The mont Mary finished speaking, Edgar seed to stop breathing.
He stared at the young, beautiful girl before him. She was extrely insightful, and her words seed to carry the power to stir up a storm.
His heart, hardened by years of trials and hardships on Fleet Street, began beating uncontrollably.
So he hadn't understood Mary's true intention?
Of course he understood.
It was precisely because they understood that they reacted this way.
Fleet Street was currently divided between two newspapers—the Guardian and The Tis—with fierce rivalry.
But would that satisfy everyone?
And now, thanks to the Lloyds Bank report, they finally had a chance to deal a heavy blow to The Tis.
With the enemy's morale low, would they let this golden opportunity slip?
Moreover, this report had legitimate reasons and all three advantages: perfect timing, favorable location, and public support.
Edgar had to consider whether this was his first and last chance.
Damn it, let's do it!
"Understood."
After a while, Edgar took a deep breath and suppressed all his surging emotions.
He looked up. Behind his gold-rimd glasses, his eyes held the power of a lion.
"Miss Morstan, rest assured."
He stood up, looked at Mary, and solemnly declared, "The Guardian will be the first to pick up the news."
Hearing this, Mary also stood up and smiled lightly.
"Then I'll look forward to tomorrow's paper."
"Certainly." Edgar nodded with a smile. "Tomorrow morning, the Guardian's front page will feature exactly what you want to see."
As he spoke, he hurriedly walked to the office door and opened it for Mary.
"Then, see you downstairs."
The carriage slowly drove away from Fleet Street.
Mary leaned against the soft cushions, staring quietly at the scenery flowing past the window. Her eyes were as calm as still water.
It resembled the sea before a storm.
She raised her hand and gazed at her own fair, slender fingers.
Right now, with just a tiny bit of strength, this hand had guided the dia storm sweeping London in an unpredictable direction.
The Guardian would prove Moriarty's innocence before The Tis.
Even if Charlotte Hols eventually found the culprit and submitted evidence to The Tis, the weight of that report would undoubtedly be greatly diminished. This was essentially a quiet provocation against the proud young detective who always aid to be number one.
She didn't care who was in charge of Fleet Street.
All she wanted was to outmaneuver him in every situation involving detectives—or anything related to him. Nothing more, nothing less.
An invisible war had quietly begun.
And the slow-witted man caught in the middle still had no idea.
Just thinking about it was amusing.
A mischievous smile appeared on the girl's lips.
Of course, this joy did not last long.
The carriage smoothly entered the streets of Kensington. The scenery outside the window gradually changed from a bustling comrcial district to a quiet, luxurious high-end residential area.
As Mary approached ho, the smile gradually faded from her face.
In its place, Mary Morstan carried dignity and grace, while the professor carried rationality and indifference.
Beneath the first mask, another mask was hidden.
…
Baker Street 221B.
Charlotte stood in front of the information wall, staring intently at the information she had written, lost in thought.
She was 100% certain that the man nad in Hannigan's ledger was the murderer.
Similarly, she was confident that if she could decipher the aning behind the word "beer," she could find that person.
Hannigan's ho, the dock warehouses, and every location where he stored smuggled goods had been thoroughly searched.
There was no beer at all.
There were plenty of other things: fine red wine, wine, cigars, tobacco, etc.
Lestrade stared at her, completely srized.
If he lacked even a shred of professional ethics or if no one was watching, he would gladly take two bottles ho.
That was why Charlotte was certain that "beer" pointed to the murderer.
The girl's gaze fell on those accounts.
All the goods were listed as beer, with the shipping origin as the Czech Republic.
What about the Czech Republic? What aning did that place na hold? Was it just casually written to make the records more believable?
Charlotte frowned.
She picked up the ledger and examined it carefully once more.
Except for the transaction with the murderer, each record clearly listed the goods, shipping location, and amount.
In other words, this "Czech Republic" might not have been sothing Hannigan wrote casually.
As Charlotte was thinking this, Russell, who had returned from school, was already standing beside her.
"Still investigating the beer?" His words startled Charlotte, who had been deep in thought.
"Why do you walk without making any sound?"
Charlotte frowned and looked at him unhappily.
"You're concentrating too hard." Russell shrugged. "I already spoke with Mrs. Hudson."
They didn't dwell on the topic and returned the conversation to its original direction. "We now have only two clues left: the Czech Republic and beer."
Charlotte said.
"We considered the possibility of homophones, but that doesn't seem realistic."
Hearing this, Russell walked over to her side and looked at the circled keywords.
"Czech Republic, beer…" He stroked his chin, thinking for a mont. "Maybe it really is just beer?"
"If so, why specifically use the term Czech beer?"
Charlotte frowned.
Did Czech beer have so special aning?
"Who knows," Russell shrugged. "I'm a serious young man who doesn't smoke or drink."
Charlotte ignored him. After thinking for a while, she walked to the phone, picked up the receiver.
"Connect to Scotland Yard. I'm looking for Inspector Lestrade."
She told the operator.
The call connected quickly, and Lestrade's sowhat tired voice ca through clearly.
["Charlotte? What's up?"]
"Czech beer."
Charlotte asked directly, "What do you know about it?"
"What the hell?" Lestrade thought he misheard and faltered for a mont. "Beer? Are you in the mood to care about that right now? Is it that important?"
"It is extrely important. It's related to the person who killed Hannigan."
Lestrade fell silent for a while before speaking.
"Give five minutes. Let think. Don't hang up."
As soon as she finished, Charlotte heard the sound of the receiver being placed on the table.
She waited patiently until she heard hurried footsteps and Lestrade's voice becoming clear again.
"I rembered! I rembered!"
Lestrade's voice gradually beca distinct.
"Charlotte, I just rembered. There was that kind of beer!"
"Explain."
Charlotte's voice was concise.
"It's a specialty of the Bohemia region in Czechia. It was popular among London's upper class a few years ago, but was soon replaced by more expensive wines."
There are probably very few pubs in London selling it now. At most, it's used as a collector's item.
"I have no interest in its history," Charlotte urged. "Just tell the na."
"Billson!" Lestrade said.
"Pilsner beer!"
…
…
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