Imperial College.
In an empty classroom where no mobile signal could ever reach (because there were no mobile phones in this era), and where no one would ever pass by (because everyone was in the cafeteria).
Ever since the three of them had first come here to hold their discussion, this place had practically become the new haunt for Russell and Mary during their lunch breaks.
It had to be said, this really was a fine spot.
Bright sunshine, fresh air, and not a soul to disturb them.
Russell sat in the back row where the light fell, chewing on a sandwich he'd bought from the cafeteria.
Mary sat right beside him, likewise enjoying this comfortable patch of sunlight.
"Come to think of it," Mary suddenly spoke up, breaking the quiet.
"I heard from some friends that getting in and out of Buckingham Palace has become very strict."
"Hm?" Russell raised an eyebrow and looked at Mary. "Strict how?"
"Apparently, everyone who wants to enter has to register in advance, and they have to undergo inspection too—including body searches and the like—and once inside, they have to be escorted by a guard the entire time."
Mary said.
"Looks like the Moriarty business has the Queen quite furious."
"Tell me about it." Russell shrugged.
"But is there really any need for all that?" Mary turned her head to look at Russell, asking with feigned innocence though she clearly knew the answer.
"Just like you said yesterday—Moriarty had already handed the snuff bottle over to the newspaper, and the newspaper returned it to Buckingham Palace.
So why would Buckingham Palace go to such great lengths to reinforce security and strictly restrict every single visitor?"
She tilted her head and asked, pretending to be puzzled: "It can't be that Moriarty would actually come back, can it?"
"Mm… speaking of which," Russell paused, "we can't help but circle back to that conjecture you told me yesterday."
"Mm-hm?" Mary raised an eyebrow, suppressing the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, making those eyes of hers look full of curiosity.
"Didn't you say that the snuff bottle might just be a decoy?" Russell said.
"Mm. Now that you mention it, there was something like that." Mary put on a show of straining to remember. "What about it—did it turn out to be true?"
Russell shrugged and didn't answer, but his behavior alone was enough to say it all.
"Really?" Mary's eyes went wide with surprise. "How do you know?"
"Mycroft told Charlotte, and then Charlotte passed it on to me." Russell said.
"Moriarty stealing the snuff bottle was nothing but a decoy. What he actually stole was a music box—Princess Louise's favorite.
On top of that, he even deliberately left behind a warning letter, announcing to Buckingham Palace that he would return there once more this Sunday to give the item back to the princess.
Thanks to him, this Sunday Charlotte and I have to go to Buckingham Palace to help catch the thief."
Hearing this, Mary went slightly blank, and this time the astonishment on her face didn't seem feigned.
"You're going too?" she asked.
"Charlotte already put my name down—it wouldn't really do to not go." Russell said.
You're going to Buckingham Palace to catch the thief?
Then who's going to return the item?
Mary very much wanted to ask this, but unfortunately she couldn't.
Still, since this fellow had the skill to pull off a string of six at Lloyds Bank, who knew whether he had any other tricks up his sleeve?
Perhaps those few men Billson had rounded up hadn't even forced out half of his full strength.
Thinking this, the look in Mary's eyes as she gazed at Russell grew all the more filled with curiosity.
An interesting man.
"But why would he go and steal the princess's music box?"
Mary asked, her eyes blazing as she looked at Russell.
"In all of Buckingham Palace, there are surely things far weightier than that music box everywhere you look.
And besides, why is his target the princess, rather than the King, or the Queen?"
"That I wouldn't know—you'd have to go ask Moriarty." Russell shook his head.
"That's exactly why I'm asking you," a sly smile appeared on Mary's face.
"Huh?" Russell was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"Aren't you quite well acquainted with Mr. Moriarty?" Mary asked.
"Hm?" Russell was startled again. "Is that something I'm aware of myself?"
"But didn't he hand you those love letters Timmy Roy wrote, on the tram?"
Mary blinked, her azure-blue eyes brimming with innocent curiosity.
"That was just the one time—a passing encounter at most. Well acquainted? Hardly."
Russell took an unhurried sip of his coffee and said it without batting an eye.
"I also go and buy a newspaper from the paperboy on Baker Street every single day—that doesn't prove I'm well acquainted with him either.
In fact, I don't even know his name."
"But I never said it was only that one time, now did I?"
Mary leaned her body forward slightly, drawing close to Russell, bringing with her a gust of white-tea scent.
"Didn't he also often have you deliver letters to Fleet Street?"
"It's not as though he never had other people deliver letters for him—that proves nothing."
"Is that so?" Mary straightened up again, slowly drawing her gaze back.
"It does sound like it makes sense." She gave a slight nod, as if accepting this explanation.
"Never mind, let's drop it. The quiz in a couple of days—how's your preparation coming along?"
"Relax, I guarantee a passing grade."
"Hm?" The girl knitted her brows in displeasure, dragging out the syllable.
"I spent a whole afternoon tutoring you, and in the end you tell me you guarantee a passing grade?"
"Don't say such spiteful things," Russell spread his hands. "For some people, simply being alive is already giving it everything they've got."
"Giving it everything you've got and stopping at just enough are two entirely different matters."
She looked at Russell's earnest, vow-making expression, and in the end could only let out a helpless sigh.
"Forget it," she waved a hand. "Anyway, if you end up having to take a makeup exam, just don't come crying to me."
"Rest assured, that absolutely won't happen." Russell patted his chest, his tone certain.
After a pause, he remembered something and changed the subject:
"By the way, how did that business between your father and Lloyds Bank get sorted out?"
"Hm?" Mary went slightly blank, clearly not expecting him to bring up the topic on his own.
"It's all resolved," she said softly, a touch of ease in her tone.
"Lloyds Bank agreed to nearly all of Father's demands, including that new loan contract. In exchange, Father will temporarily withdraw the charges against them and have The Guardian stop its follow-up coverage of the affair."
"And what about The Times?" Russell pressed.
"They're in a sorrier state," the corner of Mary's mouth curled into an arc of gloating.
"Not only have their sales plummeted, but The Guardian has them by the short hairs and won't let go. They likely won't be able to turn things around anytime soon.
Editor-in-Chief Henry even paid a personal visit yesterday, hoping to ask Father to step in and mediate. As for the outcome, I wouldn't know."
"It sounds as though your family ended up the ultimate winner instead."
"More or less."
Mary gave a noncommittal nod, her gaze falling upon Russell, a smile in it.
"This really was all thanks to a certain someone, wasn't it?"
"You mean Moriarty?"
"That's right," Mary said noncommittally, meeting Russell's gaze. "How do you think I ought to thank him?"
"Send him a silk banner, plus fifty pounds."
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