ing wooden stairs.
Klein’s mind suddenly fell into a trance, as if he saw the quiet moonlight and the peaceful and gently swaying lake.
His eyelids quickly became heavy, as if he could fall asleep standing up.
In this blur of perception, he felt the invisible, strange, and indifferent gaze from behind, as if he was traveling in the spirit world.
An inexplicable feeling of déjà vu appeared, and Klein suddenly regained his thoughts. Relying on his strong inspiration and extremely familiar meditation, he barely got rid of the influence of the “Midnight Psalm”.
But he was still physically and mentally calm and found it difficult to have other emotions.
Soon, Leonard stopped singing, turned his head and smiled:
“I’m considering applying for a Fenebote. How can I sing without accompaniment?”
“Haha, just kidding, I heard them all falling asleep.”
This black-haired, green-eyed member of the Nighthawks team with a poetic temperament stepped forward and walked to the door where the kidnappers and hostages were.
He suddenly moved his shoulders, punched out his fist, and hit the door lock.
The wood around the door lock shattered, and the sound was very faint.
“This requires precise control.” Leonard turned around and joked, reaching into the hole and opening the door.
Klein, who had regained consciousness, was not as confident as him. He reached into his armpit, pulled out the pistol, and adjusted the wheel to ensure that it could be fired immediately.
As the door retreated, he saw a man sleeping on the table with a pistol at his feet. He saw a man rubbing his eyes in confusion, trying to stand up.
Leonard slid closer and knocked out the robber who was about to wake up.
Klein was about to follow him in when he suddenly seemed to sense something and turned around suddenly, facing the stairs.
Da, da, da, the footsteps gradually became clearer from bottom to top. A man wearing a brown coat and no hat, holding a paper bag of bread in his arms, walked around the corner of the stairs and headed towards the third floor.
Suddenly, he stopped and saw the metallic gun muzzle looking down at him.
His pupils reflected a young man wearing a half-high silk top hat, a black formal suit, and a bow tie of the same color. He reflected the cane leaning against the railing and the dangerous revolver.
“Stop all your movements, raise your hands, three, two,” Klein said in a low and soothing tone.
He held the revolver in both hands, trying to use the opponent as a practice target.
In the tense atmosphere, the man in a brown coat threw away the bag of bread and slowly raised his hands.
“Sir, have you misunderstood something?” He stared at Klein’s finger on the trigger and forced a smile.
Klein couldn’t tell whether he was a fellow kidnapper or a next-door neighbor, but there was nothing unusual about him on the surface, and he said in a deep voice:
“Don’t try to struggle. Someone will come to identify whether it is a misunderstanding later.”
At this time, Leonard, who had dealt with the kidnapper in the house,