After returning to Baker Street, Charlotte immediately shut herself in her room and began poring over those files.
Russell didn't help. After all, he'd finally managed to find something for Charlotte to do, so if the child enjoyed it, then he might as well let her have at it.
At the very least, the next stretch of time should pass relatively peacefully.
Monday. Imperial College.
The familiar lecture hall, the familiar back-row seat, the familiar girl with the scent of white tea.
"Good morning," Russell said.
"Good morning," Mary replied with a smile. "So how did it turn out?"
"How did what turn out?"
"The Lloyds Bank business, of course," the girl said. "Didn't you tell me last week that you and Charlotte were going to Lloyds Bank on Saturday?"
"Ah, that," Russell yawned. "It was... a complete success, I suppose."
"So then, the process?" Mary blinked. "Did you really take that letter and smack the director across the face with it?"
"How could I," Russell waved a hand. "I'm a civilized man. I couldn't do something so crude."
"Then what did you do?" Mary raised an eyebrow.
"I had a nice little chat with him, naturally," Russell said.
He recounted the events of the day before yesterday in a leisurely, engaging manner, while the girl leaned in a little closer, wearing the look of a curious child.
By the time he reached the end, she couldn't help but laugh.
"Looking at it this way, this Mr. George Adler is rather like you," she remarked.
"Alike how?"
"A Chameleon," Mary said with pointed meaning. "Both of you."
She paused, then asked again, "But getting back to it—do you really have Buckingham Palace's phone number?"
"Of course I don't have something like that," Russell said as though it were the most obvious thing.
"I only went to do Buckingham Palace a small favor—and I didn't even manage to help. Why on earth would they give me their contact information?"
"Then how did you..." Mary tilted her head.
"The point is, since I could produce a Buckingham Palace authorization letter, and I said I'd call Buckingham Palace—if it were you, in that situation, would you believe it? Or rather, would you dare to gamble your entire career on the possibility that the authorization letter was a fake?"
Russell countered.
Hearing this, Mary arched an eyebrow, a touch of admiration entering her eyes.
"It sounds rather like an interesting psychological game of wits."
"People always have an instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm," Russell shrugged. "What's more, that Mr. Adler had only taken up his post less than a month ago."
"So, you got the list?" Mary pressed on.
"Mm," Russell nodded slightly. "A full twenty-seven personal files, stacked up roughly to about knee height."
He gestured a rough measurement.
"Charlotte has shut herself in her room studying that stuff ever since yesterday afternoon."
"So, has she found anything?" Mary asked, her voice unconsciously carrying a hint of nervousness and curiosity.
"No idea—probably nothing for now," Russell shook his head.
"That stuff is more boring than textbooks if you ask me. The information is plentiful and jumbled, and you've got to sift out the useful bits, then interpret them further..."
"Just hearing about it is exhausting," Mary said noncommittally, then glanced at Russell again. "Aren't you going to help her?"
"Spare me, that's far too hard," Russell slumped onto the desk.
"If Charlotte asked me to help, I'd only end up filing away meaningless information like gender along with everything else and make a mess for her—I won't deny it."
At that, Mary smiled and said nothing more.
The bell rang at just the right moment, putting a rest stop to this brief morning conversation.
When The Professor walked into the classroom and saw that the figure in the very back row had already slumped down, he knew it was time for him to begin the lecture.
Mary sat up straight, opened the notebook Russell had returned to her, and, while listening to The Professor's lecture, took notes diligently.
But slowly, the girl's once-focused attention began to scatter as time wore on.
The reasons for this—aside from the lazy dog beside her—came down to the fact that winter had begun to set in over London.
The pace at which winter arrived in London was a little faster than one might imagine.
A few days ago it had only been a mildly cool autumn breeze, but by today it already carried a biting chill, forcing people to pull their collars tight.
Fortunately, the heating in the lecture hall was decent enough that the students weren't left to freeze through class.
But sometimes, being too warm isn't a good thing either.
Setting aside Russell, who had already begun snoring away in deep sleep, everyone else's heads were also growing heavy and drowsy.
Compared to the others, Mary could already be considered alert—she wasn't drooping her head, at most just a little absent-minded.
As her thoughts drifted, the girl's fingertips began to idly toy with the pages of the notebook.
Then, without her noticing, the page recording the board notes and lecture notes got flipped right past, and from there it became unstoppable.
After flipping past a blank stretch, the neat and tidy notes in the notebook had vanished.
In their place were several crude yet remarkably vivid doodles.
In any case, today's lesson was a summary and review of last week's material, and all the notes that needed taking had already been done.
Tuning out occasionally... shouldn't really matter, right?
Mary's gaze lingered for a moment on those familiar doodles, and after silently offering The Professor an apology in her heart, she picked up the pen in her hand.
Just as the girl was pondering what to draw today, her gaze was suddenly drawn to a doodle in the corner.
It too was a simple stick figure, but it wasn't one she had drawn.
Setting aside the fact that the drawing style was different, just the posture of that stick figure was something Mary had never seen before.
It was a stick figure dressed in a tailcoat; though the lines were simple, they unexpectedly captured a touch of elegance and an upright, graceful bearing.
The stick figure even held a teacup in its hand, struck in a pose as if engaged in conversation with someone.
Charlotte.
That name surfaced in Mary's mind almost instantly.
Besides her, there couldn't possibly be a third person who would leave something like this in Russell's notebook.
After all, a certain dull-witted fellow still hadn't noticed her own doodles to this day.
And besides, apart from Charlotte, there was probably no one else who could know who she had drawn—let alone identify that eye-catching tailcoat attire.
Mary stared at that doodle, and within those beautiful azure-blue eyes flashed first a trace of confusion, soon replaced by a far more complicated emotion.
It was a competitive urge mixed with something even she found amusing.
Like a cat that had discovered the scent left by another cat upon its own toy.
What was this supposed to be? A provocation?
"Childish."
Mary passed her scornful verdict in a voice only she could hear.
Then she picked up her pen and, right beside the stick figure Charlotte had left, began her own creation.
A silent war over doodles thus quietly broke out across the pages of the notebook.
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