"Apart from the lack of direct evidence, it's basically perfect."
Russell looked at the closed loop Charlotte had circled heavily with a black pen on the information wall and let out a sincere sigh of admiration.
"He's not a detective. What kind of evidence does he need?"
Charlotte replied curtly.
"The person who wrote this letter not only possesses a vast information network, but also extraordinary profiling ability and intuition."
She picked up her teacup, blew on it gently, and a light of fellow-feeling appeared in her eyes.
"A true thief lurking in the shadows never knocks on the door of a house until he has successfully stolen the valuables inside. Sending this letter was less a threat than a form of boasting."
The girl picked up the letter and lightly traced the newspaper-cut letters with her fingertip.
"Why specifically newspaper clippings? The main reason is clearly to hide handwriting, but in criminal psychology, perpetrators often unintentionally leave psychological traces that reflect their professional background."
Charlotte turned around, leaned against the information wall, and stared fixedly at Russell.
"Cutting out newspaper articles, accurately grasping the direction of public opinion, and learning about the paparazzi in Adrian's study in a very short time… This person is not only rich and powerful—his field of expertise is extremely closely related to the media."
Russell's black eyes narrowed slightly. His gaze, fixed on the London streetscape shrouded in thick fog, seemed as though it could pierce straight through the wall.
"An outsider who is not permanently based in London, yet is closely connected to the Morstan family, and who can dominate or deeply intervene in the media industry."
Following the flow of Charlotte's thoughts, he gradually pieced together the image of this mysterious man.
"These past few days he must have seen every major move Mary made that appeared in The Guardian. He watched her use public opinion to build momentum, and he watched me clear obstacles for her like a ghost. And he hid behind the scenes, watching the opening act of this family feud unfold like a play."
"He only slowly revealed himself after Adrian admitted defeat and Mary had completely taken control of the situation."
Charlotte took over the conversation.
"Do you remember what I warned you about before?"
She said.
"There are people who seize the weaknesses of aristocrats and officials and use them as material for blackmail. The victims often choose to remain silent because the perpetrators hold internal information that could damage their reputations. Britain is full of such men."
"A blackmailer, then?" Russell sighed, and a certain name floated into his mind.
Charles Milverton.
The notorious blackmailer who appeared in the original work.
But he had forgotten Milverton's full name. Moreover, since the man was already connected to the Morstan family, the real name would not match. After turning the matter over in his mind, Russell decided to try.
He used the system to search his memory for the name "Charles Milverton," but unfortunately found nothing.
"Looks like I'll have to check Mary's family tree."
He sighed.
"It goes without saying, but a family is called a family precisely because people who share the same surname live scattered in various places."
Charlotte said.
"The Morstan family only became famous in Arthur Morstan's generation, but even at that point it was already a fairly large family. If you're trying to identify a person who has never shown his face through a family tree, it would be better to wait for the other party to come looking for you."
"That's true."
Russell shrugged and then leaned deeply into the sofa.
Charlotte held her teacup and looked at Russell with an exasperated expression, as though staring at an idiot possessed by delusions.
"Well, the name doesn't matter."
Russell waved his hand. For an instant a cold light appeared in his black eyes.
"If that bastard has the audacity to come looking for me, then I'll teach him exactly whose territory London is."
He stood up, walked over to the calendar, and looked at the date.
Fifteen days until Christmas.
…
Early morning.
London was covered in a rare combination of fog and frost.
The faint cold light of the waning moon from the previous night had been almost completely swallowed by thick clouds. The street lamps had not yet been fully extinguished; they cast blurred orange rings of light into the dense, almost tangible morning fog. In the living room of 221B Baker Street, the firewood in the fireplace had been freshly replaced, and a faint warmth drifted through the air.
Russell emerged from the bedroom in a bathrobe, yawning.
In the living room, Charlotte sat cross-legged on the sofa in an oversized bathrobe. The girl held a nearly untouched cup of black coffee, and the anonymous threatening letter still lay on the coffee table.
"If I'm not mistaken, you didn't stay up all night formulating strategies over that scrap of paper, did you?"
Russell walked over to the table, sat down, and asked.
"After being openly challenged to a duel, how thick-skinned do you have to be to sleep so soundly?"
Charlotte looked at him with exasperation. "Besides, I wasn't up all night. I just woke up earlier than usual."
"I know."
Russell nodded. "While I was asleep, I felt like one of the pillows was missing."
"Who's your body pillow?!"
Charlotte glared at him.
"You should be grateful I didn't kick you awake. You can't keep your hands still even in your sleep."
"To be honest, I still don't know who was playing games with me."
Russell raised his hand.
"I've constructed more than a hundred character profiles of the letter's sender in my head—from underground information brokers in London to politicians in Buckingham Palace who were opposed to Mycroft, including several high-ranking officials from Scotland Yard."
Charlotte, in irritation, ran her fingers through her hair, making it look even more disheveled.
"The topic changed too suddenly."
Russell said.
"Shut up!"
The girl flushed and spoke through clenched teeth.
"I'm analyzing that man's identity right now!"
"Sorry. Please continue."
Russell nodded, then poured himself a cup of coffee.
"But when I tried to fit all of those models against the three prerequisites—[being from the Morstan family], [having a media-related background], and [not residing in London]—none of them met the requirements."
"That's not surprising. After all, you don't know a single relative of the Morstan family."
As Russell spoke he put the letter away and casually stuffed it into his pocket.
"This is a troublesome problem of the Morstan family, so I think it's simpler to ask Mary herself directly rather than making baseless accusations here. She now holds the entire fortune of the Morstan family in her hands. Finding someone shouldn't be difficult for her."
As he spoke he turned around, took his coat from the coat rack, removed his bathrobe, put on the coat, and then pushed the letter into a new pocket.
"Come on. Let's go to Kensington for a nice breakfast. It's much better than drinking cold coffee here."
…
Thirty minutes later.
The carriage stopped in front of the magnificent mansion in Kensington.
The old butler William had come outside early to greet them. When he saw the two of them step down from the carriage side by side, he immediately put on a perfect, respectful smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Watson, Miss Holmes."
"The young mistress is having breakfast in the dining room. If the two of you have not yet eaten, I can ask the kitchen to prepare two more place settings."
"Thank you for your help, William."
Russell nodded and handed his damp coat to a maid standing nearby.
"You act as if you own the place."
Charlotte said coldly from the side.
"No objection."
Russell casually replied and, accompanied by William, led Charlotte into the dining room.
Inside the dining room, a young woman in a white morning robe held a glass of fragrant Darjeeling tea. When Russell appeared, her emerald-green eyes brightened and sparkled in the hazy light of dawn.
"Good morning, Russell."
Mary's voice was as sweet as dripping honey. She stood up without hesitation and greeted him.
"Good morning, Mary."
Russell chuckled and ruffled her hair. "I came for breakfast—is that all right?"
"I wouldn't mind even if you moved in here."
Mary rubbed her head against Russell's palm, then gently embraced him and inhaled his scent.
But the moment her gently smiling gaze shifted past Russell's shoulder to Charlotte—who was following behind and carefully observing the dining room—the smile vanished from her face.
"Good morning, Charlotte."
The girl's tone was full of surprise, as though she had never expected Charlotte to be there.
"I never imagined I would meet you here."
"What, are you saying the wealthy and powerful Morstan family can't even afford to invite me?"
Charlotte retorted sarcastically, pulled out a high-backed chair at random, sat down, and ran her eyes over the luxurious smoked salmon, fried eggs, and truffle sausages arranged on the table.
"They really know how to enjoy life."
"Of course we can afford it."
Mary maintained a perfect, elegant smile. She reached for the gold-rimmed bone-china teapot and poured tea for Charlotte herself. She even thoughtfully added a piece of delicious-looking smoked salmon to Charlotte's plate.
"If Charlotte comes every day, of course she will be most welcome."
"You lives here all the time, and I'm supposed to come every day?"
Charlotte snorted. "Isn't this favoritism a little too blatant?"
"Perhaps I'm taking into consideration that you might not be comfortable sleeping in a certain bed?"
Mary's smile remained unchanged.
"Besides, someone has to keep Mrs. Hudson company, or she'll get bored all alone on Baker Street."
"Miss Morstan, there is no need for you to worry about such things."
Charlotte picked up her knife and fork, skillfully cut open the salmon, speared a piece, and put it in her mouth.
Seeing that the food had finally closed that thorny mouth, Mary straightened her posture and poured tea for Russell as well.
"Let's talk after breakfast."
She spoke in a calm tone, yet her voice carried the bearing and dignity of the mistress of the house.
"It's been a long time since we last had breakfast together."
In the early morning, the sound of cutlery against bone plates was extremely soft and elegant.
Mary sat beside Russell and spoke animatedly about her busy days and the success of the business.
"I've now taken over almost all of the Morstan family's businesses," she said proudly. "There are still a few difficult parts, but the rest can be overcome with time."
As the girl spoke she carefully placed boneless pieces of fish onto Russell's plate. When she leaned forward slightly, the scent of white camellia drifted over, carrying the unique fragrance of a young girl.
"I basically have everything I need… except that there is still no male head of household."
Mary glanced meaningfully at Russell and, under the table, fidgeted with her foot, rubbing it against the hem of his trousers.
"Russell, what do you think?"
Even while witnessing Mary's blatant seduction under the table, Russell's hand holding the teacup did not move an inch. He tilted his head slightly, a puzzled smile appearing in his deep black eyes. He shifted his left leg a little to the side under the table and pressed down with his knee on the girl's slender foot that was trying to climb up the hem of his trousers.
"I've always felt that the male head of the Morstan family would be someone engaged in a rather dangerous occupation."
Russell skillfully deflected Mary's attack, placed a piece of crisp toast heavily buttered on her plate, and gently teased her.
"You're completely ignorant when it comes to romance!"
Far from being angry that her calf had been pressed down, Mary only sent him a coquettish look and withdrew her foot.
"If the two of you have already finished exchanging greetings, could you perhaps spare a little consideration for the feelings of the third party sitting at the same table?"
Charlotte, seated opposite Russell, openly displayed her disgust and clattered her knife and fork down.
She picked up her teacup, rinsed her mouth, and stared at Mary with undisguised contempt.
"Mrs. Hudson's decision not to accompany us was the wisest decision of her life."
"If Miss Holmes does not wish to eat, I can prepare lemonade."
Mary smiled, but her words were by no means conciliatory.
"Sour drinks also have the effect of stimulating the appetite."
"That's enough."
Russell put down his knife and fork, took a napkin, and wiped his mouth.
"Breakfast is almost over. Let's go to the study."
He spoke with a tone that left no room for argument.
"As you say~" Mary smiled and stood up, naturally linking her arm through Russell's. Before leaving she did not forget to give the butler a word of advice.
"Brew some Darjeeling tea and bring it to my study."
"Yes, Miss."
William bowed respectfully.
The three of them were once again in an empty classroom of Imperial College, only this time the stage had changed to the spacious, luxuriously furnished study of the Morstan Estate.
The morning sunlight finally cleared away some of the thick fog and shone through the tall French windows onto the deep-red Persian carpet.
Mary walked with completely natural steps to the large mahogany desk that symbolized the family's power and sat down.
She did not touch the stack of documents waiting for signatures on the table. Instead she rested her chin on her hand and let her emerald-green eyes move back and forth between Russell and Charlotte. The smile gradually disappeared from her face, leaving only a faint curve of the lips.
"All right. Now it's just the three of us."
She said.
"Tell me—why did the two of you go out of your way to come all the way to Kensington through the London fog at such an early hour? You didn't come just for breakfast, did you?"
"Guess?"
Charlotte sat on the sofa reserved for guests and tossed the question back at them.
"Hmm… if only Russell had come to see me, I could at least guess that he had grown tired of you and come looking for me."
Mary looked at Russell for a while, then gave him a gentle smile.
Then her gaze shifted to Charlotte.
"But now that Charlotte has come as well, the matter is no longer that simple."
The girl paused, fell silent for a moment in thought, then tentatively opened her mouth.
"Did something get left behind during last night's operation?"
Russell did not answer immediately. Instead he pulled out the chair opposite the desk and sat down.
Then he reached into the pocket of his coat and took out the envelope that the postman had delivered through the thick fog.
"Of course it's impossible to completely ignore the beginning and the end… but some people seem to have a sharper nose than one would imagine."
As he spoke he gave a light flick of his fingers. The envelope slid accurately across the large mahogany table and stopped right in front of Mary.
The girl frowned and looked down at the cheap envelope that seemed out of place in this elegant study. She looked up at Russell; Russell nodded to her.
So Mary picked up the envelope, opened it, and took out the letter.
The moment she saw the three words composed of various fonts cut from newspapers, her pupils suddenly contracted.
Those emerald-green eyes instantly turned cold. All the previous gentleness vanished, replaced by an aura of bone-chilling killing intent.
"When did you receive this?"
She asked. Her voice was enough to freeze one's spine.
There was no need for a detailed explanation. Just by looking at the three letters pieced together from newspaper clippings, she understood what it meant.
Someone had seen through Russell's identity and had actually sent him a letter of provocation.
"Around ten o'clock last night a postman delivered it to Baker Street. The sender was anonymous, and the express fee was paid in cash directly on Fleet Street."
Charlotte elegantly crossed her legs.
"We have already conducted a preliminary trace analysis. The other party was extremely careful and left no trackable physical clues. Moreover, the fact that he was able to send the letter at the exquisite timing right after Adrian admitted defeat shows that he had complete grasp of the internal affairs of the Morstan family. In other words… he coldly observed the entire process of you using Moriarty as a tool to remove obstacles."
Charlotte leaned deeply into the chair and stared fixedly at Mary with her ash-blue eyes. An oppressive aura radiated from Mary.
"Condition?"
Mary asked.
"Possessing an information network that is not based in London yet is closely connected to the Morstan family is already remarkable. And outsiders who work in the media industry or have deep ties to it…"
She paused for a moment, then directed the question at the local bully sitting in front of her.
"Within the vast Morstan family tree, is there anyone who meets these conditions?"
As the girl's memory was suddenly unlocked, a brief silence fell over the study. From the time she first became aware of the world, her encounters with the Morstan family, and everything she had experienced up to the present, raced before her eyes like a revolving lantern.
"No."
She quietly shook her head. "There are too many people in the Morstan family. Everyone I've met or heard about is someone inside the circle of interests surrounding that man."
Mary explained in a tone tinged with irritation.
"At least as far as I know, I've never heard of such a person. Is he really a member of the Morstan family?"
"It would be better if you prayed that he really is a blood relative of the Morstan family. That way at least all of his actions would have a plausible reason. If he acts completely on a whim like someone else, we might never find him in our entire lives."
Charlotte said.
"You should know which is harder to catch—random murder or planned murder."
Mary fell silent again, as though trying to dig even deeper into her own memory.
"No… I still can't remember."
She still shook her head.
Just then there was a knock at the door, followed by William's voice.
"Miss, the tea is ready."
"Come in."
Mary returned to her usual cold and distant tone.
The door opened and William entered carrying a silver tray, pouring tea for the three of them.
After watching the old butler leave, Mary seemed to remember something and asked, "William, how long have you served this family?"
"Fifty-seven years, Miss."
William smiled.
"I began serving the Morstan family when I was seventeen. At that time I was looking after the daily life of the master's father. After that I served the master, and now I serve you."
"Fifty-seven years…" Mary sighed.
"Then you must have met quite a number of the Morstan family's blood relatives?"
"Of course."
William nodded lightly and handed the freshly brewed tea to each of them one by one.
"At that time the Morstan family residence was different from what it is now. At first it was not as large as it is today, but it was far more lively. King Arthur and his brothers and sisters lived together. After the old gentleman passed away, Arthur independently built a successful business and expanded and renovated the house at his own expense. Unfortunately, the other brothers and sisters never returned to live with us."
William said with a sigh of regret.
"So, do you know who is in charge of the media?"
Mary pressed forward with the conversation and asked the question.
"For example, becoming a reporter or an editor-in-chief?"
"…"
When this question was asked, a nostalgic expression appeared on William's face, and then he quietly shook his head.
"As far as I can remember, no such person seems to exist. Most members of the Morstan family are involved in business; a few choose the path of politics, but almost none choose the path of the media. I can think of a few artists, but when it comes to journalists or editors… I truly cannot recall a single one."
The old butler said this and then asked,
"Are you looking for someone, Miss?"
"Yes."
Mary nodded. "The other party is most likely a blood relative of the Morstan family, does not reside permanently in London, and works in the media industry."
"If I had not been based in London, I could have thought of many examples, but when it comes to working in the media industry, I truly cannot recall anything."
William said.
Just then Charlotte seemed to remember something and added,
"Then what about people who were originally not based in London but are now in London?"
"People who are not permanent residents of London but are currently in London?"
William raised one eyebrow slightly, and then his eyes lit up.
"Yes, there is!"
"Who?"
The three of them spoke almost simultaneously.
"That would be your cousin, Miss."
William looked at Mary and said.
"Charles Morstan Milverton."