Hearing this, Russell raised one eyebrow. Not a trace of falseness showed in his expression.
"Probably because he realized Lloyds had tightened security after the theft."
He explained calmly.
"Those documents belonged to your family in the first place. What difference does it make who he returns them to?"
"Hm?"
Mary raised an eyebrow. "That's actually quite a reasonable way to look at it."
She nodded, seeming genuinely convinced by Russell's explanation.
"So then, what do you think?" she asked, smoothly changing the subject.
"The newspapers describe Moriarty as if he were a supernatural being, a phantom of the midnight hour, a lingering afterimage no bullet can catch… Do you think any of that is true?"
"How could that possibly be?"
Russell chuckled without hesitation, as if he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.
"Those reporters will make up anything if it helps them sell more papers."
"A few smoke bombs, a bit of technical trickery, and the exaggerated accounts of some ignorant robbers—that should be more than enough, don't you think?"
As he spoke, he waved his hand carelessly, as though Moriarty's borderline-fraudulent showmanship meant nothing to him.
This performance caught Mary's eye, and she very nearly burst out laughing.
If she didn't already know the truth, she might really have been fooled by his acting.
Even if this man hadn't become a gentleman thief, he could have easily made a name for himself as an actor at the Royal Theatre.
"Come to think of it, Charlotte's guess was actually quite accurate."
Mary added thoughtfully.
"I never imagined that Moriarty really would go to Buckingham Palace and steal that snuffbox."
She very pointedly omitted any mention of Princess Louise, acting as if she knew nothing of the deeper reasons behind it all.
"And it seems Mycroft didn't report this to Buckingham Palace at all."
"Yeah, that's what Charlotte said too."
Russell nodded.
"We can basically confirm that there's some kind of relationship between him and Moriarty. It might not be exactly the relationship we imagined, but there's definitely some form of collaboration going on."
"But what kind of collaboration would require Moriarty to enter Buckingham Palace?"
Mary tilted her head, feigning ignorance.
"Also, considering Mycroft's silence and Buckingham Palace's usual level of security, it's not as if he can just come and go whenever he pleases."
"How do you think Moriarty did it?"
"You're asking me? Why would I know something like that?"
Russell blinked. "Maybe they wore yellow vests and carried a telescopic ladder around with them."
"Seriously?"
"You'd have to ask Moriarty."
Russell shrugged.
Still, this flawless act only made the whole thing more amusing in Mary's eyes.
She quietly listened, those beautiful blue eyes almost brimming over with laughter.
"Then do you think Moriarty will go back to Buckingham Palace again?"
"Probably not. All the snuffboxes have already been taken away by the newspapers, and by now they've probably all been returned to Buckingham Palace."
"If he went there again, it would be pointless—unless he wanted to prove that he could pay Buckingham Palace a second visit. Otherwise, he has no reason to go back."
Russell shook his head, stating that what he said was perfectly reasonable and well-founded.
"Hm?"
A meaningful smile appeared on Mary's face.
The girl tucked a loose strand of silver hair back behind her ear and, unconsciously, leaned a little closer to Russell.
Her warm breath, carrying the faint scent of white tea, brushed lightly past Russell's nose.
"What if he stole more than just a snuffbox?" she whispered.
"Eh?"
There was the slightest, almost imperceptible pause in Russell's reaction.
Mary did not miss this fleeting moment of surprise.
Once you understand how a magic trick works, it's hard to stay fully focused when you see the same trick again.
At this moment, to Mary's eyes, Russell was full of flaws.
"What do you mean?"
Russell turned his head, meeting the girl's deep blue gaze. Her eyes were so close it felt as though they might touch his.
"I mean," Mary said softly, in a low voice,
"If Moriarty really went to Buckingham Palace, then he wouldn't have stolen only that snuffbox. He must have taken a lot of other things as well."
That snuffbox, just like last week's announcement, was nothing more than a decoy meant to fool everyone.
If that's one possible explanation—
"..."
Russell was silent for a while.
"Why… why would you jump to that conclusion?" he couldn't help asking.
"Did you open one, too?"
"Because that just isn't in line with Moriarty's character."
Mary smiled.
"Look at what he's done. He returns stolen goods; he exposes people's dirty secrets."
"But this time, he stole a snuffbox and handed it straight to a newspaper. Why?"
"Because he needed the newspapers to know he'd been to Buckingham Palace."
"There was no need to give it to them. He only had to let them verify it."
"Well… the newspapers have to take photographs, don't they?"
Russell answered.
"He can't exactly hold the snuffbox up and let the reporters crowd around to take close-ups of it, can he? That would be far too much trouble."
"Mm… that does sound plausible."
Mary still didn't make her stance clear.
"But I think my guess also has some merit."
Like a stubborn child, she insisted on her point.
Fine, you're right. Happy now?
What you're saying makes sense—but I don't agree with it.
Russell thought this to himself, but out loud he chose to concede.
"It's not impossible. Why don't you call Mycroft or Buckingham Palace and ask them?"
At that, Mary's smile grew even brighter.
"That's a wonderful idea… Moriarty was really rude to me just now. I should take this chance to give him a piece of my mind."
"..."
So I really have become the fool, haven't I?
"Moriarty really has done every wicked thing under the sun."
Russel said, deeply moved.
"Yes, yes."
Mary nodded. "Not only are his words offensive, he's a liar as well."
"?"
Did I really do something that bad?
Fine. If you say so, then so be it.
Russell said nothing more.
Because at that moment, he saw Professor Fields entering through the front door.
Class time.
The morning lecture began slowly, carried along by the professor's gentle, steady voice.
Mary smothered her laughter and focused on the lesson.
She had no idea how much time passed. She only gradually became aware that the surroundings were growing quieter and quieter.
Mary did not disturb him.
She simply sat there quietly, recording each key point with her pen as she copied from the blackboard into her notebook.
Yet she seemed more easily distracted than usual today.
Her beautiful blue eyes kept wandering away from the blackboard and her notes, drifting instead to the man sleeping soundly beside her.
She watched the slight rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath; his profile, made especially soft by the sunlight; and the few unruly strands of black hair that stuck up among the rest.
Everything was exactly as it had always been. Nothing seemed to have changed.
And yet, to Mary's eyes, everything was entirely different.
It was like casually leafing through a book you've read many times—a book you know by heart—only to suddenly discover an Easter egg the author had hidden in the spaces between the lines.
In that instant, the entire book becomes interesting all over again.