Hearing this, Edgar immediately sat up straight.
"Inside information?" His voice instinctively rose, but he quickly reined it back in.
"That's not something to be thrown around lightly, Miss Morstan."
"Do you think I came all this way to The Guardian just to make things up?" Mary took a sip of black tea and countered.
"No, of course not." Edgar hastily waved his hands, the smile piling back onto his face.
"I'm merely confirming, that's all. After all, ensuring information is genuine and accurate is a basic principle of working in journalism, isn't it?"
He said this with pointed insinuation.
"We're not like certain newspapers that trumpet a story far and wide before confirming its truth, deceiving the citizens of London."
As he spoke, Edgar paused, then leaned slightly forward.
"So, if it's possible, might you be willing to disclose the source of this inside information, Miss Morstan?"
"Of course."
Mary set down her teacup; the white porcelain clinked against the saucer with a crisp sound.
"Charlotte Holmes," the young woman said, unhurried. "That is my source. And if I remember correctly, she came to Fleet Street yesterday as well, didn't she?"
At the mention of Charlotte's name, Edgar froze for a moment, then instinctively nodded.
"Yes, she did indeed come, Miss Morstan. I really didn't expect that the two of you would be acquainted."
"She and I aren't exactly close, but I'm on rather good terms with her assistant," Mary said.
"I imagine you're not unfamiliar with him either. His name is Russell Watson."
"Russell Watson..." Edgar frowned, then a look of sudden realization crossed his face.
"That messenger of Moriarty's—I remember now," he clapped his hands. "He was the one who went door to door along Fleet Street delivering those warning letters."
"So then, are you now prepared to believe in the authenticity of the information I'm providing?" Mary asked.
"Of course, of course I am!" A look of wild delight spread across Edgar's face, and he even personally refilled Mary's black tea.
"With a Holmes as the source, it couldn't possibly be more reliable."
"Then," Mary lifted her teacup and gently blew at the wisps of steam curling above it, "may I trouble you with the matter of the report?"
"Please, do leave it to us!"
Edgar cleverly placed himself in the position of the one being commissioned, in turn flattering the other party.
"Clearing Moriarty's name of this injustice—only The Guardian can accomplish such a thing," he vowed, thumping his chest.
"We will use the most exhaustive columns and the sharpest of pens to cleanse Moriarty's tarnished reputation!"
"Then I shall look forward to it." Mary smiled with satisfaction.
"Oh, by the way," she added, as though suddenly recalling something.
"Regarding the source of this inside information—you understand, Mr. Edgar—I'm not terribly fond of drawing attention to myself, especially in matters like these."
"Of course, I understand your wish to keep a low profile, to do good deeds quietly, Miss Morstan."
Edgar nodded repeatedly. "We'll refer to you only as 'a reliable individual who wishes to remain anonymous.' We would never cause you the slightest trouble."
"Very good." Mary set down her teacup with satisfaction. "Then, you may prepare to take notes."
"Please, go ahead, Miss Morstan." Edgar picked up his pen, assuming a posture of rapt attention.
"I promise I won't miss a single detail."
Watching the reporter looking as though he wished he could press his very ear closer, Mary's lips curved into a faint arc.
"In truth, it isn't all that complicated," she said softly, her voice smooth yet clear.
"The killer who murdered Hannigan was not Moriarty, but someone else entirely. A desperate fugitive currently wanted by Scotland Yard."
"A fugitive?" Edgar's pen darted across the paper, recording the crucial words. "Do you know who it is?"
"Regrettably, on that point, Miss Charlotte Holmes is still investigating, and cannot yet say for certain." Mary shook her head.
"But what is certain is that this fugitive shared an unspeakable connection with Mr. Hannigan. Perhaps they were business partners, perhaps something deeper still. In any case, he came to Hannigan seeking help."
"Help?"
"Passage out of the country," Mary said succinctly. "Hannigan's smuggling business was extensive—that much I imagine you're well aware of."
Edgar gave a slight nod.
"We obtained the ledger from Moriarty, though that ledger has since been taken away by Lady Holmes."
"Hannigan's smuggling business was extensive; arranging for someone to slip out of London without a soul noticing was no difficult matter for him. So the killer sought him out, hoping he might help him flee the city. Unfortunately, this deal ultimately fell apart in the worst possible way."
"So he killed Hannigan?"
"Precisely," Mary nodded. "After committing the murder, he took all the cash and jewels from Hannigan's study. Then, as he was about to continue ransacking the bedroom, he discovered the card Moriarty had left behind. And so, a perfect frame-up was born."
As Edgar scribbled furiously, he was rapidly constructing the outline of the entire case in his mind.
Suddenly, he seemed to notice something, and his brow furrowed.
"Wait," Edgar stopped his pen and looked up at Mary. "I have a question, Miss Morstan."
"Please, go ahead." Mary nodded.
"You just said that Miss Charlotte Holmes is still investigating the killer's identity, correct?"
"Yes."
"Then that means all of this is still conjecture, not established fact?"
There was a note of professional journalistic caution in Edgar's tone.
"Of course," Mary nodded candidly, the composed confidence on her face leaving Edgar momentarily disoriented.
"But Miss Charlotte Holmes has already said she'll find the killer before long," Mary said.
"And, barring the unexpected, she'll likely choose to submit her piece to The Times."
"The Times?" Edgar knitted his brow. "Why them, of all papers?"
"That, I couldn't tell you," the young woman shrugged.
"All I know is that, barring the unexpected, perhaps as soon as tomorrow, The Times will run a report clearing Moriarty of the charges as well. With Charlotte Holmes's endorsement, the authority of that report goes without saying. And The Times, on the strength of that piece, will completely shake off the blow it suffered from the Lloyds Bank affair, becoming the first to pick up the napkin."
"After them, even if some new paper publishes news about Moriarty, in the eyes of the citizens it will amount to nothing more than following in The Times's wake. But before that, Mr. Edgar—"
Mary paused, a note of enticement entering her voice, like the serpent of Eden.
"Before that, you still have your chance—to be the first to pick up the napkin."
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