"All right, Constantine, the greatest detective in history, has found the answer you wanted." Constantine stood in the center of Schiller Manor's drawing room, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Schiller reclined on the sofa, reading the newspaper. He lowered it slightly to reveal his eyes, looked at Constantine, and asked, "What did you find?"
"The killers in those two murder cases. Didn't you ask me to investigate that?"
"And what conclusion did you reach?"
"The one who beheaded Hock was named Evans Falcone. I don't know the name of the one who sawed Richie apart, but he was wearing black-and-yellow armor..."
Schiller folded up the newspaper in his hands, set it aside, and pointed to the sofa opposite him. Constantine came over and sat down. Schiller said to him, "Let me guess. You went to Hell, found the souls of those two unlucky victims, and asked them directly, didn't you?"
"That's what a Hell Detective does." Constantine spread his hands. "I told you, the important part is Hell."
"I can go straight to Hell, find the souls of the dead, and ask them questions. There isn't a case in this world I can't solve."
"...Did you ever go to school?" Schiller suddenly asked.
"Of course I did. I even attended university in London for a while."
"When you took exams, would you get points for writing down only the answer?"
"Uh..." Constantine stroked the stubble on his chin. "Fine. I can work backward from the result to reconstruct the process."
"Though I've never met this Evans fellow, Falcone is the Godfather's surname, so Evans must be his son."
"The Godfather's son killed the Godfather's subordinate..." Constantine exhaled a cloud of smoke, narrowed his eyes, and said with some feeling, "Perhaps the old king has grown old, while the young