"What?"
Russell frowned. "His refusal to plead guilty doesn't conflict with whether there is evidence or not, right?"
"It is difficult to find direct evidence of poisoning when it comes to chronic toxins. As long as he doesn't plead guilty, Lestrade can detain him for two days at most."
Charlotte explained indifferently.
"So the problem now is how to make him confess."
"Sorry, I can't help with that. My major isn't psychology."
Russell put down the file in his hand, his gaze falling upon the photograph of the unfinished painting.
In the center of the painting was a burning sunset, the colors so intense they seemed ready to spill from the paper, filled with the brilliance and madness of a life at its end.
For some reason, he felt that this painting was a bit odd.
He even felt that the apprentice's grief did not seem faked.
A person who kills their teacher for money should have eyes filled with greed and fear, not that kind of... hollow emptiness, as if their world had collapsed.
Perhaps having stayed with the System for too long, he had developed a beast-like intuition for human malice.
But that had nothing to do with him, anyway.
Confession or not, it didn't matter.
Russell withdrew his gaze, turned, and left Charlotte's room, sealing off the air from next door that was mixed with chemical reagents and the aura of an eccentric genius.
He collapsed onto his bed exhaustedly, feeling as if he hadn't been this tired in his entire life.
The last time was when he stayed up all night reviewing for the Imperial College entrance exams.
Since things had come to this, he decided to sleep first and recharge his energy. He still had to make a trip to the Morstan Estate tonight to return the brooch.
·
·
Russell was woken by a burst of rapid, jarring violin sounds.
The noise was like a group of drunk cats fighting—chaotic, and filled with irritability and impatience.
He sat up in bed and rubbed his sleepy eyes. He didn't need to think to know the source of this noise was his new neighbor next door.
It seemed the great detective had run into trouble regarding the interrogation of the suspect.
Russell glanced out the window. The sky was approaching dusk, and the orange-red halo plated the rooftops of London with a layer of gentle gold.
He stretched lazily, and his stomach growled untimely.
He hadn't eaten dinner yet, but more important than dinner was professional ethics.
To go back on one's word was not a quality a qualified Phantom Thief should possess.
He took his outfit from the secret compartment under the bed and skillfully changed into it.
In the mirror, the languid university student Russell disappeared, replaced by the Phantom Thief 'Moriarty', dressed in black with a white mask covering his face.
He opened the window, and the night wind poured into the room carrying a trace of chill.
The hustle and bustle of Baker Street gradually faded away, turning into a stream of flowing lights beneath his feet.
Russell's figure was like a nimble night cat, shuttling between rooftops, and soon he vanished into the deep night of London.
Morstan Estate.
Unlike the silence of the previous night, tonight's estate seemed a bit... overly quiet.
Russell crouched on the clock tower opposite the estate, observing the target with binoculars redeemed from the System.
The estate was brightly lit, everything appeared as usual, and it seemed they hadn't specifically strengthened their defenses just because a phantom thief had visited.
This wasn't quite normal.
But through his contact during the day, he could roughly confirm one thing:
This Mary Morstan didn't seem to be a normal person herself.
An honor student, a socialite, a polite and sensible Duke's daughter—these were likely just masks used to deceive others.
But what did that have to do with him, a good gentleman who returns lost property?
Return the item early, go home to sleep early.
So what if there was a trap? As the saying goes, wealth is found amidst danger.
No matter how mysterious you are, can you be more mysterious than my magical wonder tools?
Do you understand the value of a kit that blocks information with smoke and allows wall-passing displacement?
Thinking of this, Russell hesitated no longer.
He adjusted his angle and, utilizing the grappling hook gun bought from the shop, moved silently between the buildings. Like a ghost, he infiltrated the courtyard of the Morstan Estate.
However, Russell did not plan to go to the collection room this time.
Since he was pursuing excitement, he might as well see it through to the end.
He prepared to go to a more private place, namely Mary Morstan's boudoir.
Following the map, he expertly avoided the patrolling servants. Russell's form melted into the architectural shadows, finally stopping before a delightfully carved French window.
This was the second floor. A small door led to the terrace; entering through here would lead to Mary's bedroom.
Russell took out a long, slender silver needle from his pocket and probed it into the keyhole.
[Sleight of Hand C+], Activate!
Click.
A nearly inaudible sound rang out, and the lock opened.
Russell pushed open the glass door and flashed inside.
A cool scent mixed with white tea and ink rushed toward him, completely different from the dull, stale smell in the collection room yesterday.
The room was large, yet the arrangement was unexpectedly simple.
A huge bookshelf occupied an entire wall, stuffed with books in various languages, ranging from classical philosophy to the latest mechanical engineering—a wide variety.
The dressing table didn't have a dazzling array of jewelry, only a few bottles of skincare products that looked very expensive and a petite table lamp.
Hanging on the walls were several oil paintings he couldn't understand but estimated were very pricey. The artistic style felt inexplicably familiar.
Everything appeared very tasteful, yet revealed a sense of cold loneliness inconsistent with the owner's age.
Of course, Russell was in no mood to appreciate these things.
He walked to Mary's dressing table, took the brooch out of his pocket, and placed it on the surface.
Immediately after, he looked left and right, then picked up a lipstick and began to write on a piece of white paper he had prepared beforehand.
He had actually brought a pen, but Russell felt that using lipstick might make the other party a bit angrier.
For this purpose, he specifically chose the brand that looked the reddest and most expensive.
But before he could start writing, unhurried footsteps sounded from behind him.
Seeing this, Russell paused his hand movements and looked back toward the door.
The person arriving didn't deliberately hide their footsteps, walking calmly as if a master returning to their own territory.
The visitor means trouble...
Russell thought.
No, wait, it seems I am the visitor.
So what now? Run?
His gaze subconsciously darted to the windowsill; if he wanted to run now, he would make it in plenty of time.
But... was that necessary?
He hadn't even farmed his Malice Points yet. If he ran like this, wouldn't it be a wasted trip?
That wouldn't do.
He was a Phantom Thief; why should he avoid her edge?
Thus, he chose to stand his ground, like the true master of the house, quietly awaiting the approach of the footsteps.
And then, the figure of Mary Morstan appeared at the door.
The young girl had already changed out of her daytime freshman uniform and was wearing a silk nightgown, her long silver hair draped casually over her shoulders.
She lacked a bit of the day's coldness and possessed a bit more of the night's languor and danger.
She held no gun in her hand, only a cup of black tea that was still steaming, and a faint smile played on her face.
"Good evening, Mr. Moriarty."
She spoke softly, her gaze falling upon the lipstick in Russell's hand.
"It seems the famous Phantom Thief also has a bit of a girlish heart?"
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