Russell raised an eyebrow at Mary's remark.
"Moriarty?" he said. "Who knows what he's up to. Maybe he's busy getting ready for Christmas."
"Then the preparations seem a little excessive. And rather early," Mary said with a laugh.
"He hasn't shown his face once since the Hannigan case. Thanks to him, sales on Fleet Street have taken a very visible dive. The Guardian has done its share of complaining about it."
"Well, what can anyone do? You can't expect Moriarty to clock in with a perfect attendance record."
Russell shrugged, the picture of a man to whom none of it mattered.
Moriarty was on the verge of failing a course. Who had the energy to worry about him?
Then again, it was true that he hadn't stretched his legs in a while.
Partly because he had no idea what to go and do, and partly because of all the things that had been piling up lately...
Never mind. He'd find the time soon enough.
So Russell thought.
"Mm... that does sound about right," Mary said, smiling. "So what about Pilsen's killer? Any leads?"
"No. All I know is that he's one of the Professor's," Russell said, shaking his head.
"No idea where he got his information, but he actually beat Charlotte to it. I'm afraid that by the time Charlotte and I slipped inside, the assassin was already in position."
"Then why didn't he strike right away?" Mary asked, curious.
"Probably because he was waiting," Russell guessed.
"Suppose Charlotte and I, while tangling with Pilsen, had killed him in self-defence. Then the assassin would never have had to expose himself at all.
"And even if we hadn't killed Pilsen, we'd have had to find some way to put him out of action, and then find some way to contact Scotland Yard.
"At that point, as far as the assassin was concerned, Pilsen was no different from a dead fish."
He let out a sigh as he finished.
Damn it. Cowardly cur.
The only galling part was not knowing who the man actually was. Otherwise he'd have thrown a sack over his head some night on a quiet street, and taken it from there.
Mary watched him in silence, then leaned forward onto the desk, hiding the smile at the corner of her mouth behind her arms.
The morning's lectures slipped quietly away with the passing hours.
Just as Russell and Mary were about to get up, the closed rear door beside them was pulled open first.
Both of them froze, and both turned toward the doorway at the same moment.
Two people stood there, a young man and a young woman, both in Imperial College uniforms, notebooks and fountain pens in hand.
The young man's face carried a hint of nerves; the young woman's eyes, on the other hand, were bright, as though she had just stumbled on buried treasure.
"Um..." Russell looked at the pair with some confusion. "Can I help you two with something?"
The young man snapped out of it at once and said, "Ex-excuse me, are you Mr. Russell Watson?"
"That's me. We're classmates, so... no need to stand on ceremony."
Russell nodded, then glanced instinctively at Mary beside him.
The girl had already straightened up, wearing a smile pitched at exactly the right degree, keeping exactly the right distance, watching the scene as though nothing more than idle curiosity had brought her attention over.
Who are these two?
He put the question to Mary with his eyes.
Mary shook her head, equally blank.
Beats me.
"So, what's this about?" Russell asked.
At the confirmation, the young woman's eyes shone brighter still.
She took a step forward, nearly trod on the young man's heel, and pulled herself up short.
"Ahem. It's like this, Mr. Wats— I mean, classmate." The words came out in a rush. "We're student reporters for The Phoenix. I'm Cloris, and this is Wilson."
She gestured to herself, then to her companion.
"We read the piece in The Times, so we wanted... we wanted to interview you. Would that be all right?"
"The Phoenix..."
The name wasn't unfamiliar to Russell.
It was an organisation at Imperial College backed by the student union, closer in character to a literary and campus magazine than to any proper newspaper.
Put plainly, it was the campus paper. Or, more accurately, the campus noticeboard.
Now and then a student would publish a poem in it, or put out a call to find others who shared some particular enthusiasm.
Russell had very little interest in it.
His first instinct, therefore, was to refuse.
But Cloris seemed to read the thought right off him, and hurried on:
"We won't take up much of your time, and we'll pay a fee. Please, just give us a chance?"
Russell looked at those expectant eyes, then at the thoroughly nervous young man behind her, and finally turned his gaze to Mary.
Mary was resting her chin in her hand, watching the whole thing with obvious enjoyment.
When their eyes met, she only smiled faintly.
"Don't look at me," she said softly, laughter in her voice. "They're asking you."
Russell sighed.
"What do you want to interview me about?" he asked.
The two reporters' eyes lit up the instant the words landed.
There was a chance!
"Just— just a chat, nothing formal!" She flipped open her notebook so fast she nearly tore the page.
"Like the cases you talked about in The Times! And your work with Miss Holmes! And— and how you managed to pass the Imperial College entrance in only three months!"
She paused, then added, "Of course, if there's anything you'd rather not disclose, we absolutely won't ask! We'll just write some... um... whatever the other students are interested in!"
"Whatever the other students are interested in," Russell repeated.
"That would be..." Cloris's face went slightly pink. "That would be your relationship with that Charlotte Holmes, and also..."
She shot a lightning-quick glance at Mary and drew her eyes back again.
"Anyway... more or less that sort of thing."
At those words, Mary, who had been enjoying the show from the sidelines, frowned — so faintly it was almost impossible to catch.
Wary.jpg.
Russell looked at the eager pair, thought it over, and finally sighed.
"Fine," he said with a nod. "When?"
"If you don't mind — now?" Cloris blurted.
"If you'd prefer privacy, we can use an empty classroom. I guarantee nobody will come in!"
"An empty classroom, then." Russell stood. "Let's make it quick."
The moment he rose, he heard a sound behind him — someone standing up in perfect time with him.
Russell's step faltered.
He turned his head and met those azure eyes.
The girl stood behind him, her long silver hair catching a soft halo in the afternoon light, her expression pitched at precisely the right note.
As though she had simply risen in the natural course of things, ready to leave along with everyone else.
But Russell knew better.
She had come to her feet at almost exactly the same instant he did.
"Miss Mary Morstan?" Cloris blinked, her gaze darting between the two of them. "Are you... coming as well?"
Mary gave a small smile.
"I'm just a little curious," she said, her voice soft and warm. "Surely The Phoenix wouldn't mind one extra listener?"
Her eyes settled on Cloris's face, moved to Wilson, and came back at last to Russell.
"After all—"
She paused.
"I'd like to know how Russell answers these questions too."
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