Chapter Fifteen: The Art Gallery

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However, for several days in a row, Morlay didn’t catch a glimpse of Conan. It wasn’t until one day, when Morlay picked up an old newspaper he had neglected for days due to being absorbed in his research, that he realized Conan had actually been quite active lately.

The Shinkansen was nearly bombed; Kogoro Mori solved the case, and Conan appeared in the corner of the newspaper photo.

A murder took place at the Tanabata gathering; again, Conan was visible in the corner of the photo.

“No wonder he hasn’t come around—one day he was taken away by his parents, another day he went to see his little girlfriend. Tsk, tsk, tsk…” Morlay sipped his coffee, shaking his head with a teasing smile. “Elementary school kid…”

The phone rang.

“Hello?” Morlay casually answered. “Oh, Conan, what’s up? A medieval art exhibition? Want me to join you?”

“Sure, I’m free anyway, so let’s go.”

If his guess was right, Conan’s invitation was probably a test to see if Morlay was the person from that night.

Unfortunately, his test was doomed to be fruitless.

...

“Brother Morlay—” from afar, at the museum entrance, Conan waved his arms at Morlay, who was walking toward the museum.

“Who would have thought Conan would be interested in medieval art exhibitions too?” Ran Mori smiled warmly at Conan. “I thought neither you nor your father would care about this kind of thing.”

“Hmph, it’s only because you said you wouldn’t cook…” Kogoro Mori rolled his eyes discreetly, noticing his daughter’s gaze and quickly putting on a serious face. “But, appreciating art from time to time isn’t bad either. However…”

“Why is this kid here?” He looked at Morlay with some displeasure.

Who knows where the last one who tried to set him up went? Now there’s another one?

“Brother Morlay was invited by me,” Conan said with a smile, scratching his head. “Because Brother Morlay is European, right? He must know a lot about European art. I wanted him to explain these artworks to us.”

“Really, how can we trouble him like that?” Ran frowned and crouched down to pat Conan’s head.

“It’s fine, I happen to be interested in these things too,” Morlay waved his hand.

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He wasn’t just being polite. He had heard from Koizumi Akako that the magical energy in the atmosphere of this world had declined centuries ago. That meant in the Middle Ages, the atmospheric magic content was not so low, so it was possible that some antiques from that period contained secrets.

“Hey, what’s that?!” Conan suddenly exclaimed, pointing behind Morlay.

I remember that night; the man who was scratched had a wound on… his left cheek!

Morlay turned his head.

No scar...?

Conan let out a breath of relief.

Although he had once suspected Morlay, and although as Shinichi Kudo he had only met Morlay once in theory, he still hoped this friend with good reasoning skills was not a member of that organization and would not be dragged into this whirlpool.

When Morlay came to visit that day, even though he occasionally put Conan on the spot, it also made him a little happy. In high school, although he had many admirers, most were girls; the boys were often hostile. As for those boys, he believed none of them could match him, so he had little interest in them.

Morlay’s deduction that day was even faster than his own, so Conan naturally held some respect for him. Later, Morlay’s personal visit made Conan think he was indeed a friend worth having; however, by then he had already shrunk.

But thinking that Morlay was cleared of suspicion, his expression relaxed considerably, and the forced smile vanished.

“Well, shall we go in… hey!”

“Don’t prank me, you brat!” Kogoro Mori punched him on the head.

“Kids will be kids, don’t be too serious…” Ran patted his head again. “But no pranks, okay?”

After speaking, she apologized to Morlay with a bow and took Conan’s hand as they entered the museum.

Honestly, the museum did have quite a few exhibits.

The entire museum was divided into four large halls: the Hall of Heaven, the Hall of Earth, the Hall of the Sea, and finally, the Hall of Hell.

“This exhibition, rather than being purely medieval art, mainly features pieces from the late Middle Ages to the twentieth century,” Morlay said as he looked over the sculptures and paintings inside. “I heard Japanese collectors especially love Impressionism. Since coming to Japan, this is my first time visiting an exhibition; I’m quite surprised by the number of exhibits.”

“What the heck, you’re making me look totally ignorant,” Conan and Kogoro muttered through gritted teeth, “And honestly, it doesn’t seem that interesting.”

“After the Meiji Restoration, the Japanese began learning from the West and admired Western culture. You can see it in their food and clothing since then. In art, one expression of this is the pursuit of Renaissance and post-Renaissance European artworks. This museum is quite impressive. I wonder how it compares with the National Museum of Western Art in Ueno Park?”

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“Hehe, you flatter our museum,” a kindly-looking elderly man in a suit said, pausing his walk and smiling warmly as he chatted with Morlay’s group. “Are you European? Interested in art as well?”

“Hello, I’m Sherlock Morlay, from France,” Morlay smiled. “May I ask who you are?”

“This is our museum director, Director Ochiai,” the man in the blue suit beside him smiled and introduced himself to Morlay. “As for me, I’m Iijima, and I handle some art maintenance here.”

“So, Director Ochiai and Mr. Iijima,” Morlay shook their hands. Ran perked up upon hearing the names: “Director, um… I hope it’s not rude to ask, but about the recent urban legend…”

“Hm? Which urban legend?” The director looked puzzled.

“The one about the armor moving at night?” Ran said, a bit scared but driven by curiosity. “Is it really a supernatural event?”

“Foolish, it’s probably just a marketing gimmick...” Kogoro Mori scoffed.

“We’re not quite sure either; we’re investigating it now,” Iijima smiled. “But it’s definitely not supernatural. There are no ghosts in this world.”

“Then, we shall—” The director was about to say goodbye when he suddenly saw something that made him angry. “Wada! What’s wrong with you? Didn’t I tell you to wear gloves when handling the artworks?”

“I…” The man in the gray suit, Wada, looked flustered.

Iijima stepped forward to take over his work, leaving Wada standing there awkwardly.

“What are you doing? Go put on your gloves right now!” The director’s brows knitted tightly.

“Yes… I’m going now!” Wada hesitated, turning away with a somewhat resentful expression, but obediently went to put on his gloves.

“Sorry to bother you,” the director sighed. “I’ve worked here for many years; these artworks are like my children…”

He turned back to gaze at his beloved exhibits.

Suddenly, a rude voice sounded out of place: “Hey, old man, still pining over your junk?”