Charles's scream of terror and despair tore through the silence of the sanatorium.
"Calm down, Charles, calm down—look at me!"
Charlotte took a step forward, slapping at the glass, trying to recapture his attention.
"Tell me, what's the code—the code The Professor mentioned in the letter!"
"The devil—the devil is coming!" Charles bellowed, utterly out of control, curling up into the corner of the bed, both hands clutching his head, his body trembling violently from sheer terror.
"Damn it!" Charlotte cursed under her breath, her face full of the irritation of having fallen short at the very last step.
Seeing this, Dr. Vanessa, who was standing at her side, immediately pushed the door open and strode quickly to Charles's side.
"Charles, look at me," she said, her voice gentle yet firm.
"Breathe deeply, it's all right—there's no devil here, only me."
She tried to soothe his emotions, but at this point Charles could no longer take in a single word; he was simply immersed in his own world, letting out meaningless howls.
[Malice Points from Charles's fear +10]
Russell silently accepted the Malice Points, looking at that scene of chaos behind the glass, and pinched the bridge of his nose helplessly.
It seemed tonight had been a wasted trip.
"Take him to the sedation room." Vanessa instructed the nurses who were hurrying toward the doorway.
Soon, Charles was restrained by several burly nurses and led out of the ward.
Left in the room were only Charlotte, Russell, Lestrade, and a thoroughly weary Vanessa.
"I'm sorry, Miss Holmes," Vanessa said, rubbing her temples. "His condition is a bit more unstable than I'd imagined."
"Is it because we brought up the code?" Russell asked.
"It may be," Vanessa nodded.
"Human memory is associative. By having him recall the code, you're essentially making him relive the experience of that night.
If all of it had come in separate stages, it might have been all right, but—"
"But the moment he was about to open the safe, Moriarty appeared the very next moment—the connection between those two things is far too tight."
Charlotte added.
"And so, the instant he tries to recall the code, he inevitably associates it with Moriarty."
"Exactly, that's more or less it." Vanessa nodded.
"So, unless we can get him to sever those two tightly linked memories, otherwise…"
She did not go on, but her meaning was already quite clear.
It'll be very hard.
Having said this, Vanessa left the ward, leaving the space and time to Charlotte and the others, while she herself went to help calm and care for Charles.
Charlotte leaned against the wall, her brows knit tightly.
The lead had been cut off yet again.
"Look on the bright side—at least it wasn't a complete loss."
Russell said from one side, holding out the notebook in his hand before Charlotte.
Charlotte did not take it; she merely glanced at what he had recorded.
There were only two items on it.
A-3, and 12.
"We may not have gotten the code out of his mouth, but at least we've narrowed the range, haven't we?"
"Narrowed, but not completely narrowed," Lestrade said from the side.
"As I recall, a single vault holds at least twenty-some safes.
Which means that if we want to find the code, we'd have to comb through the life histories of these twenty-some people, then work out the possible codes.
God almighty, that's a far heavier workload than tracking down a missing wanted criminal in all of London."
An expression uglier than crying appeared on his face.
"Look on the bright side—at least… there's something to be done."
"I've already got plenty to do every single day, Russell," Lestrade said plaintively.
"All right, that's enough." Charlotte straightened up and walked toward the doorway.
"Let's go."
Russell said nothing and silently followed.
Lestrade was stunned for a beat, then hurriedly caught up.
"Hold on—we're not actually going to Lloyds Bank, are we?"
"Back to Baker Street," Charlotte said.
"The Lloyds Bank business can wait until tomorrow. I've no interest in wasting energy on this kind of dull manual labor."
The three of them climbed into the carriage, and then left the sanatorium.
※
After returning to Baker Street, Charlotte flipped the information wall over again, revealing the side concerning The Professor, and wrote up the clues obtained tonight.
"Section A-3, vault number twelve." Charlotte said, then turned her head to look at Russell.
"Do you know what's there?"
"How could I possibly know?" Russell shrugged.
"The money I'd deposit there wouldn't even qualify me for a membership card, let alone get me into the underground storage room.
You'd do better to ask Mary than to ask me—though I doubt she'd know either, seeing as the things inside were deposited by her father."
Charlotte silently withdrew her gaze.
After a moment, she spoke again: "Come with me to Lloyds Bank on Saturday."
"Huh? Me?"
"Is there a third person here? Or are you off to the Phedon Tea Room with Mary again?"
"That's not it." Russell shook his head. "I'm just curious why it has to be Saturday."
"Because on Sunday we have to go to Buckingham Palace," Charlotte explained.
"Of course, if you can skip class or take leave tomorrow, we could go tomorrow instead."
"Then let's make it Saturday."
"Then it's settled."
Charlotte nodded, considering the weekend's itinerary finalized.
She turned around, stuck a fresh sticky note onto the information wall, then, with a red marker, wrote down heavily upon it the two key pieces of information [A-3] and [12].
Immediately after, she used a black silk thread to connect it to the name [The Professor].
"By the way," Russell said, leaning against the sofa, sipping the hot tea Mrs. Hudson had just brewed, asking with an air of casual indifference.
"Why do you think that code must be connected to the owner of the safe?"
"Because human beings are lazy creatures," Charlotte said without turning her head, "especially when it comes to memory.
Rather than creating and memorizing a string of complex, patternless digits, they tend to use combinations that carry special meaning to them and are easy to remember.
A birthday, an anniversary, a house number… even the repetition of some lucky number.
To them, these things are both a code and a kind of psychological anchor."
"Sounds reasonable enough," Russell said noncommittally, "but there are always exceptions, aren't there?"
"Of course there are," Charlotte finally deigned to lift her gaze from that wall.
She turned her head and looked at Russell. "For instance, someone extremely self-disciplined, supremely logical, and possessing an extraordinary keenness for numbers.
Or, someone in the habit of hiding all his secrets inside his own head—a paranoiac cautious to the point of being pathological.
Or else…"
She paused, her gaze settling on Russell, carrying a trace of playfulness.
"A Phantom Thief who takes pleasure in crime, who relishes dancing on the edge of a blade."
"..." Russell silently took a sip of his tea.
"What are you looking at me for?" He spread his hands. "I'm not Moriarty."
"I'm only giving examples." Charlotte withdrew her gaze and resumed scribbling and sketching on that wall.
Seeing her enter that do-not-disturb state again, Russell tactfully refrained from saying anything more.
He quietly finished the tea in his cup and, after bidding Charlotte goodbye, turned and went back to his own room.
There was still plenty of time tonight; he decided to first get some sleep, build up his energy, and then, after midnight had passed, head out to do some good deeds and accumulate virtue.
After all, only four days remained until the appointed return at Buckingham Palace.
His wallet needed to be filled out once again.
With grain in your pouch, there's nothing to fret about.
____
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