"Moriarty?"
Hearing Mary ntion that na, Russell ca to an obvious halt.
What does that an? Why does it still feel like there's sothing for to do? She hasn't forgotten about Moriarty yet.
"What exactly happened to him?" he asked. "What did Moriarty do to you?"
"Nothing at all," Mary gently replied, shaking her head. "I'm just curious why Moriarty chose the Roy family as his target."
"It's the sa as deciding to have a double bacon and ham sandwich for lunch," Russell said.
"...?"
The girl looked at him, perplexed, unable to see any direct or indirect link between the two things.
"I an, there's no logic or reason," Russell twirled his pen between his fingers. "He just thinks it up and decides to do it. Isn't that exactly his style?"
"If you put it that way..." Mary's attitude remained vague, and a look of confusion still lingered in her eyes. "I doubt it's truly that simple."
In the past, Moriarty never paid attention to Parliant or even civil servants; his targets were mainly the wealthy and aristocratic of London. After a pause, she added, "Plus, this operation is fundantally different from anything before."
"How so?" Russell asked with interest.
"He's been interacting with people who have nothing to do with it," Mary replied, fixing her blue eyes on Russell. "Take you, for example. He gave you a love letter, didn't he? He never did anything like that before."
"Who knows? Charlotte always called him a performance artist," Russell shrugged, expression unchanged. "Or maybe he's just trying to make up a new alias for himself."
"Actually, I had soone check into it on Sunday," Mary lowered her voice confidingly, as if sharing a secret. "The na Clark Kent, and the so-called Daily Chronicle, do not exist."
She finished speaking and looked down, as if waiting for Russell's reaction.
But Russell was much calr than she'd expected—he simply raised his eyebrows, not all that surprised.
"You're not even shocked?"
She couldn't help but ask.
"Truthfully, when I learned Clark Kent was Moriarty, I already considered that possibility," said Russell. "You confirming it only proves my guess right—so there's not much to be surprised about."
"Besides, even if he hadn't forged a newspaper, even if he'd said outright he was a reporter from The Tis or The Guardian, would I have known it was him?"
"That's true," Mary nodded slightly, turning toward the chalkboard.
Seeing how much subtlety she put into disguises, a vague unease filled Russell. If the day ca when she chose to investigate, it would spell disaster. If he was revealed to be a thief, his scholarly career would co to an end. There would inevitably be a major commotion (not to ntion the broken leg...).
No, for the sake of his own future, he must carefully find a way to guide her thoughts.
Taking a pause, Russell spoke offhandedly, "By the way, Charlotte's brother ca by yesterday morning."
Upon hearing this, Mary perked up and shook her head in curiosity. "Mycroft Hols?"
"That's right." Russell nodded. "He's here because of Moriarty."
Those words imdiately piqued Mary's interest. "Speaking of which, wasn't Mr. Mycroft considered Ethan Roy's political rival?"
"Remove the 'considered,' and that's the truth," Russell declared.
"So, what did he want from Charlotte?"
"He wanted her help to find Moriarty. The reason is... well, you know, standard company lingo."
Russell deliberately left the sentence trailing, letting Mary fill in the blanks with her imagination.
"My guess is... Mycroft has refrad Moriarty's actions—they're not rely trespassing and theft anymore, but a threat to national security, right?" Mary ventured after a mont's thought.
"Full marks," Russell applauded lightly.
Mary's lips curled with a hint of irony, but she didn't appear surprised. "As expected," she said. "So Charlotte refused and probably said sothing... a little an?"
"Sotis I wonder if you have psychic powers that let you peer into people's mories," Russell laughed.
"If I did, I'd look into your mories first," Mary smiled. "Then I'd really know what a thief looks like." Double aning.
Russell smiled faintly, saying nothing.
"But why would Mycroft do sothing like this?" Mary didn't linger on the topic of psychic powers, but returned to the main point. "His rival has resigned. By all asures, he stands to benefit the most."
"If it were , I would probably attack Ethan Roy's colleagues first—then use the fallout to strengthen my influence in Parliant, rather than wasting my energy on a missing criminal."
"But..." Russell prompted, letting Mary finish her thought.
"But..." Mary t Russell's eyes, then paused. "He wants to distance himself from the situation."
"Isn't this a textbook example of 'protesting too much'?" Russell said.
"What do you an?" Mary tilted her head. "That sounds like an eastern proverb."
"It ans that if a man cos into unexpected riches and hides it sowhere, he'll put up a sign reading 'No money is hidden here.'"
Russell explained, and Mary laughed quietly. "A foolish act, really."
"Who would disagree?" Russell laughed with her, pleased to have tricked her.
But then, he saw Mary's brows suddenly knit together.
"Sothing's wrong."
"What is it?" Russell kept calm despite his surprise.
"Mycroft isn't a fool," Mary said. "He's known as the British governnt's embodint. Do you think soone as capable as him would do sothing so clumsy, especially in front of Charlotte?"
"By your logic... it does seem odd..." Russell frowned in agreent. How should I explain this? This is urgent. What's the point of Mycroft being so clever, anyway?
"But… there's another possibility."
At that very mont, he heard Mary speak again. It seed she'd finally found a solid and consistent explanation herself.
"What is it?" Russell asked impatiently.
Mary looked up at him and, word for word, said:
"He was hinting at Charlotte."
…
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