"Moriarty?"
Hearing Mary mention that name, Russell came to an obvious halt.
What does that mean? Why does it still feel like there's something for me 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 same 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 mean, 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 Parliament or even civil servants; his targets were mainly the wealthy and aristocratic of London. After a pause, she added, "Plus, this operation is fundamentally 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 someone check into it on Sunday," Mary lowered her voice confidingly, as if sharing a secret. "The name 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 calmer 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 Times 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 came when she chose to investigate, it would spell disaster. If he was revealed to be a thief, his scholarly career would come to an end. There would inevitably be a major commotion (not to mention 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 came by yesterday morning."
Upon hearing this, Mary perked up and shook her head in curiosity. "Mycroft Holmes?"
"That's right." Russell nodded. "He's here because of Moriarty."
Those words immediately 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 reframed Moriarty's actions—they're not merely trespassing and theft anymore, but a threat to national security, right?" Mary ventured after a moment'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 something... a little mean?"
"Sometimes I wonder if you have psychic powers that let you peer into people's memories," Russell laughed.
"If I did, I'd look into your memories first," Mary smiled. "Then I'd really know what a thief looks like." Double meaning.
Russell smiled faintly, saying nothing.
"But why would Mycroft do something like this?" Mary didn't linger on the topic of psychic powers, but returned to the main point. "His rival has resigned. By all measures, he stands to benefit the most."
"If it were me, I would probably attack Ethan Roy's colleagues first—then use the fallout to strengthen my influence in Parliament, rather than wasting my energy on a missing criminal."
"But..." Russell prompted, letting Mary finish her thought.
"But..." Mary met 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 mean?" Mary tilted her head. "That sounds like an eastern proverb."
"It means that if a man comes into unexpected riches and hides it somewhere, 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.
"Something's wrong."
"What is it?" Russell kept calm despite his surprise.
"Mycroft isn't a fool," Mary said. "He's known as the British government's embodiment. Do you think someone as capable as him would do something so clumsy, especially in front of Charlotte?"
"By your logic... it does seem odd..." Russell frowned in agreement. 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 moment, he heard Mary speak again. It seemed 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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