The charcoal in the fireplace crackled, sending a few orange sparks dancing up into the quiet living room before they vanished.
[I Know U]
Three words pieced together from printed letters of different sizes and fonts stood out starkly on the cheap stationery.
After a brief moment of surprise, Charlotte's previously somewhat dazed ash-blue eyes instantly lost all traces of languor. In their place appeared the calm and sharpness befitting a detective.
"It seems the phantom thief's visit left behind a few traces that should not have remained."
She gave a cold little laugh, showing not the slightest sign of panic. She held the letter up to the dim yellow light of the gas lamp and carefully examined the texture of the paper and the collage marks.
"This paper has no watermarks or family crests—nothing that could serve as a clue. It's just the low-quality wood-pulp paper you can buy anywhere on the market. The letters were cut from newspapers, not with scissors but with a very sharp paper knife, so the edges are extremely smooth. The fonts come from quite a variety of sources. This one is relatively large, the ink is dense—it's the headline font from The Times. The edge of the word 'Know' is rough; it was clearly cut from the cheap Daily Telegraph. As for the adhesive…"
The girl lowered her head slightly and brought the paper close to her nose to sniff it. Her delicate brows furrowed ever so slightly.
"The glue used is the most common potato starch—available anywhere. The sender has no intention of revealing their identity."
As she spoke she casually tossed the letter onto the coffee table and crossed her arms. Her tone carried a note of mockery, yet the seriousness between her brows could not be hidden.
"The sender possesses a very sharp intellect. By using newspaper clippings instead of handwriting, they avoided any possibility of identification through penmanship or ink composition." Charlotte paused for a moment and looked at Russell. "Did you take off your mask in front of Adrian?"
"How could that even be possible?"
Russell retorted. "No matter how much stimulation I might be seeking, I would never go that far." He continued, "Besides, if it really were Adrian, why would that old man go to the trouble of writing a threatening letter? Now that he knows my identity, there's no longer any need for him to keep watching Mary."
"That's true…" Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose. "Other than him, to whom else have you revealed your identity? Benson Morstan?"
"He didn't even know I had been to his house."
Russell still shook his head.
Hearing this, and seeing how calm he remained—as though Mount Everest itself could collapse before him without causing a ripple—Charlotte felt the last traces of unease in her heart finally disappear. She sat down on the sofa, rested both hands under her chin, and began to reason and think.
"The other side never directly named Moriarty, nor did they state any blackmail amount or conditions. They only wrote that extremely short sentence: 'I know who you are.' This shows that their goal was not to extort money from you, but to test your reaction. This is classic psychological warfare. At the same time, it is also an act of provocation."
Charlotte paced around the coffee table; the silk robe swayed gently with her movements.
"If you had panicked and fled the moment you received this letter, or hastily transferred assets, or contacted Mary, you would have exposed your own identity, completely revealed your relationship with him, and handed him the material he needs to exploit your weakness."
"Psychological warfare?" Russell leaned deep into the chair and lightly tapped the armrest of the sofa with his long fingers. "Last night in Adrian's study, was there anyone else present besides me and that old man?"
Charlotte suddenly seemed to remember something and asked, "Is it possible that the old man secretly hired a stenographer or a reporter?"
"A reporter?"
Russell raised one eyebrow. "I was hidden in the shadows at the time, but there was indeed a hidden door on the side of his study. I didn't confront him about it directly, but someone was definitely hiding in that room."
"That's right."
Charlotte smiled as though she had found the path she should take and was proud of it.
"That cunning old Adrian prepared a large sum of money to buy you, so of course he would have prepared a backup plan as well. No matter the outcome, the paparazzi lurking in the shadows would record your conversation and extract information to use as a weapon for public-opinion attacks."
As she spoke she looked at Russell again. "You didn't say anything that could be misunderstood or give someone material to attack you with, did you?"
"Of course not. I knew someone had been eavesdropping the whole time." Russell said, "That's why from beginning to end I made it clear that I did everything myself, and I never even mentioned Mary's name."
Hearing this, Charlotte nodded lightly, but her eyes grew even sharper.
"In that case, Benson or Adrian can be almost completely ruled out. Since you gave that reporter no weakness to exploit, it is impossible for him to confirm your identity from just a few ambiguous sentences." She frowned. "Which means he is analyzing from a different angle… what angle?"
The girl looked up at the table, but her gaze was not focused on it. Charlotte was in a state of deep concentration. She slowly raised both hands and, as though processing documents, skillfully moved and rearranged her slender fingertips in the air.
Russell did not interrupt her. He picked up the slightly cooled cup of black tea, leaned deep into the sofa, and quietly watched the great detective enter the palace of thought.
The dim yellow light leaking from the fireplace flickered across Charlotte's pale face, lending her concentrated, sharp features a captivating, almost cinematic glow. She tilted her head slightly; her long eyelashes cast faint shadows beneath her eyelids. Her slender fingers moved nimbly in the air, as though flipping through invisible files only she could see.
"Not physical evidence from the scene, nor a direct loophole in a statement…"
Charlotte murmured under her breath, her speech quickening, a calculating light shining in her ash-blue eyes.
"Having eliminated mediocre fools like Adrian and Benson, this person must occupy a higher position. He must possess an extremely large-scale information network capable of grasping everything that happens in London. Moreover, he appeared at precisely this moment—neither earlier nor later, but right after both Benson Morstan and Adrian Morstan had fallen. This indicates that the person is closely connected to the Morstan family and is not a native of London."
Charlotte suddenly opened her eyes, made a gesture as though clenching both hands in the air, then turned and stared fixedly at Russell.
"How did you reach that conclusion?"
Russell asked.
"If he truly were a London native, he could not have been absent from the very first moment Arthur Morstan was hospitalized. If he truly had his eye on the Morstan family's business, that would have been the perfect opportunity. All he needed to do was raise a reasonable question and plant a seed of doubt in Scotland Yard's mind—then everything would have changed. But he did not. Therefore, by the time he received the information, the matter had already been resolved."
Charlotte said.
"Then how did he conclude that I am Moriarty?"
Russell asked again.
"Simple. By subtraction."
Charlotte replied.
"Subtraction?"
Russell raised one eyebrow and asked at the perfect moment.
"Exactly. Eliminate all impossibilities, and whatever remains—no matter how unbelievable—must be the truth." Charlotte nodded. "This person did not appear immediately after arriving in London. He stayed hidden, avoiding public attention. It is unclear exactly when he arrived, but it can be inferred that he has been staying in London for some time. During this period he collected information through his own channels. To him, the greatest threat at present is Moriarty, so all the information he gathers is centered on Moriarty. As for information about Moriarty… Fleet Street has as much as you could ever want."
The girl stopped and glanced at Russell.
"All thanks to a certain man who likes giving performance bonuses to the people of Fleet Street."
"I need something to eat…" Russell gave two awkward coughs. "I appear in the newspapers frequently, but that alone is not proof that it has anything to do with me."
"Therefore this intelligence needs to be further reduced." Charlotte continued her analysis. "Besides you, who else is he targeting? Or rather, who was he targeting in the first place?"
"Mary."
"Yes. Mary Morstan."
Charlotte's mind.
"Therefore, once he realized that news about Moriarty was of no use as a clue, he naturally shifted his attention in another direction. For the time being there seems to be no progress regarding Moriarty—but what about Mary Morstan?"
Charlotte stood up and walked toward the door.
Seeing this, Russell hesitated for a moment, then immediately followed her.
The two left Russell's room and went straight to Charlotte's living room—a room she had not visited for a long time. They did not even bother to light the fireplace in the room.
Russell crouched down to light the fireplace, then went to the side to boil water. Charlotte pulled out the information board, erased everything displayed on it, picked up a pen, and began writing and drawing.
"Mary Morstan."
She wrote Mary's name there, then drew several arrows.
"If you want to investigate someone, you should first examine that person's past history and interpersonal relationships. Setting aside her past history, I don't think this person has the ability to see through the fact that she is the professor. Otherwise there would have been no need to contact you in the first place. Therefore the key lies in human relationships."
Russell said.
"Yes—human relationships."
As Charlotte spoke she quickly jotted down many other names beside Mary's.
"Who are Elizabeth, Helena, and Isabella?"
Russell asked with great interest. "I've never heard of them."
"I've never heard of them either. Because they are completely unimportant." Charlotte stated, "These people refer to those with whom Mary normally socializes."
She took the pen and mercilessly crossed out the names one by one, finally circling the last two.
"The only people who truly matter are Russell Watson and Charlotte Holmes."
Charlotte said. "To be precise, the only one who truly matters is you. I am merely an afterthought—someone dragged into this mess because of you." Charlotte jabbed the tip of the pen twice at the name "Russell Watson."
"As I said earlier, everything must be based on the premise that Moriarty is the greatest threat. When this person realizes he cannot find a breakthrough among the vast number of rumors circulating about the phantom thief on the market—all of which are nothing more than hearsay—he will inevitably change his approach. He investigated Mary Morstan's social circle, trying to find a clue that could link her to the phantom thief. And within this deliberately filtered social network, you, Russell Watson, are like a searchlight shining brightly in the night sky."
"Am I that dirty?"
Russell touched his nose and casually poured the boiling water into the teapot. The fragrance of black tea began to drift through the slightly chilly living room.
"Regarding your résumé, what misunderstanding could possibly be enough to put Buckingham Palace on alert?"
Charlotte turned around and directed a reproachful look at him, drawing an arc in the air with the carbon pen.
"An orphan with no connections whatsoever enters Imperial College and, within only a few months, becomes acquainted at the same time with the famous detective Charlotte Holmes and Mary Morstan, the flower of London high society. Do you think the students of Imperial College all have eyes and ears? Even if they don't read the newspapers, they have seen the interactions between you and Mary at school."
At this point the girl's tone inevitably turned harsh, as though she were venting some dissatisfaction, and she gripped the pen with even more force.
"If you told anyone on a London street corner about this fact, the only thought that would arise in their minds besides envy and jealousy would be—"
"Why must it be me?"
Russell added.
"That's good. At least you have self-awareness." Charlotte snorted. "How can a poor student so easily navigate between these two difficult situations? Even Mycroft, who is praised as being at the very top of the British government, turns a blind eye to a situation that could only be described as a scandal—and no newspaper dares to report it. What possible reason could there be… unless…"
"Unless Russell Watson himself possesses a trump card sufficient—or equivalent—to make Mycroft wary of, or make use of, these two people."
Russell came over carrying two cups of hot black tea and naturally continued what Charlotte had been saying. He handed one of the cups to the girl and looked at the rewritten information wall.
"He has seen my photograph, and the paparazzi also know what kind of person Moriarty is. Under normal circumstances these things would be unrelated, but once a preconception is formed, any coincidence becomes extremely obvious."
Charlotte accepted the teacup and took a sip.
"And if these conjectures gave him sufficient grounds for suspicion, then everything that happened afterward was nothing more than a continuous chain of evidence that only strengthened his doubts."
The girl slowly lowered the pen and wrote a new name in an empty space.
Philip Morstan.
"The South Shore warehouse was seized and Philip was arrested." Charlotte said. "Why did Lestrade suddenly lead a team to occupy the South Bank warehouse? Because someone provided information that weapons were being hidden there. Then who reported it? Of course—Moriarty. Why did Moriarty resort to the tactic of hiding weapons in a warehouse managed by Philip Morstan? And by pure coincidence, it was the very night Benson was planning to have Philip cut off the supply to the East End factory. And why did I appear again at the exact moment Philip Morstan was about to be taken away on charges of treason?"
Charlotte pointed at herself.
"I cleared Philip of the treason charge, but afterward I stuck a new label on him and imprisoned him in a way that would not involve the entire Morstan family. If this can be explained by a detective's sense of justice, then the biggest problem arises. How did I know?"
Charlotte looked at Russell. "Who told me this? In all of London, other than Moriarty, Lestrade, and Mary, no one knew that weapons were stored in the South Bank warehouse. Lestrade already had the evidence, so there was no need to call me for help—and the same goes for Mary. The only one who would tell me is Moriarty. And how did he tell me? Well, as it happens, my roommate's name is Russell Watson."
Charlotte drew a large circle on the information wall with the pen. It began with Moriarty's name and continued in a circle toward Russell's name.
"What an unexpected coincidence, isn't it?"