Hearing Mary's answer, Russell was stunned for a moment.
After a while, he finally began to laugh.
"What's so funny?" the girl looked at him in displeasure.
"Nothing, I just thought of something amusing." Russell waved his hand.
The girl pouted, watching that slightly infuriating smile reappear on Russell's face, and the displeasure on her own face gradually faded.
"So, what about the murderer who killed Hannigan?"
Mary asked, "Has Charlotte found them?"
"Probably not yet," Russell shook his head. "Or rather, we don't even know who the person is."
"Then are there any fairly obvious characteristics?" Mary continued.
At this, Russell thought back for a moment before saying:
"Hmm. Charlotte said that fellow should be a wanted criminal."
"A wanted criminal?"
"Mm." Russell nodded slightly, and relayed to Mary the details of the scene and the reasoning that Charlotte had told him.
"The murderer met with Hannigan late at night, and Hannigan didn't inform the servants beforehand.
This shows the meeting was private—even something that couldn't see the light of day."
"Mm." Mary nodded slightly. "And then?"
"And also, the murderer wore gloves and carried a short blade on him," Russell continued to add.
"This shows that from the very start, he'd prepared for the worst.
If his demands weren't met, or if the two of them couldn't come to terms…
…he was ready to act."
"And in the end, that's exactly what he did," Mary said.
"Correct," Russell nodded. "After committing the murder, he took the cash from the study drawer, and probably feeling it wasn't enough, he prepared to ransack the bedroom for another round."
"And as a result, he saw Moriarty's card in the bedroom?" Mary speculated.
"While the two were meeting, or before the meeting, Moriarty had already slipped into the bedroom, taken that smuggling ledger, and then, as he'd always done before, left behind his own card.
Only he never imagined that Hannigan would be killed, much less that the card he'd left behind would be exploited—even used to frame him—resulting in him taking the fall for the murderer."
"More or less." Russell nodded. "That's roughly the situation."
"Mm. It sounds a bit troublesome." Mary popped the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, then gracefully dabbed the corner of her lips with a napkin.
"Based on the existing information, we can deduce that—
The murderer knew Hannigan, the two had been in contact, and perhaps they even had some dealings in the smuggling business.
But now, this murderer is wanted, the situation is probably quite grim, and he's anxiously looking for a way to leave London.
On the surface, Hannigan dealt in foreign trade, but privately he also ran a smuggling business.
For him, arranging for someone to be smuggled out wasn't much of a problem, so that murderer sought him out.
Putting these points together, if we investigate within Hannigan's social circle, we should be able to narrow it down quite quickly."
Mary counted off on her fingers as she spoke.
"A murderer who's wanted, anxious to flee, and who had contact with Hannigan—"
As she spoke, she suddenly paused.
Then, as if she'd thought of something, a sliver of bone-chilling cold gradually surfaced in the girl's eyes.
"What is it?" Russell asked. "What did you think of?"
"No—nothing." Mary shook her head, and the flash of coldness in those beautiful azure eyes was perfectly concealed beneath a calm, lake-like surface.
"I was just thinking that maybe I could handle this matter," she said softly.
"You?" Russell raised an eyebrow. "What could you handle? Catching the murderer?"
"Have you forgotten?" the girl smiled, radiant as sunshine.
"Thanks to the documents Moriarty delivered earlier, Father's relationship with The Guardian is anything but ordinary now."
So?
"So you think, if I had The Guardian write an article helping to clear Moriarty's name,
would they refuse such a small request—one that's all benefit and no harm to them?"
Mary spoke with full confidence.
"Just consider it returning that fellow a favor."
At this, Russell fell silent for a moment, and after pondering, he said:
"There's really no need to do that."
"Hmm?" Mary tilted her head. "Why?"
"Moriarty doesn't care about this anyway," Russell said. "There's no need to deliberately owe the newspaper a favor over such a trivial matter."
"How could this count as owing a favor?" Mary laughed.
"I'm giving them the inside scoop on a murder case—they'd be too grateful to even thank me enough. This is just the most basic of transactions."
"But—"
"Be good."
Mary cut Russell off, lightly resting her hand atop his head, her azure eyes gazing at him, gentle and reassuring.
"Leave this matter to me. It's settled, all right?"
She spoke softly, and though it sounded like she was consulting him, her tone left no room for refusal.
Russell looked at her, at those eyes that seemed capable of drowning a person, and for a moment time felt hazy.
The touch on the top of his head was very soft, and warm too, carrying a faint fragrance unique to a young girl, along with the crisp coolness of white tea.
"What is it?"
Seeing him go so long without responding, just blankly staring at her, Mary couldn't help tilting her head, a hint of amusement entering her voice.
"Don't like it like this?"
"No—nothing."
Russell came back to himself, moved his neck slightly, and shifted his head away from Mary's palm.
"I just didn't expect you to take this kind of thing so seriously."
Seeing this, the girl smiled sweetly and silently withdrew her hand.
"Didn't I say? Just consider it returning his favor."
Mary said with a smile, casually tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"If it weren't for him, Father and I would probably still be in the dark about Lloyds Bank to this day—not to mention everything that came after."
"Then… all right."
In the end, Russell chose to compromise—or rather, he simply couldn't find any reason to refuse.
"I'll thank you on his behalf, then."
"Didn't you say you weren't close with him?" Mary laughed.
"He did pay my tuition and rent, after all." Russell shrugged.
"Once a connection is formed, it's hard to sever cleanly."
Hearing this, Mary was first stunned, then a meaningful curve lifted at the corner of her mouth.
"Yes," she echoed softly, "once a connection is formed, it really is hard to sever cleanly again."
As she spoke, her body unconsciously leaned a few inches closer toward Russell.
Her warm breath, carrying the fragrance of white tea, once again faintly lingered at the tip of Russell's nose.
"However," Mary's voice sounded again, pulling the distance between them back to a safe range.
"I'm solving this trouble for you—how do you plan to thank me?"
"Didn't you say it was returning his favor?" Russell instinctively retorted.
"But didn't you also say you'd thank me on his behalf?" the girl blinked slyly.
Those azure eyes glittered with light, like the stars on a summer night in the countryside.
"This…" Russell was momentarily at a loss for words.
"How about this," Mary suggested, as if struck by an idea. "This weekend, let's go to the Phedon Tea Room once more."
She said.
"This time, it's your turn to treat me."
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