"Well then, that concludes today's lecture."
On the podium, the Professor glanced at the very back row of the lecture hall.
When he saw that familiar figure slowly straightening up, he knew it was time to clock out.
After announcing the end of the lecture, the Professor gathered his things and left the classroom.
At the same time, Russell stirred awake from his slumber, his mind gradually growing clear.
He took the notes the girl handed him and tucked them into his bag, then stood and stretched out his stiff joints.
"All packed up?"
"Mm." Mary nodded and rose unhurriedly to her feet.
"Let's go."
The two of them walked out through the back door of the classroom. The lingering glow of the setting sun spilled across the corridor, laying a dazzling layer of color over the dull gray flagstones.
The distance from the teaching building to the school gate was neither long nor short.
On foot alone, it would take a good six or seven minutes; and if you dragged your feet, seven or eight, or even ten minutes and more wasn't out of the question.
But for Mary, this stretch of road seemed to be getting shorter with each passing day.
The original six-minute walk, after the girl's deliberate—though feigned as careless—slowing of her pace, was forcibly stretched out to nearly ten minutes.
And yet, somehow, walking those ten minutes felt as short as only two or three.
After a few rounds of conversation, the school gate had already appeared before them.
Looking back, the silhouette of the teaching building had visibly shrunk several sizes behind her.
It was time to part ways once again.
"Well then," Mary stopped walking and turned her head to look at Russell.
"See you tomorrow."
"Mm." Russell stopped as well, that familiar smile hanging on his face.
"See you tomorrow."
The two parted at the gate. Mary stood where she was, watching until Russell's figure had gradually disappeared, before slowly settling into her own carriage.
"Miss, the master won't be dining at home this evening, so you may decide what you'd like to eat."
The coachman's voice came from up front.
At this, Mary raised an eyebrow, but quickly suppressed the curiosity in her heart.
"I understand."
She gave a simple reply, then closed her eyes.
The carriage slowly set off.
The cabin rocked gently with the turning of the wheels, the jolting sensation lulling like a hypnotic spell.
Mary leaned against the soft cushion, replaying everything from the day in her mind as though savoring it.
The corners of the girl's lips, without her noticing, once again curved into a faint smile.
But as home drew nearer, the smile at the corners of Mary's lips gradually faded.
The scattered thoughts in her mind were gradually gathered in, then tilted toward another direction.
About Billson, and Charles.
Billson had been on the run for nearly a month now. Although the wanted notices were still posted along the streets, people's attention to him had waned considerably.
That, too, could be counted as a good thing.
As long as he wasn't exposed, there was still room to maneuver in everything.
It wasn't that the girl hadn't considered simply arranging for Billson to be smuggled out, to leave London, or even to leave Britain.
But after vanishing for a year, reconnecting with the old contacts down the line proved more difficult than she had imagined.
Until she had absolute certainty, Mary wasn't prepared to take that risk.
The more you do, the more mistakes you make.
As long as that fellow didn't go getting ideas about exercising some personal initiative, then with the false identity she'd arranged for him, hiding away for the rest of his life until he died shouldn't be a problem.
The truly thorny matter, in fact, was the other side.
"Charles Brown..."
Mary murmured the name under her breath, and within those azure-blue eyes, it was as though frost were crystallizing.
Russell returned to Baker Street.
As usual, he habitually pushed open the door to Charlotte's room, just in time to catch the girl flipping that wall of information around.
"Still looking into Moriarty?"
Russell, with practiced ease, picked up a cup to pour himself some tea, then realized the cup in his hand seemed to be from that set of royal tea service sent over by Buckingham Palace.
"You just went and unpacked it to use, then?"
"What's tea service for, if not for brewing tea?" Charlotte said without turning her head.
"Setting these things up on a special pedestal just for show—now that's what I'd call a real waste."
Russell said nothing, only poured himself a cup of black tea before walking over to Charlotte's side.
"Why are you still hung up on the Moriarty business?" He repeated his earlier question.
"Didn't Mycroft say this matter was already turned over and done with?"
"The Buckingham Palace business being turned over doesn't mean the Lloyds Bank business is finished."
Charlotte said.
"But, have you ever considered one question?" Russell took a sip.
"What?"
"What if Moriarty really has nothing to do with the Professor—what then?" he asked.
"Everything right now is built upon the assumption that there's a connection between the two of them.
But what if this assumption turns out just like our earlier assumption about Mycroft and him?"
"Then I'll have Lestrade book Moriarty an appointment with a specialist at the sanatorium." Charlotte said.
"Once I catch him, I absolutely have to ask him properly just what on earth is packed inside that head of his."
"You'll have to catch him first, though." Russell said unhurriedly.
"I think he probably won't be stirring up too much trouble for a while."
"Why?" Charlotte looked over at Russell.
"You've got to let a person catch their breath, don't you?" Russell shrugged.
"Judging by his usual frequency, it's roughly one job a week.
But these last two weeks, it's obvious his work rate has far exceeded his normal pace.
No matter how energetic he is, he ought to take a rest.
Would you keep taking on cases nonstop for two weeks straight?"
This was indeed his thinking.
After hearing him out, Charlotte's brow furrowed slightly, yet she couldn't help feeling a measure of agreement.
"Looking at it this way, the only path still open to us now is just the one."
"Lloyds Bank." Russell set down his teacup. "But isn't that a weekend matter?"
"You take a day off tomorrow, and we can go tomorrow."
"I already took half a day off this morning. Take any more and what happens to my participation grade?"
"Do you really even have such a thing as a participation grade?" Charlotte shot him a sidelong glance.
"That's none of your concern." Russell turned to refill his tea. "At the very least my attendance is sure to pass."
"You'd be better off just having Mycroft arrange you a course exemption notice outright."
"No way—then my tuition would be paid for nothing."
"..." Charlotte was momentarily at a loss for words.
"So, once we're inside the vault, then what?"
Russell steered the topic back on track.
"Find Section A-3, vault number 12, have that fellow open it, register every client's name, and then run a screening." Charlotte said.
"Just hearing about it sounds exhausting."
"But it beats being able to do nothing at all. If there's no shortcut to take, then we just honestly take the long way around."
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