In theory, as long as you have a collapsible ladder and a workman's vest, you can stroll into even the tightest security—like, say, the Louvre.
Russell donned an old-fashioned baseball cap, pulling it low to obscure most of his face. He took a pair of grease-stained gloves from his tool kit, put them on, then slung the collapsible ladder over his shoulder and walked slowly into the gas-lit Mayfair street.
The sound of police boots grew louder as he approached, and he could even hear the restrained, low panting of police dogs.
He showed not the slightest sign of panic; he walked with the steady gait and natural demeanor of a repairman heading to his next job after a long day of work.
A passing patrol officer fixed him with a brief stare, then called out, "Hold up a moment."
The officer quickly stepped forward, blocking Russell's path.
"What are you doing here?"
"I got a call from the Romantic Club for some repairs... sir," Russell answered honestly.
The constable scrutinized him, from cap to those oily gloves, and finally to the cold, collapsible ladder over his shoulder.
"The Romantic Club?" the officer repeated, probing. "What kind of repairs?"
"Gas pipeline," Russell rasped, his voice just the right amount of weary. "There's a gas leak by the kitchen pipes, smells terrible, so I was told to come check right away."
He sniffled as if chilled by the damp night air, delivering his prearranged excuse slowly and deliberately.
After checking Russell's tool bag and finding nothing but standard repair tools, the patrolman let him through.
We're all just people working to make a living—no need to make trouble for one another. Besides, if he pisses off the Romantic Club's gents, it's the repairman who'll get slapped; if I get tangled up, I could lose my job...
"Alright, off you go, hustle along," the officer waved him on.
"Thank you, sir," Russell nodded, picking up the pace toward the Romantic Club.
Arriving at the entrance, Russell glanced at the line of luxury carriages outside, then silently shuffled through the crowd, keeping his head bowed until he reached the front.
He cleared his throat and handed over a company card.
"Wilson Repair Shop."
The doorman, tall and perfectly groomed, wore the typical polite-yet-distant expression of the upper-class service trade. He gingerly pinched Russell's oil-smeared card, careful not to dirty his white gloves.
"Wilson Repair Shop..." he repeated softly, eyeing Russell's cheap, slightly stained work clothes before inconspicuously furrowing his brow. Then, turning to his colleague, he said, "Take him round back."
"Right." The colleague responded before leading the way. "Come with me."
Russell followed immediately, led by another pair of staff to a nondescript side door.
"What are you here to fix?" asked the person walking ahead.
"Maintenance on the ventilation system," Russell replied.
"That exhaust fan really does need repairing," the staff muttered, then warned: "Stay close to me. Don't look around, don't wander. The clients here are not to be angered, understand?"
"Yes, absolutely," Russell nodded several times.
The attendant guided Russell into a narrow employee corridor lined with gray linen carpet. In stark contrast to the bright, magnificent main entrance, the lighting here was far dimmer.
"The kitchen's that way," said the attendant, pointing to the end of the hall without looking back, "The ventilation room's on the second floor—this way."
"Understood," Russell said, obedient as ever, following with ladder in hand. Though his eyes appeared fixed on the floor, he was in fact rapidly taking in every detail of his surroundings from the corners of his eyes.
The attendant led him up the staff stairwell to the second floor and opened a door.
"When you're done, hurry back the way you came, got it?" he said irritably, making it clear he had no intention of accompanying Russell further.
"Got it," Russell nodded, giving a sycophantic smile as he entered.
The staff door behind him closed softly. The retreating footsteps faded until the corridor plunged into complete silence.
Russell rested his hand on the doorknob, then slipped out again. His gaze locked on the endless stairs ahead.
The Romantic Club had four stories in total.
The ground floor housed the bar, restaurant, and banquet hall. The second floor had the kitchen and lounges. The third floor boasted a billiard room, cigar bar, and private card room.
His target was on the fourth floor.
According to the map, it was a records vault, much like the underground vault of Lloyds Bank. But instead of gold or jewels, secrets lurked inside—secrets potent enough to ruin reputations at the highest levels of London society.
Russell ascended the stairs, careful to make as little sound as possible. But as soon as he reached the third floor, he stopped.
To be precise, he could go no higher.
The staff stairwell only reached the third floor. To access the fourth, he'd need to use the guest stairs.
The only way in, the only way out—at least for the general public.
Let's see what Mist Array can do...
Leaning casually against the wall, he heard the deduction notification sound in his mind and felt a small, round bead appear between his fingers.
Moving slowly and carefully, he grasped the cylinder, applying a light pressure with his index and middle fingers.
With a faint "pssshh," a dense black mist instantly filled the stairwell.
When the smoke cleared—the phantom thief had vanished.
After a moment of disorientation and weightlessness, Russell opened his eyes again—his feet now on thick carpet.
He was standing in a private room of the vault on the fourth floor.
The room was not large—barely big enough for a shower stall—and the layout was extremely simple.
Uniform wooden chests, each locked with small keys, were one of the few means of keeping these documents secure.
At first, Russell couldn't understand why such classified information was stored in such a simple, almost casual manner.
But he soon noticed something. Crouching, he lifted the edge of the carpet.
What greeted him was neither the marble tile he expected nor anything so grand—but smooth wooden boards.
The entire fourth floor was built of wood.