"They're all pretty much the sa."
Russell waved his hand. "You didn't tell how much milk to add, so I had to calculate it myself."
Charlotte glared at him, took another sip, thought for a mont, and said discontentedly,
"Next ti you pour the milk, don't waste my coffee grounds."
"So, the only sowhat useful conclusion we've reached is that Mary's father is both a victim of Professor Moriarty and a potential target of the Professor."
Russell picked up the file on Arthur Morstan and skimd through it with interest.
The material contained a summary of Arthur Morstan's life, most of which was official information. After all, it had been retrieved from Lloyd's Bank, so even if there had been any shady past, it wouldn't be printed there.
"That's the current situation."
Charlotte nodded.
"So, are you suspecting that he is the Professor, or that he has so connection to the Professor?"
"I suspect he has so connection to the Professor."
Charlotte said, "But for now, there aren't enough useful clues."
"What if we assu he is the Professor?"
Russell asked curiously. "Accumulating initial capital through early criminal plans, then transitioning into business, laundering funds, and finally returning to his ho country—it seems plausible."
"He's over fifty."
Charlotte said. "The Professor's active period only totaled about two years. Before Arthur Morstan beca famous in London's underworld, he was already a very wealthy businessman."
"Based on the premise that he has so relationship with the Professor, what is your guess?" Russell asked. "Enemy? Or collaborator?"
"I prefer collaborator."
Charlotte thought for a mont and said, "If you broaden your perspective and look at the entire event, sothing should stand out."
Setting the newspapers aside, the biggest beneficiary was Arthur Morstan.
Charlotte pointed at the photo in the file. "He received compensation from Lloyd's Bank, support from The Guardian, and even gave a personal interview to the paper. And the cost? Almost zero."
Moriarty stole everything from his safe but returned it all afterward, so Arthur Morstan suffered no losses at all. Frankly speaking, he simply took the docunts out of the safe and put them back. Yet even that simple act of picking up and replacing them had already generated astronomical profits.
"So… you suspect that the Professor and Moriarty are helping Arthur Morstan?"
Russell looked at Charlotte. "But… what strengths or abilities does he have?"
"That's what I don't understand either."
Charlotte frowned. "On what basis did Arthur Morstan…? What conditions did he promise? Even if we set the Professor aside, how did he manage to control that unpredictable Moriarty?"
"Maybe he offered too much?"
Russell asked cautiously. "A rchant with enormous wealth offering a price that even a master thief couldn't refuse sounds plausible."
"And this master thief is willing to split the spoils with an unidentified criminal consultant?"
Charlotte glanced at him. "Neither the Professor nor Moriarty seed to be short on money."
We're really short. Severely short.
Russell thought to himself.
"Sothing's off. There's a problem with this entire logical flow."
Charlotte gulped down the warm milky coffee in one go and refocused her attention on the docunts in her hand.
"Arthur Morstan… Moriarty… There must be a deeper connection between these three that we haven't discovered yet."
She muttered to herself and was once again swallowed by the storm in her mind.
Seeing this, Russell wisely chose not to disturb her any further. He quietly stood up.
Since I've rested enough, tonight I'll go look for people in need… No, I'll find people in need and do good deeds for them.
Shortly after he left, Charlotte suddenly snapped out of her dazed state, erging from her ntal trance. She looked around, confird that Russell was no longer in the room, and let out a sigh of relief. Then her gaze fell on the coffee cup.
"Tch…"
Charlotte picked up the coffee cup, went to the sink to wash it, and hung it up.
Then she walked over to the information board and flipped it over. While gazing at the various speculations about the Professor, Charlotte thought for a while, then picked up a note. She wrote sothing on it and tucked it into an inconspicuous corner.
The text on the sticky note was hidden under the one above it; unless soone looked carefully, they wouldn't even notice there was another note there.
After finishing all this, Charlotte put down the pen, frowned, and returned the information wall to its original position.
She glanced at the dense image of Moriarty, looked away, and walked toward the bedroom.
The mont her head touched the pillow, she fell asleep imdiately.
…
Midnight.
Russell opened his eyes in bed. The alarm clock hadn't rung yet, but his well-trained internal clock had already woken him precisely from his light sleep.
He slipped out of bed on tiptoe and changed into the black trench coat he had prepared in advance. Moonlight streaming through the window gave his light movents a silvery glow.
Tonight's target was a smuggler nad Thomas Hanigan. The man mainly dealt in Oriental silk fabrics and porcelain. On the surface, he was a law-abiding, tax-paying citizen, but secretly he hid smuggled goods in the concealed compartnts of cargo ships. According to the system map's information, Hanigan hid all his smuggling ledgers behind a painting hanging above the bed in his mansion.
As a rehabilitation training program after a week of rest, this was quite a good challenge.
Russell climbed out the window while planning the route in his head. His figure quickly vanished into the darkness.
…
Southwark District.
This central area of Southwark blended administration, transportation, and culture. The residents included officials, rchants, laborers, the poor—people from every social stratum.
Hanigan's mansion was located in this mixed neighborhood: a sowhat old-fashioned, unremarkable Victorian-style townhouse.
Russell landed silently on the opposite roof, then jumped down and landed on the branch closest to the balcony.
He stood on the tree branch, gently swaying in the night breeze, and stared intently at the second-floor bedroom. The curtains were drawn, but there was a slight gap, so no light escaped. It was clear that no one was in the bedroom.
After waiting a while, Russell jumped from the branch, lightly touched the balcony railing with his toes, and landed firmly on the cold floor tiles without making a sound.
The balcony door was locked, but for Russell, it was almost useless. He took out high-performance lock-picking tools from his pocket and opened the door in less than five seconds.
Russell slipped inside quietly and closed the door behind him without a sound.
He stood in the bedroom and heard faint voices coming from the adjacent room. It seed Hanigan was still talking to soone, but the voices were muffled through the wall. Combined with the deliberately lowered tone, if Russell hadn't enhanced his hearing, he probably wouldn't have caught anything at all. Even so, he couldn't make out what the other person was saying.
If nothing unexpected happened, they were most likely discussing smuggling. Working even at this hour—how dedicated.
Russell pondered inwardly, then began preparing to finish the job quickly.
He walked straight to the bedside and looked at the oil painting hanging on the wall. Carefully removing the painting revealed a square groove inside.
The ledger is in there.
Russell grinned, reached for the ledger, then placed his own card on the bedroom table.
After finishing everything, he clapped his hands in satisfaction and returned the painting to its original place as if nothing had happened.
Once the job was done, he vanished without a trace, concealing his own achievents and fa.
…
…
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