet and struck Randolph.

Roland patted the other person on the shoulder.

"Don't do that, Randolph."

He pulled Beatrice to his side, the tears that soaked through the girl's eyelashes, and touched her soft blonde hair that she always had.

"Did you make some agreement with him?"

Roland asked softly.

Everyone in the room stared nervously at Beatrice.

The girl neither nodded nor shook her head.

“It’s okay, Beatrice, it’s okay. Even if you made a promise with her… We all know you’re an honest child, right? You don’t lie, but you don’t want to betray your friend…”

Beatrice pressed her head down with an almost imperceptible motion.

In an instant, the group understood.

They all noticed Roland's choice of words: "he" and "she".

'Coffin' is a woman.

At least he's a 'person'.

"She showed you the mouse, didn't she, Betty? Perhaps you're worried about me, about your brother, about Theresa and Miss Brontë—but please rest assured, my girl. Don't you know what I did before I became a policeman?"

Roland did not force Beatrice to respond to him, but spoke softly and quietly.

talking.

Then, this piqued Beatrice's curiosity.

"what?"

The girl, her eyes red, asked crisply.

"I'm an orphan who's good at beating people up, a detective, a thief, a saint, a knight—I've even impersonated a nobleman… But the best and most brilliant thing I did was…"

Roland blinked.

"It's for catching rats."

He said.

"I'm an expert in this field."

Beatrice's worry turned to joy—believe me, everyone in the room was able to read the girl's expression: she wasn't very good at hiding her emotions anyway.

"Really?" she asked, her mood noticeably improved. Of course.

She still refused to pay attention to her brother, even though he was quietly calling her name, 'Betty'.

No, not at all.

"real."

Roland narrowed his eyes: "This is my proudest achievement. I don't tell everyone about it, as if it's written all over my face, only because there are fewer rats in London these days... So? With me here, are you still worried?"

Beatrice shook her head.

She always believed in Roland.

“Catch them,” she said.

“It’s to ‘eliminate’ them, darling. I’m a notorious, ruthless, bloodthirsty rat trap expert; people call me ‘Bloody Butter Trap.’”

Beatrice finally smiled, pulling Roland's index finger and shaking it back and forth: "Roland is the best!"

"Even better than your brother?"

The girl snorted, deliberately trying to annoy someone, and shouted loudly, "That's awesome!"

Theresa smiled and glanced at Randolph.

I'm furious.

"So, where are they? I can't exactly tear down all the walls in the house—your brother would probably beat me up."

Beatrice puffed out her cheeks: "That's really not right."

"That's not right, absolutely not right. Your brother earns so much money, and he doesn't know how to share it at all. Now, he's even trying to stop me from tearing down the wall—honey, we have to think of something..."

Time and time again, he called Beatrice "darling" as if no one else was around, and Randolph really felt that Roland was about to "go mad".

If he can beat him.

"I...I...I didn't have time..." Beatrice stammered for a long time, then suddenly remembered something, her blue eyes sparkling: "Guan said that all I had to do was tell my brother!"

Randolph and Theresa exchanged a silent glance.

It seems...

This is a message that 'someone' deliberately had Beatrice spread.

Who is she?
What's the purpose?
Randolph had a feeling of 'living on the edge of a knife' all the time'.

An uncontrollable sense of fear.

—If the other party has malicious intent, he will lose Betty… or even his own life, right? Who can say for sure?
"Roland."

The uneasy businessman whispered to his most trusted friend.

Not the most 'powerful' among my friends.

They are the most trustworthy.

“I know.” Roland hesitated for a moment. “I have a way… Betty, are you friends?”

The girl stopped talking again.

She looked at Roland with a troubled expression, seemingly hesitating between her friend and 'someone important'.

Roland changed the subject.

"Can you do me a favor? Brontë isn't feeling well. Could you do me a favor and watch over her, keep her company so she can get a good night's sleep..."

Brontë understood, and immediately clutched his forehead, swaying as if about to collapse.

Randolph: ...

Beatrice, however, had no doubt about the woman's clumsy acting skills. She grabbed Brontë's arm, lifted her leg, and dragged him upstairs, pleading with Roland to stay a little longer until she had coaxed Brontë to sleep, and then come down to talk to him.

Silly girl.

It's still uncertain who will put whom to sleep.

Wait until the two people leave.

Roland then stopped smiling.

"Two things, Randolph."

He said.

"Get everyone away from the wall and wait for me to return. Second, keep your mouths shut and don't ask Beatrice anything about 'friends'... Agreed?"

Randolph opened his mouth, about to bargain, but was immediately interrupted by Theresa.

"Agreed! Roland! Agreed! I'll keep an eye on him!"

(End of this chapter)