"It's very cold." Russell stood by the window, holding a cup of hot cocoa. "Looks like I'll have to wear warmer clothes tomorrow."
"If you know it's cold, close the window. Complaining about the cold while standing in a draft—do you have masochistic tendencies or something?" Charlotte's voice came from the side. The girl looked at the figure by the window with mild dissatisfaction, then wrapped her robe more tightly around herself.
"I know." Russell reached out and closed the window, then turned and sat beside Charlotte.
Charlotte glanced at him, casually picked up the file next to her, and spoke in her usual nonchalant tone. "Tomorrow you're going to the Phaidon Tearoom with Mary, right?"
"Mm." Russell nodded. "What's wrong?"
"When will you be back?" Charlotte asked.
"Who knows," Russell shook his head. "Probably before dinner. Shall I bring back some dessert?"
"Are you paying?" Charlotte glanced at him.
"Mary will definitely foot the bill." Russell shrugged.
"Not interested." Charlotte looked away. "Instead of wasting time on this, why not think about where Bilson is?"
"If I could find the answer just by imagining, I'd be the richest man in London by now," Russell said.
"Maybe he's already escaped?"
"Where would he get the means to escape?" Charlotte looked at Russell with exasperation. "His current situation is tantamount to being driven to death in both the legal and criminal worlds. Who would give him a chance to escape? Who would have the courage to give him that chance?"
Needless to say, official railways, ports, and even black-market smuggling routes—Bilson wouldn't be allowed to leave through any of them. Considering they were once on the same side, it's already fortunate he hasn't been reported and had Scotland Yard demand money from him. He's trying to flee. He has only two choices now: prison or hell.
"That's really hopeless." Russell commented, "Dead ends on both sides—nowhere else to go."
"It's because he chose this path himself. Who can he blame?" Charlotte said casually.
"If he had honestly turned himself in, or cooperated obediently with the professor, this situation wouldn't have happened. That's why I always say I hate self-centered people more than fools. Sometimes the brilliant ideas villains rack their brains to create are far less effective than the sudden inspirations of idiots."
Russell shrugged ambiguously, picked up the steaming cup of hot cocoa, and blew on it. "Maybe his way of thinking is simply different from ours."
"The thinking patterns of fools and ordinary people are indeed different." Charlotte said.
"In other words, from Bilson's perspective, his situation may not be as bad as we imagine." Russell looked at Charlotte and spoke slowly. "Perhaps Bilson himself still has a trump card hidden and believes he has a chance to turn the tables."
"Trump card?" Charlotte slightly furrowed her brows. "What kind of trump card could he possibly have? Money? How much of the money stolen from Hannigan does he still have? Or does he know Hannigan had some other secret safe?"
"Not necessarily money." Russell shook his head. "It could be something completely different."
"For example?"
"For example… connections, or something along those lines." Russell set down the cup and leaned forward slightly. "Until now we've been looking at things through preconceptions, but that's actually a misunderstanding. Because the name Bilson is implicitly linked to the professor, whenever we talk about Bilson we immediately think of the professor and overlook everything else. Bilson has spent many years in London's underworld, so it's unlikely he has zero reliable confidants. Even if he fell out with the professor, how long has the professor actually been active? For most people the professor is merely a mysterious figure from underground legends—like Moriarty. The only difference is that Moriarty actually appeared, while the professor did not. Needless to say, how many people even knew the Lloyd's Bank incident was connected to the professor? He wouldn't be foolish enough to announce the professor's appearance and cause a big fuss." Russell emphasized.
"In other words, in most people's eyes this was simply Bilson going mad and targeting Lloyd's Bank—almost succeeding, but failing, yet managing to escape safely using a fake identity prepared in advance. In such a situation, others might not help him flee London, but helping hide someone or something would hardly be an unreasonable request. The reason Hannigan refused might not have been because he knew the professor, but simply because their relationship wasn't that close."
"Think about it—Hannigan is actually a smuggler, but what identity does he pretend to hold?"
"A businessman passionate about charity work." Charlotte answered without hesitation.
The moment she finished speaking she seemed to realize something. She suddenly stood up, picked up the account book again, and began flipping through the pages.
"Something you just said reminded me." Charlotte spoke while turning pages, her gaze running over each name.
"Look—red wine, cigars, perfume, birds of paradise, rhino horns. Why are human placenta extract injections and radium supplements still being used?"
Russell furrowed his brows.
"Some nobles have peculiar tastes, and some believe in strange folk remedies." Charlotte still avoided a direct statement. "In short, these businesses mainly deal in various foods, beauty products, toys, and a small number of animals."
"Bilson doesn't need any of that." Russell said.
"Their relationship was probably nothing more than client and service provider—nothing deeper. Therefore, when Bilson made a request to Hannigan that could cost him his life, it wasn't surprising Hannigan refused. From this perspective it makes sense."
Charlotte nodded. "Watson, I'm truly glad to see your brain finally working again." She gave Russell an approving look.
"If that's the case, Bilson is likely hiding with one of his reliable confidants right now." Charlotte said. "It seems we need to begin investigating Bilson's network of connections." She stood and walked toward the telephone.
Russell followed her gaze, silently picked up the hot cocoa cup, and took a sip.
Someone will have to work overtime again.