Russell obediently stood up and returned the seat to its rightful owner.
Lestrade put on his coat, walked to his desk, sat down, and casually tossed the pistol aside.
He took a deep drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaled. The previously cloudy look in his eyes instantly cleared.
"Speak," he said, cigarette in mouth, and casually pulled out several of the most troublesome files from the pile of documents.
"Which one do you want to start with?"
"That depends on the inspector."
Russell sat at another table, casually fiddling with Lestrade's wine bottle.
"Which one do you want to start with?"
He threw the question right back at Lestrade.
Hearing Russell's words, the lips of Lestrade, who had a cigarette in his mouth, twitched slightly.
He pushed the documents in front of him aside, bent down, and pulled out an old file from the bottom drawer of his desk.
The file's cover was yellowed and the edges were frayed, clearly showing that it had been read countless times.
"Then this one will do."
He tossed the file onto the table, stirring up fine dust.
Russell picked up the file, dusted it off, and opened the first page.
"Douglas Fairchild," he read the name and ran his gaze over the attached black-and-white photograph.
"Three years ago, he raped and killed a young maid in his own mansion, but used his power to make the victim's family sign a settlement and paid them off with money."
"That's correct."
Lestrade nodded and took another deep drag from his cigarette. In the rising smoke, his expression was somewhat complicated.
"Douglas is the second son of Duke Howard——a typical spoiled, willful young master who uses his family's power to commit evil deeds.
That maid wasn't his first victim, nor his last, but she was the most tragic one.
We had gathered enough evidence to send him to the gallows.
But just before the trial, the victim's family suddenly withdrew the lawsuit and submitted the settlement they had signed themselves."
"The Duke's doing."
Russell avoided making a clear statement.
"Yeah," Lestrade laughed self-deprecatingly.
"All we can do is watch that scoundrel continue his debauched life in London's high society without being punished."
"Doesn't the case become closed the moment they signed the settlement?"
Russell asked.
"But this matter can't end like this."
Lestrade looked at him and said. "Otherwise, even more people will suffer this kind of unjust calamity in the future."
"So what do you want me to do?"
Russell closed the file. "Ruin his reputation?"
"Honestly, saying he'll be completely disgraced is… a bit too lenient."
Lestrade said.
"So what do you want?" Russell asked. "You want me to kill him?"
"No, absolutely not!"
Lestrade suddenly stood up.
"If you cripple him, I won't say anything, but you absolutely cannot kill him!"
"Why? Do you have some inside information I don't know about?"
Russell asked with interest.
"This has nothing to do with his identity——the problem is you!"
Lestrade pointed at Russell.
"You absolutely cannot kill anyone!"
He stared at Russell. There was something indescribable in his gaze.
"What I want is for them to pay the price——not for you to intervene."
Russell looked at Lestrade's excited expression and smiled.
"Don't worry, Inspector," he said, removing his silk hat and placing it on his chest, lightly bowing his head.
"I'm just a thief, not a murderer.
"That's good."
Lestrade let out a sigh of relief, sat back down in his chair, and his tense nerves relaxed.
Looking at the young man wearing a white mask in front of him, he suddenly felt a sense of unreality.
The mysterious thief who troubled all of Scotland Yard was discussing how to administer justice with the inspector in his own home.
"So what's the specific plan?"
Lestrade lit another cigarette. The smoke blurred his face, where the passage of time was etched.
"Send him to prison?"
"Prison?"
Russell chuckled. "What's the difference between that place and his own backyard for him?
Various arrangements have been made so that His Grace the Duke can live comfortably and receive better treatment than outside."
Russell tossed the documents back onto the table.
"Professional matters should be left to professionals."
"Could it be——"
"Mycroft will definitely be happy to add a new achievement to his record."
Russell laughed.
Lestrade's hand holding the cigarette stopped in mid-air.
"…Mycroft?"
"Of course. Is there anyone in London more suitable than him?"
Russell fiddled with the silver wine decanter in his hand.
"Douglas Fairchild, son of Duke Howard, was murdered three years ago. The victim's letter of forgiveness was bought with money.
"If these documents are placed on his desk and the Duke isn't summoned within 24 hours, then Mycroft should resign."
He said with a smile.
"Duke Howard has that much power, so let him handle negotiations with the British government. We should still have the memorandum, right?"
"We do."
Lestrade nodded, took the settlement from the file, and handed it to Russell.
Russell set down the wine bottle in his hand, accepted it from him, and casually glanced at it.
"This is acceptable as a pre-sleep activity."
He put the settlement into his pocket and walked toward the window while speaking.
Lestrade watched his retreating figure and suddenly spoke.
"Hey."
Russell turned around.
"…Who the hell are you?"
Lestrade asked.
Russell tilted his head.
"Inspector Lestrade," he said in a slightly amused tone. "Do you really want to know the answer to that question?"
Lestrade opened his mouth but quickly closed it again.
He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray to extinguish it.
"...Whatever."
He sighed. "Knowing too much will just keep you up at night.
"You won't be able to sleep either."
Russell kindly reminded him.
Lestrade glared at him.
"Who do you think is to blame for that?"
Russell smiled and leaped out the window.
"Good night, Inspector Lestrade."
"Good night——wait, this is the second floor!"
When Lestrade rushed to the window, all he saw was a black shadow drawing an elegant arc in the moonlight before disappearing into the shadows of the opposite roof.
And then, nothing remained.
Lestrade stood by the window in silence for a long time.
He looked down at the cigarette pack still clutched in his hand, then at the pile of rummaged documents on the table.
Finally, he lit a cigarette and cursed the empty night.
"Nervous wreck."
He closed the window, returned to his desk, and pulled out Douglas's file separately, placing it on top.
Then he looked at the empty seat and suddenly smiled.
"Fortunately."
He sighed.
"Let's go cause a commotion!"