Once Charles left the special holding room, he wasted no time resuming his interrupted assignment: visiting Humphrey, the colleague of Michael Berg. Previously, Charles had changed his plan halfway when he realized someone was trailing him, diverting instead to the Old Town in search of Michael's trail. He later discovered the person following him was from the special unit, forcing him to alter his approach again.
This time, Charles intended to go to the address Catherine had provided earlier.
The carriage halted in front of a modest, older house. Though the building looked aged, it was in decent repair. The single-story home sat behind a brown wooden fence, its front door showing signs of long use but still well maintained.
"We're here," Joseph announced as the carriage slowed to a stop. He glanced at Charles, who sat across from him, deep in thought.
Charles merely nodded and stepped down after Joseph. They walked up to the house and rapped gently on the front door.
Silence. Charles knocked again.
At last, faint footsteps approached from inside. Moments later, the door opened to reveal an older man with near-white hair, impeccably groomed. Though lines of age creased his face, his eyes retained a clear sharpness. He wore a single-lens silver spectacles that lent him a dignified and composed air.
"Yes? May I help you?" he asked politely, his voice low and measured, touched with curiosity yet without displeasure.
Charles and Joseph exchanged glances before Joseph spoke straightaway.
"We're here to see Humphrey."
The older man paused, peering at them from behind his spectacles, as though assessing the situation. Then he asked in a calm voice, "And you would be…?"
Charles answered at once, "We're detectives from the guild, looking for Humphrey regarding Michael's disappearance."
While Charles explained, Joseph noticed a silent pulse ringing in his head—his own internal sense of caution. He kept an eye on his friend, who was calmly conversing with the older man.
At the mention of Michael's name, a subtle change flickered across the older man's features—no more than a flash, but enough to reveal a stirred emotion. Then he returned to a neutral expression, betraying nothing.
"Michael…" the older man murmured, drifting off in thought.
Momentarily lost in memories of Michael, the man seemed to forget his usual wariness, failing to question further who these two strangers at his door might be.
Seeing this lapse, Charles leaned forward courteously. "If it's not too much trouble, could we come inside to talk? We'd be grateful for just a moment of your time."
Charles's request was like a soft wind that jolted the older man out of his reverie.
"Ah…yes, of course," he replied automatically, as though on autopilot.
Humphrey's expression shifted, as if he'd just realized he had let himself dwell too long on Michael. He looked suspiciously at the two visitors, but it was too late—he had already invited them inside.
The interior of the house was tidy and simply furnished, though it exuded a lonely air, as if time had paused among its memories. A few wooden chairs and a table stood neatly arranged.
He gestured for them to sit while he took a seat across from them. Charles and Joseph sat down carefully, following his invitation.
Once seated on the old wooden chair, the older man exhaled deeply and formally introduced himself in a low, weary voice. "I'm Humphrey Grey… I take it you want to ask me about Michael Berg, yes?"
Charles nodded. He flashed Joseph a quick look before speaking plainly. "Yes. We're searching for Michael. We heard you worked alongside him, so we hoped you could tell us anything that might help."
Humphrey leaned back a little, less guarded than before, though faint suspicion lingered in his eyes. "I did work with Michael, but I wouldn't say we were close. We…just happened to be colleagues."
Charles offered a gentle smile, hoping to keep the mood relaxed. "Understood. Even small details can be crucial. We'd especially like to know if Michael had any close associates—someone he trusted or confided in."
Humphrey pondered a moment, then replied slowly, "If there's anyone he was truly close to…that'd be Roland Bradford."
Charles blinked in mild surprise. "Roland Bradford…"
Humphrey inclined his head a little. "Yes… Michael and Roland were very close. They worked together for quite some time and often consulted each other about personal matters. If Michael had any real problems, Roland would probably have been the first to know."
Charles leaned forward slightly, pressing on in a friendly tone. "I see. What sort of work did they do together?"
Humphrey lifted his gaze, voice steady as he answered, "We're all doctors. Michael, Roland, and myself practiced medicine. The two of them once worked side by side at a charitable clinic."
"A charitable clinic? Where would that be?"
Humphrey hesitated for a heartbeat, as if debating whether or not to divulge the location. At last, he answered in a subdued voice, "St. Margaret's clinic."
Joseph recognized the name faintly but couldn't pinpoint why. Charles stole a glance at him, noticing Joseph's puzzled expression, then returned his focus to Humphrey, who seemed to have retreated into his own recollections.
Charles nodded. "Would you mind drawing us a quick map to that clinic's location? It might help us pick up Michael's trail."
Humphrey stayed quiet for a few seconds, then sighed gently and nodded. He rose from the chair.
"Wait a moment..." he murmured softly, walking to a small table in the corner, and returned with a sheet of paper and a quill. Settling back down, he dipped the quill in an inkpot and began sketching with measured strokes, his hand moving slowly, as though dredging up old memories.
Charles and Joseph watched the older man in silence. He drew a path branching from a main road to a more remote area, circling the site presumed to be St. Margaret's.
"There," he said, tapping a small circle. "It's on the outskirts, slightly beyond the Old Town. This clinic was built to care for the poor."
Joseph studied the map, tracing its route with his eyes. A vague sense of familiarity nudged at his memory, as though something significant had once happened in that locale. Charles took the map from Humphrey and examined it carefully before folding it and standing up.
"Thanks very much. This is extremely helpful," he said courteously.
The older man merely nodded, seemingly disinclined to say more.
"Let's go," Charles said to Joseph.
As they were heading for the door, Humphrey spoke in a soft voice behind them, "Good luck."
That short farewell carried a tone of quiet apprehension, as if Humphrey knew more than he had let on. Joseph turned for a last glimpse of the old man, then followed Charles outside into a hush that clung to the evening.
When the door closed behind them, silence reclaimed the dwelling. Humphrey lifted a hand to adjust his single-lens spectacles, exhaling to himself.
Back in the carriage, the steady rattle of its wheels drummed against the gravel road. Joseph sat beside Charles, lost in brooding thoughts, as if searching his memory for something elusive. Charles noted his friend's expression but let him be. Meanwhile, Charles stared out the window, reviewing all they had learned.
'Why did Michael's family mention both Humphrey and Roland so casually in the first place?' Charles wondered. 'They knew Roland was also a colleague who vanished before Michael, but they never stressed how close the two actually were…'
He frowned. 'But Humphrey insists Michael and Roland were very close. If that's true, why would Michael's family only mention Roland in passing? Perhaps they're not hiding anything and Michael simply never shared the depth of his relationship with Roland with his family. Or maybe they knew this connection was somehow dangerous and deliberately mentioned Roland only briefly.'
'Still, from Humphrey's account, Michael and Roland worked closely for a long time. Roland disappeared first, then Michael followed. Could their disappearances be linked?'
A pensive Charles rubbed his chin. 'And Humphrey…he seems to know more than he's saying. He also glossed over his own role at St. Margaret's. Possibly some hidden piece in that clinic's past…'
As Charles mulled in silence, he noticed Joseph rubbing his temples in frustration. "Anything coming to mind?" Charles asked gently, curious but not forceful, though he felt a growing restlessness within himself.
Joseph let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head. "It's right on the tip of my tongue, but I can't pin it down." His voice was tight, brow furrowed in exasperation.
Charles empathized with his friend's struggle. He pulled out a hefty research thesis on brain function from the special unit—hoping it might provide insight into harnessing or digesting his new power. After reading just three pages, his expression changed from expectation to confusion. He struggled to understand the technical terms, confronted with complex academic jargon he wasn't familiar with.
"What is this?" he groused. "I can't understand a single word of this technical stuff." He flipped the book back and forth in annoyance, his eyebrows tightly knit, then finally slammed it shut with a loud thud.
Suddenly, Joseph seemed to be struck by something in his mind. He paused slightly before murmuring, just loud enough for Charles to hear: "…St. Margaret's… It burned down seven years ago…"
Charles, still irritated with the thick book, turned sharply toward Joseph. "What did you say?"