As George's words fell, the air inside the office seemed to congeal a few degrees.
Russell and Charlotte exchanged a glance, and from each other's eyes they both read a trace of how tricky this was.
This George was far harder to deal with than they'd imagined.
"Mr. Adler," Charlotte spoke up first, "I understand your caution, but an official document from Scotland Yard is hardly some threepenny tabloid sold on a street corner."
"But Moriarty's disguise techniques clearly aren't something you can buy for threepence either, are they?"
George was unmoved. He shifted his gaze away from Russell and let it settle once more on Charlotte's ever-placid face.
"Miss Holmes, you are an acknowledged genius—I imagine you understand even better than I do
just how terrifying the abilities of a criminal who can slip soundlessly into Buckingham Palace truly are.
For him, forging a document is probably scarcely any harder than breathing.
What's more, it isn't as though there's no precedent—that fellow Tommy was deceived by the very identity he forged."
His tone sounded courteous and refined, yet his words were like an invisible wall, sealing off every possibility.
"Last time he could disguise himself as an internal auditor dispatched by the board of directors—who's to say that this time he won't disguise himself as some other identity?"
As he spoke, he then looked over at Russell beside her and gave him a slight smile.
Why the hell are you looking at me?
Russell frowned.
"You can telephone Lestrade right now; he can verify the authenticity of this authorization."
Charlotte said.
"Or are you worried that Moriarty might disguise himself as the switchboard operator and intercept the line?"
"There's no need for that, madam." George said unhurriedly.
"I question the authenticity of this authorization, but that does not mean I would agree to your request even if it were genuine."
"There's no room for negotiation?"
"So long as you can produce a permit from the board of directors, or from a higher authority, the door of the underground storage room will naturally open for you."
George gave the two of them an impeccable smile.
"These are the rules, and they exist to protect the interests of all our clients."
"Understood."
Charlotte rose to her feet without wasting a single superfluous word.
Seeing this, Russell stood up along with her.
At the very last moment before leaving the office, Charlotte suddenly halted her steps and turned her head back to look at George.
"Allow me one nosy question—what exactly do you mean by [a higher authority]?"
"Hmm… for instance, an official letter of authorization from Buckingham Palace, or from the Fifth Department?"
George said.
Charlotte nodded and withdrew her gaze.
The two of them walked out of the office, and the door was gently pulled shut behind them, sealing off that unpleasant atmosphere.
"Ran into a wall there, didn't you, great detective." Russell couldn't resist a jibe.
And then his mouth was promptly stoppered by the girl's menacing glance over her shoulder.
She strode briskly down the stairs, crossed that resplendent, glittering hall, and walked out the doors of Lloyds Bank without so much as a backward glance.
Russell shrugged and silently followed behind her.
The sunlight on the street was just right, warm without being harsh, yet it could do nothing to dispel the low-pressure front hanging around Charlotte.
"What do we do now?" Russell asked. "Force our way in?"
"Are you Moriarty?"
"Uh… no."
"If you're not, then why ask such a completely meaningless question?" Charlotte shot him a glance.
"Or do you reckon that, with just you and me, we could break through a tightly shut alloy door—one that probably couldn't even be blown open with a clay bomb—past at least ten fully armed guards?"
Russell sensibly shut his mouth.
The two continued walking forward, then came to a halt at the tram platform.
"If all else fails, how about asking Mycroft for an authorization?"
Russell said.
"I don't think Mycroft would refuse."
"That's what I was thinking," Charlotte nodded, "but I'm afraid it'll have to be put off until next week.
This afternoon we have to go to Buckingham Palace, and we probably won't be back until the morning of the day after tomorrow."
"Then let's leave it for next week," Russell had no objection to that.
"Next week we'll take the authorization from Buckingham Palace and slap it hard across that fellow's face."
Hearing this, the corners of Charlotte's mouth couldn't help curling up, as though she'd been amused by Russell's words.
"Childish."
"But effective." Russell spread his hands. "Don't you think watching that fellow's deflated expression would be incredibly cathartic?"
Charlotte didn't answer, but the slight upward tilt of her lips had already betrayed her true thoughts.
The tram arrived right on schedule, and the two of them boarded one after the other.
The carriage was somewhat crowded, and they could only squeeze in near the door.
"Say, do you think that George has a guilty conscience, and that's why he doesn't dare let us go in and investigate?" Russell asked.
"His eyes never once wavered from start to finish—from a psychological standpoint, he doesn't look like someone concealing anything."
Charlotte shook her head, rejecting that conjecture.
"He's simply trying to avoid dragging up more trouble, that's all.
After all, the things were only stolen by Moriarty, and they were returned to Duke Morstan as well.
Lloyds Bank has already lost its credibility once over this matter; as far as they're concerned, this affair is, in fact, already over and turned to a new page.
Now someone comes running over saying they want to keep investigating that case—I think anyone would refuse.
What they fear isn't the investigation; what they fear is that something might actually turn up if they do."
"That does seem to be the case." Russell answered noncommittally.
He gripped the handrail, his mind sinking into recollection.
Which storage room was it that he'd broken into that night…?
At the time he'd used the teleportation effect that came with [Twilight Shroud], so he hadn't paid any attention to that aspect at all.
All he remembered was that the heap of safes back then didn't seem to be specifically labeled as to which one belonged to whom.
So then, how did the bank's people manage to lead a client to the safe where his belongings were stored?
By memory?
That seemed rather unrealistic.
Then there could only be a list.
In theory, as long as the list was stolen, there'd be no problem even without entering the underground storage room.
But the trouble was, even if the list were stolen, how could it then be plausibly handed over to Charlotte?
He could hardly say that he'd been handed it while depositing money at the bank himself.
Just as Russell was pondering this, the flow of people inside the tram suddenly began to shift, making the already crowded space feel even more cramped.
Russell had no choice but to lean toward the direction of the carriage door, and in an instant the distance between the two of them was drawn closer.
"Why are there so many people today?" he couldn't help grumbling.
Charlotte was just about to speak when the two of them simultaneously heard a furious curse from the driver.
"Damn it!"
The instant the words fell, the tram suddenly slammed on its brakes.
The enormous inertia nearly sent the passengers inside the carriage flying.
Amid the cries of alarm, Charlotte's body abruptly lost its balance and toppled backward beyond her control.
The sudden sensation of weightlessness made her instinctively close her eyes.
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