"What number are you?" Dylan tilted his head slightly as he asked Lorry.
Lorry raised his slip of paper with a smile.
Once Dylan saw the number on it, the corner of his mouth twitched. He exhaled forcefully and muttered, "Damn it, why couldn't I have drawn the second-to-last number..."
Seeing that the drawing was nearly over, Lorry hurried to make use of the remaining time. Putting on a casual air, he lowered his voice and remarked:
"Tsk, tsk. I wonder which gentleman was lucky enough to marry a beautiful lady whose father is a wealthy merchant."
Most of Dylan's attention was on the competition about to begin. He gave no thought at all to Lorry's fishing for information and grumbled irritably:
"How could anyone marry that lady without some standing? I've met her husband. He seemed to be a fairly high-ranking police officer."
A fairly high-ranking police officer!
Could that Lumber Merchant's daughter be the Chief's Widow I'm looking for? Lorry considered the possibility without letting it show and asked no further questions.
Just then, the clock in the drawing room struck nine.
At a signal from their master, the two servants behind Falk hurried to either side of the hall and extinguished all the wall lamps.
Then they went outside and closed the doors.
The room was now dark, with only two candles that had been lit on the table beforehand. Their faint flames flickered constantly with everyone's breathing.
Falk turned to glance at the black cat, Nois, and tapped the table.
He looked at Dylan with a smile:
"I hope you can bring us a story that satisfies Mr. Nois.
"Please begin."
Everyone turned their gaze toward Dylan, including the preoccupied Lorry.
*Since I already have a lead to follow, there's no need to rush the search.