"Moriarty?"
Hearing Mary say that name, Russell visibly froze for a moment.
What does that mean?
How is this suddenly about me too?
She still couldn't let go of Moriarty.
"Why is it about him again?" he asked.
"Did Moriarty mess with you again?"
"Not really." Mary shook her head and spoke softly. "I was just thinking… why Moriarty chose the Roy family as his target."
"It's the same as me deciding to eat a sandwich with double bacon and ham at lunch," Russell said.
"?"
The girl looked at him in confusion, clearly unable to see any direct—or even indirect—connection between the two.
"What I mean is: there's no logic, and no reason," Russell said, twirling the pen between his fingers. "He simply thought of it, so he did it. Isn't that exactly his usual style?"
"Maybe…" Mary didn't commit, but the confusion in her eyes still didn't fade. "But I still think it's not that simple. That was a Cabinet minister, after all.
In the past, forget Parliament—he rarely even bothered with civil servants. Moriarty's targets were mostly London's wealthy or nobility."
After a brief pause, she added:
"And this operation is fundamentally different from the previous ones."
"What difference?" Russell asked, curious.
"He made contact with uninvolved people." When Mary said this, her Aegean-blue eyes fixed tightly on Russell. "For example, you. He handed the love letter to you, didn't he? He wouldn't have done that before."
"Who knows?" Russell shrugged without changing expression. "Charlotte already said he's basically a performance artist."
"Or maybe… he wanted to find himself a cover identity?"
"Actually, I asked someone to check on Sunday." Mary lowered her voice, like she was sharing a secret. "The name 'Clark Kent'—and that so-called Daily Chronicle newspaper—doesn't exist at all."
After she said it, her gaze dropped onto Russell's face, as if waiting for his reaction.
But Russell was far calmer than she expected. He only raised an eyebrow, showing no real surprise.
"You don't look surprised at all," she couldn't help saying.
"In fact, once I knew Clark Kent was Moriarty, I already considered that possibility," Russell replied.
"What you just told me only confirms the guess. It's not that shocking.
Besides, even if he didn't invent a newspaper—if he directly claimed he was from The Times or The Guardian—I still wouldn't be able to tell, right?"
"That's true." Mary gave a small nod and looked toward the blackboard again.
Watching how invested she was in his "cover identity," Russell felt a bad premonition creeping up.
If one day she exposed him, he'd be finished.
If the gentleman thief identity got discovered, his academic life would be over.
And it would definitely make a very loud sound (specifically: his legs getting broken).
No. For the sake of the rest of his life, he had to do something—push her thinking off track.
So Russell went silent for a moment, then spoke as if casually:
"By the way, Charlotte's brother came by yesterday morning."
Mary reacted immediately, curiosity piqued as she turned her head.
"Mycroft Holmes?"
"Yeah." Russell nodded. "He came because of Moriarty too."
That instantly hooked Mary's interest.
"Now that you mention it… Mycroft and Ethan Roy are political enemies, aren't they?"
"Drop the 'aren't they.' They are," Russell confirmed.
"Then what was his goal in coming to see Charlotte?"
"He wanted Charlotte's help to find Moriarty. As for the reason…" Russell deliberately didn't finish the sentence, leaving room for her imagination. "Standard office rhetoric. You know how it is."
"Let me guess…" Mary thought for a moment. "Mycroft escalated Moriarty's actions from trespassing and burglary into something that threatens the nation?"
"Full marks." Russell gave a light clap.
The corners of Mary's lips lifted slightly, as if the answer didn't surprise her at all.
"As expected," she said. "And then I'm guessing Charlotte refused—and said something… rather offensive?"
"Sometimes I wonder if you have the superpower to peek into other people's memories." Russell smiled.
"If I did, the first person I'd look at would be you," Mary said with a smile. "Then I'd know what that gentleman thief actually looks like."
A double meaning.
Russell smiled faintly and didn't respond.
"But why would Mycroft do that?" Mary didn't linger on the "superpower" topic, returning to the point. "His political enemy is gone. By any measure, he's the biggest beneficiary.
If it were me, I'd immediately go after Ethan Roy's allies and expand my voice in Parliament—
not waste limited energy on a motive-unknown, hard-to-track gentleman thief."
"Unless—" Russell supplied the pivot for her.
"Unless…" Mary paused, meeting Russell's eyes. "He's trying to distance himself."
"Exactly. 'The lady doth protest too much,' isn't it?" Russell said.
"What does that mean?" Mary tilted her head. "That sounds like another Eastern saying."
"It means someone gets a windfall and hides it," Russell explained. "But then he's afraid of being found out, so he puts up a sign that says: 'There's no money here.'"
Mary chuckled.
"A stupid approach."
"Tell me about it." Russell laughed too—very satisfied with his misdirection.
But then he saw Mary's brows knit again.
"No… something's off."
Russell's heart jumped, but he kept his face steady. "What's off?"
"Mycroft isn't that stupid," Mary said. "He's called the walking British government. With his ability, would he really do something that sloppy—especially right in front of Charlotte?"
"…When you put it like that…" Russell frowned along with her.
How am I supposed to patch this one?
Urgent. Online. Waiting.
Damn it, Mycroft—why do you have to be so smart?
"Unless… there's another possibility."
Just then, Mary spoke again.
It sounded as if she'd found a perfectly fitting explanation—something that made the whole thing self-consistent.
"What possibility?" Russell asked, far too eagerly.
Mary lifted her head and looked at him, speaking each word clearly:
"He was hinting to Charlotte."
....
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