"It feels almost the same as last time," Charlotte said. "Last time we received two numbers as well—coordinates. This time it's a password. Two six-digit numbers. We already have two digits: 8 and 9. Still four missing."
Russell poked at his chicken. "We don't even know which number comes first or last, and we're supposed to guess a six-digit password? There are 199,262 possible combinations."
"Rotary locks commonly used in Britain are usually brass or mild steel and last about 5,000 to 10,000 uses," Charlotte continued. "Swiss precision locks, like those at Lloyd's Bank, can withstand 20,000 to 50,000 uses. Even if we tested every possible combination until the cylinder broke, we might still not get the answer."
"So coming here was a waste of time?" Russell asked.
"Using 8 and 9 to filter the files isn't practical either—those digits appear in almost all twenty-seven files," Charlotte sighed. "I hate this kind of pointless, repetitive work. Maybe we should just dump it on Lestrade."
"We probably won't make it to Lestrade's promotion party," Russell said dryly. "We'll be attending his funeral instead. Cause of death: Overwork. Who says there's no such thing as a perfect crime?"
Charlotte gave him a flat look and returned to her usual languid demeanor.
"I still don't understand why Charles reacted so violently when Bilson's name came up," she said, pushing peas around her plate. "As Dr. Vanessa pointed out, there's no logical reason for him to fear Bilson. Bilson was the one who pulled him out of despair and gave him purpose."
"Perhaps there's some dark secret between them," Russell suggested. "Both were expelled from the army for serious disciplinary violations. Maybe what Bilson did was far worse."
"It's possible," Charlotte admitted, though her frown remained. "But the fear was so sudden and so intense—like a spring that had been compressed for years finally snapping."
"Stockholm syndrome?" Russell offered.
"Stockholm syndrome doesn't work that way," Charlotte rejected immediately. "If Charles Brown truly had it, he'd be Moriarty's biggest fan by now."
"True." Russell sighed. "I can't think of anything else."
"If you figure it out, you should replace Vanessa," Charlotte teased. She paused, then added, "Your attitude when speaking with Charles was very convincing. You should send your résumé here after graduation. Free meals and a salary."
"Of course," Russell nodded. "We can throw our applications in together."
"Me?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow.
"I'll send mine," Russell said, pointing at himself, then at her. "You can leave your medical records here."
Charlotte's face darkened instantly. Her foot under the table rose.
The next second—
Bang!
The heavy thud of a shoe on the floor made everyone in the cafeteria turn. Russell had pulled his foot back at the last moment, dodging Charlotte's kick.
Her expression grew even darker.
"It seems someone has grown tired of Baker Street's quiet life and is longing for afternoon tea at Buckingham Palace."
"Hey, hey, are we in a hurry again?" Russell shook his head. "How long does it take for a Buckingham Palace carriage to get here?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, all right?"
"If an apology were enough, what would Scotland Yard be for?"
"Then what do you want?" Russell spread his hands. "Fried eggs for breakfast starting tomorrow?"
"Two," Charlotte said coldly.
"Deal."
Dr. Vanessa, watching from nearby, could only shake her head with a helpless smile. "Youth really is wonderful."
After lunch they did not leave immediately. Vanessa invited them to her office for tea and to discuss Charles's next treatment plan. Neither Charlotte nor Russell objected—the sanatorium's food really was excellent. A letter from Moriarty was waiting at Baker Street, but a short delay wouldn't change anything.
"So, what do you think we should do next?" Vanessa asked once they were seated with fresh tea.
"You're the expert in this field," Russell said.
"From a medical standpoint, the best approach is to avoid further stimulation and give him time to recover," Vanessa replied. "But that conflicts with your goals."
"Perhaps we can try a more indirect method," Charlotte said. "Charles remembers the numbers, but recalling them directly is difficult. What if we approach from another angle—through the subconscious or conditioned reflexes—rather than forcing conscious memory?"
Vanessa considered it. "That might be possible. I'll discuss it with my colleagues."
They talked a little longer about Charles's condition. When the clock struck three, Russell and Charlotte stood to leave.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Dr. Vanessa," Russell said.
"You're welcome." Vanessa escorted them to the door, then suddenly spoke again. "Ah, Miss Holmes… I have some rather personal thoughts about Charles's condition that I'd like to discuss with you privately."
…
…
PS: Please support me and read advanced chapters at patreon.com/AbsoluteCode