"Glad to see your brain is still ticking away." Charlotte said, satisfied.
"Most of the time, I'm sharp as they come." Russell boasted.
"Only when dealing with a partner familiar and trusted enough do you not need to leave their name in the ledger. Because that string of numbers and the transaction itself are already the best proof of identity. And this person is, in all likelihood, the very one who killed him."
As Russell spoke, he then frowned.
"But why? Is there any causal link between the two?"
"Simple. Because everyone else has already been ruled out." Charlotte said.
"Lestrade wouldn't be foolish enough to leave such a massive credit sitting right in front of him and do nothing. The people in the ledger—the moment they were exposed by The Times and The Guardian, Lestrade had already taken his men in to make the arrests. Beyond that, because the list is a mixed bag of all sorts, some people can be touched directly and some cannot, so Mycroft had his work cut out too."
She explained.
"So, with the help of those two, well over half the people on this list could basically be filtered out. Either they had an alibi, or they didn't match the conditions we'd deduced earlier. Under all those layers of screening, only this one nameless figure remained."
"In other words," Russell followed her line of reasoning onward, "right now only the counterpart to these few transactions is still at large, because their identity is unknown?"
"You could put it that way." Charlotte nodded. She stood up, walked over to the information wall, and copied out those few suspicious transaction records.
"Perfume, pearls, platinum, and counterfeit bills..." She lightly tapped the tip of her pen against these words.
"I'm afraid only the counterfeit bills among these are real—though it's also possible they're all fake, merely code names. In any case, no matter what, they must all point to the same person."
"Someone very familiar with Hannigan, yet wanted, unable to see the light of day, and also in extreme difficulty." Russell frowned. "Who could it be?"
"That's the work that comes next." Charlotte said. "We're already very close to the answer."
The girl's tone sounded thoroughly light and breezy—she even had the leisure to pick up the violin from the sofa and play an improvised piece.
Russell listened quietly off to the side, not disturbing her, only silently lifting his own teacup.
The melodious, lilting tune echoed through the room, like a cat chasing shadows in the spring sunlight, brimming with vigor and life.
The next day, after Russell had prepared breakfast and the newspaper for Charlotte, he set off for Imperial College.
In the warm lecture hall, Mary, wearing a scarf, was already sitting in her seat. The girl sensed Russell's arrival, turned her head, and gave him a gentle smile.
"Good morning."
The instant he saw Mary, the contents he'd seen in the files yesterday flashed unbidden through Russell's mind. But quickly, he shook his head, casting those things out of his thoughts, and let a smile surface on his face.
"Morning," Russell said, sitting down beside her in greeting. "Wearing a scarf today?"
"Mm," Mary nodded, tucking her cheek down into that beige cashmere scarf.
"When I left the house this morning, the wind felt a bit colder than yesterday."
"I can tell." Russell said, then set his bag down.
"And you," Mary tilted her head, those beautiful azure eyes carrying a smile. "Up early making breakfast again?" The girl's tone sounded a touch sour.
"Can't be helped." Russell yawned. "Who told me to leave a handle for her to hold over me."
"What handle?" Mary asked curiously.
"If I told you the handle, would it still count as a handle?" Russell glanced at her.
At that, Mary pursed her lips, then, thinking of something, said softly:
"Then, if I also had something on you, would I get to enjoy the same treatment as Charlotte?"
"If you find it amusing to make a university student get up at six in the morning and run all the way from Baker Street to the Kensington District just to cook you breakfast, then suit yourself."
"So what you're saying is, as long as I've got something on you, that's all it takes?"
Mary leaned in a little closer, and that familiar scent of white tea once again brushed gently past the tip of Russell's nose.
"If you can produce it, then I've got nothing to say."
"And if, what if I really did have something?" Mary probed tentatively.
At that, Russell raised an eyebrow. "Let's hear it, then?"
"I already said it was an 'if.'" Mary blinked.
"So that means you don't." Russell withdrew his gaze.
At that, the corner of Mary's mouth curved up slightly, then she slowly straightened her body and turned her eyes back to the poetry collection in her hands, as if that brief and ambiguous little probing had never happened.
The morning's classes passed as they always did.
At noon, in the familiar empty classroom, Mary sat in the seat in front of Russell, facing him.
"After school today I'll have the coachman make a stop at Fleet Street first." The girl laid out her itinerary. "About the clarification report on Moriarty—do you have any thoughts?"
"Why ask me?"
"I just feel I should ask your opinion first." Mary said. "After all, in a sense, you count as his spokesman."
"My opinion is that you handle it as you see fit." Russell took a bite of his sandwich, answering indistinctly.
"You're the professional. Whether it's dealing with those difficult reporters or getting the wording just right, you're far better at it than I am. I'm a layman—I won't go giving blind orders."
"All right," Mary nodded, accepting this reasonable-sounding explanation.
After a pause, he thought of something else and asked:
"And Charlotte? What stage has Charlotte's progress reached?"
"Charlotte..." Russell thought for a moment. "Charlotte went to Fleet Street to get the ledger. In her own words, she's now just one last step away from the truth."
"One last step?"
"Mm, the vast majority of the people in the ledger have already been ruled out by her." Russell nodded slightly. "What's left is just a few rather suspicious transactions."
"Suspicious how?" Mary asked.
"The transaction counterparts in the ledger are anonymous."
Russell set down his sandwich and briefly recounted Charlotte's findings.
"Charlotte believes these anonymous transactions very likely all point to the same person. Someone very familiar with Hannigan, yet unable to see the light of day."
"So did Charlotte figure out who that person is?" Mary's tone carried a hint of curiosity.
"You'd have to ask her about that," Russell shrugged.
"When I left this morning, she was still studying the thing, but knowing her personality, it's probably close. She thinks all the clues are hidden in the goods of those transactions—once you decode the meaning the goods represent, you decode the identity of the killer."
"Goods?" The girl blinked curiously. "What goods?"
"Beer." Russell said. "It's all beer."
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