"Beer?" Mary frowned. "Why beer?"
The girl quickly ran through the list in her head, but she couldn't see any connection between that man and beer.
She already knew the answer, yet she wanted to know the process.
Was this so kind of slang used between Billson and Hannigan?
Who knows? Russell shrugged. "That's what's written in the ledger."
He paused for a mont, then added, "Maybe Hannigan has a small circle of close friends who call each other by the types of alcohol they secretly drink?"
"..."
Mary tilted her head, her eyes full of confusion.
"Did such an organization really exist?"
"I don't know. I was just guessing," Russell yawned. "Anyway, Charlotte is confident she can identify the culprit by the end of today, so trust her."
"Hmm… You seem to trust her quite a bit," Mary said, resting her chin on her hand with a aningful look.
"Because she's Charlotte Hols."
Russell laughed.
"I don't really get it…" The girl's eyes widened. "So if I say I'm Mary Morstan, then you're Russell Watson, right?"
Russell was slightly surprised by her words.
Why wasn't he saying anything?
Mary tilted her head again, looking at the suddenly silent Russell. "Did I say sothing wrong?"
"Ah… It's nothing major." Russell's smile returned. "I was just thinking about a few things."
"...What's wrong?"
Mary gave him a strange look.
"I have to go to the sanatorium with Charlotte again this Sunday," Russell said. "Charles Brown seems to be recovering. Let's question him once more."
"I see." Mary nodded. "I hope we can get so useful information from them this ti."
"Yeah." Russell avoided giving a definite answer.
Lunch break passed in the blink of an eye, and the two returned to the classroom before the bell rang.
The afternoon classes were as boring and sleep-inducing as ever.
Russell lay sprawled across his desk, sound asleep. Mary sat beside him, lost in thought.
Two full days had passed since she sent the letter.
She had received no reply yet.
It seed Mr. Billson had truly pushed his own initiative to the limit.
Whether it was Billson or Charles didn't matter.
One refused to obediently hide, while the other refused to obediently go mad.
"Unnecessary actions."
Mary spoke in a voice only she could hear, her tone as cold as absolute zero.
It was hard to believe that Charlotte Hols had identified Billson's target in just one day.
But no matter the situation, they could not let their guard down.
The chess pieces had already begun to develop their own thoughts and even wanted to escape control.
Therefore, tily cleaning was essential.
With that thought, a light of determination flashed in Mary's eyes.
Any extra actor who wanted to add scenes for themselves would do best to finish their role as quickly as possible.
There wasn't enough space on the stage for them to cause a commotion.
…
Afternoon, after school.
After bidding Russell farewell as usual, Mary boarded her family's carriage.
"There is no need to hurry back to Kensington," Mary instructed the driver through the partition.
"Miss, where shall we go?" the driver asked.
"Go to Fleet Street, to the Guardian newspaper office," Mary said calmly.
"Yes, miss."
The driver complied, skillfully turning the horses and steadily heading toward Fleet Street.
About fifteen minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of a sowhat modern grey building that housed the Guardian.
"Wait here. I'll be back soon."
Mary opened the carriage door as she spoke, stepped down while lifting her skirt, and entered the building.
"Hello, madam." The receptionist imdiately stood up upon seeing her beautiful face and put on a professional smile. "How may I help you?"
"I'm looking for Editor-in-Chief Edgar," Mary said in a gentle yet unmistakably noble voice. "Please tell him that the daughter of Duke Arthur Morstan is looking for him."
"Yes, please wait a mont."
The receptionist promptly picked up the phone and reported the news without hesitation.
Soon after, a middle-aged man in a neat suit and gold-rimd glasses hurried down the stairs.
"Hello, Miss Morstan."
Edgar wore a warm smile.
"Hello, Mr. Edgar."
Mary smiled back.
"I never expected you to co in person," Edgar said, guiding Mary to his office on the second floor.
"If anything cos up, just let soone know. I'll co anyti."
"That would be too much trouble," Mary replied, elegantly sitting in the chair opposite him. "It's only a trivial matter. There's no need to make such a fuss."
"A trivial matter?"
Edgar raised an eyebrow and signaled his assistant to pour Mary so black tea.
"What kind of trivial matter requires the help of a guardian?"
"It's about Moriarty," Mary said directly.
Edgar's eyes lit up the mont he heard the na.
He waved his secretary away, leaving only the two of them in the office.
"Did you receive a letter from Mr. Moriarty?" he asked, lowering his voice with a hint of expectation.
"No." Mary shook her head. "I simply wanted the Guardian to publish an article about him."
"A report?"
Edgar paused. "About what?"
"Clearing his na," Mary said concisely. "Moriarty didn't kill anyone. He was frad."
A knowing light flashed in Edgar's sharp eyes.
"Actually, we've discussed this matter internally," he said, leaning back deeply in his chair and clasping his fingers.
"Moriarty is the lucky star of all of Fleet Street. No one wants to anger him for short-term gains, let alone damage his reputation.
Moreover, judging from his past behavior, he doesn't seem like that kind of person.
To be honest, that woman did approach both Henry Scott and , but we both refused.
However, surprisingly, there are still people blinded by imdiate profits. That is truly tragic for journalists."
As he spoke, a deep look of sorrow appeared on his face.
Mary watched him with a calm expression, showing no emotion.
"Therefore, if we can restore Moriarty's honor, the Guardian will gladly be the first to speak up."
Edgar's acting was superb as he flashed that cunning smile again.
"But so things cannot be proven with words alone. You should understand that."
He stopped speaking, his tone carrying a probing nuance.
"So, how did you determine that Mr. Moriarty was frad?"
"As far as I know, Scotland Yard has not reached a definitive conclusion on this matter."
Hearing this, Mary glanced at him indifferently before saying casually, "I have insider information."
…
…
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