The moment Milverton spoke those words, the taut atmosphere in the ward eased slightly.
Contrary to his expectations, Mary showed neither shock, panic, nor killing intent when her hand was exposed. What drifted from her was only the stillness that comes after everything has been stripped away.
"Well then, now that the great Mr. Milverton has seen through everything, what do you intend to do?"
The girl asked calmly, idly beginning to smooth her hair.
"Are you going to report me to Scotland Yard on charges of treason and attempted murder? Are you going to denounce the impostor who seized this family business? Or are you going to splash this news that will set London ablaze across the front pages of the newspapers?"
"Why smash a work of art to pieces? That would be far too wasteful!"
Looking at Mary, who had removed her disguise, Milverton's eyes shone with an unprecedented light of admiration. He could barely restrain the urge to applaud the perfect actress before him.
The impostor had not only stolen Arthur's position; she had reversed the situation and turned the once-arrogant man into a useless cripple who could only eke out a living in a hospital bed. She had secretly built a criminal organization whose tentacles reached throughout London. She was a far tougher opponent than any aristocrat he had ever blackmailed.
"A female swindler whose conspiracy is exposed and who is hanged is of no value to me beyond becoming gossip fodder among foolish citizens. But a Professor who controls the largest corporate group in the Empire and can secretly manipulate the infamous phantom thief to work for her… that is an inexhaustible gold mine."
He paused, then revealed his true intention.
"What I want is very simple, cousin. I want your chair, and I want the chain you hold."
Milverton stared fixedly at Mary.
"Hand those two things over. I don't care about you, or him, or that detective. The three of you can play your jealous little games among yourselves."
"Chair? Chain?"
Mary repeated the two words. In that instant the emerald-green eyes that had been calm until now were completely dyed dark.
"Oh…"
A girlish, charming laugh slipped from Mary's lips. She turned, picked up the black veiled hat from the foot of the bed, and slowly smoothed the wrinkles of the veil with her slender fingers.
"Wanting control of the Morstan family for the sake of enormous wealth and power is exactly the expression of a blackmailer's insatiable greed."
The girl raised her face slightly. A smile still lingered on her lips, yet her eyes were as cold as if she were looking at a corpse in a morgue.
"But… you want the chain as well?"
She looked at Milford with icy eyes.
"Cousin Charles, do you have some fatal misunderstanding?"
"Misunderstanding?"
Milverton raised one eyebrow. Far from retreating, he advanced, as though enjoying the sight of his prey being cornered and then fighting back.
"I believe I understand it very well. Even a vicious dog that will kill any enemy for its master—once the leash is handed over, I will naturally find a way to make it change owners."
Milford pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses. The lenses reflected the pale winter light from outside the ward.
"As long as your secret is in my hands, that phantom thief will of course have no choice but to obey me. Cousin, are you still hesitating to let go of a tool used for dirty work?"
"Tool…"
The smile vanished from the girl's face in an instant, turning into a bottomless pool of ice.
"I had originally thought that a King of Blackmail capable of building such a vast information network in Birmingham must be a person of extraordinary foresight."
Her voice was low and full of contempt, as though she were looking at worthless scrap.
"It seems you are merely an arrogant fool who only knows how to scavenge in the gutters, who believes that holding a few secrets is enough to control all of humanity."
She stood up, appearing to have lost interest in the conversation.
"If you truly think that, then try taking that so-called chain from my hands. But, Mr. Milverton, let me say this just in case—"
Her gaze never wavered, piercing deep into those ash-green eyes.
"I can understand a poor relative from the countryside wanting a little meat from the table. But you must not forget who owns this table."
Mary's voice carried a faint warning.
"If you really believe a coffin named Appled will save your life, then by all means continue. When the day comes that everything is over, I sincerely hope you can still smile."
The moment he heard the name Appled, Milverton's smile froze for the first time since entering the ward.
"London's information network seems far more interesting than I had imagined."
Milverton took a deep breath and quickly regained his composure.
"I'll be looking forward to it, cousin."
He smiled at the girl in front of him again, showing no fear.
"If you know about Appled, then you should also understand what it means. If I make even the slightest mistake, or fail to issue a safety instruction within a certain time frame… it will not only be a matter of the secret that you killed your father and forged your identity. Letters concerning royal bastards and bribery scandals from the House of Commons will flood newspapers across Europe on the same day. Then not only will you and that mysterious thief be hanged—the entire British government will be swallowed by this tsunami."
"Mary Morstan, do you have the courage to bet? Are you prepared to perish together with Britain's honor?"
"Why would I think you wouldn't do such a thing?"
Mary countered without the slightest hesitation.
"Cousin Charles, it seems you are under some misunderstanding."
Mary placed the black veiled hat back on her head. The black veil drooped, covering half of her delicate yet cold face.
"I am neither a hereditary aristocrat who only cares about appearances, nor a hypocritical politician who needs votes. The face of the royal family? Cabinet ministers of the British government? What do those have to do with me?"
She sneered and walked toward the door of the hospital room.
"If you think that by using a terrifying system capable of blowing those arrogant gentlemen to pieces I will hand over Russell and the Morstan family and submit to them…" The girl placed her hand on the brass doorknob, tilted her head slightly, and the emerald-green eyes peering from behind the black veil held contempt.
"Then please, go ahead."
Click.
The door lock snapped shut. The oak door opened and then slammed closed behind the girl.
After Mary left the ward, the suffocating, cold atmosphere gradually dissipated.
Milverton stood there for a long time, speechless. He glanced down at the right hand still clenched into a fist and suddenly gave a small laugh.
"Uncle, did you see that just now?"
Milford turned his face toward Arthur, who had watched the entire scene.
"Your eyesight is as poor as ever."
….
Behind Mary, the oak door of the hospital room slammed shut, completely cutting off the nauseating arrogance and the smell of disinfectant.
The girl stopped in the corridor and slightly lowered her eyelids.
"Miss, are you all right?"
Old butler William, who had been waiting a few steps away, immediately stepped forward. Worry showed on his weathered face. He thought he had heard some unpleasant words from the ward, but out of propriety he had not lightly opened the door.
"I'm fine, William."
Mary took a deep breath. When she raised her face again, the bone-chilling cold had been completely replaced by a sense of powerlessness and fatigue. She reached up to adjust the black veiled hat on her head, hiding most of her expression behind the thin veil.
"Cousin Charles has only just arrived from Birmingham and seems to have some misunderstandings about the recent events within the family. It's all right; I've already explained it to him."
"That's good. At a time like this, the Morstan family cannot afford any more strife."
William sighed, then gently supported the girl's arm.
"The fog is thick outside. The carriage is already waiting at the gate. Shall we return to the mansion?"
"Mm."
Mary gave a light nod.
The carriage left St. Thomas' Hospital and headed toward Kensington. Inside the carriage Mary sat deeply in the seat, watching the scenery receding outside the window. The girl was reviewing the short exchange that had just taken place and summarizing it in her mind. She was extracting Charles Milverton's character traits and psychological state.
Charles Milverton.
Judging from the conversation just now, he was an extremely arrogant man with a strong desire for control. That arrogance was not groundless. His confidence came both from the mysterious Appled and from his contempt for human beings. In the eyes of that blackmailer, relationships between people were based only on interests, on exchanged for power, and on the fear of having influence over others. He could not understand loyalty, much less emotional bonds that transcended self-interest. He was an extreme egoist.
The girl murmured quietly in the dim carriage. Her tightly closed eyes slowly opened; in the emerald-green pupils appeared unconcealable disgust and contempt. Of the entire conversation, this was the only part that had truly angered her.
He might be targeting the Morstan business, or he might be using the truth of her congenital incurable disease to provoke her. But the only person who had pulled her out of the dark quagmire, accepted all of her selfishness and ambition, and even turned half of London upside down for her sake was Russell.
Was a mere blackmailer who only scavenged garbage from the gutters worthy of being called a "tool"? That was utterly foolish. If Appled had not been the sort of thing that made people hesitate to act, he would already have died at least ten times by now.
Yet it was precisely this fatal system that had prevented Mary from finding an appropriate countermeasure for some time. It was the same as the fact that no matter how advanced the mechanism or lock, simply building a wall is never as safe. This method is cumbersome, but it is undeniably effective. Whether it is her, Charlotte, Russell, or Mycroft—even if the entire military intelligence agency were mobilized—it would be difficult to find every critical element in this vast system and shut it down completely. Yet if they were careless and let even the slightest rumor of the secret leak, they would face total ruin.
She might have a way to escape. She could take Russell and flee far away. But the problem was whether Russell would accept that outcome. Would he abandon Charlotte, flee with her to another country, and live out the rest of his life in anonymous peace? Of course not. And if things really went in that direction, what difference would there be between her and La Dame aux Camélias?
The girl closed her eyes and kept thinking until the carriage gradually slowed.
"Whoa."
With the coachman's gentle call, the carriage came to a quiet stop in front of the gates of Kensington Manor. Old butler William opened the carriage door for her, and Mary stepped down and returned to the warm, comfortable house.
"Brew some tea and bring it to the study. Unless it is urgent, do not disturb me."
The girl issued the order, removed her coat, and immediately headed for the study.
"Yes, Miss."
William nodded lightly and then left.
Mary returned to the study, sat in the large chair that symbolized the head of the family, and gazed at the snowy scenery spreading beyond the window behind her, lost in countless thoughts. The fireplace in the study burned brightly. A thin layer of condensation had formed on the glass window; the gray London evening sky, frozen like lead, had turned into a blurred mass of light and shadow. In the spacious study only the regular ticking of the pendulum clock resounded.
Amid the sound of the second hand, the girl meticulously unraveled the mystery, pushing her talent for criminal investigation to its limit in an attempt to find even the slightest flaw in the Appled matter. Yet the more Mary thought, the deeper the furrows between her brows became. She realized it was nearly impossible. Using ordinary logic to speculate on the situation, Appled was in a complete deadlock. Because it did not rely on any specific physical warehouse, there was no security system that could be breached by concentrated attack. It was not premised on Milverton's absolute safety; rather, it turned his vital signs into an extremely unstable detonator. Those guardians scattered across the whole of Britain, of every possible background, were like countless powder magazines lurking in the shadows, waiting for the invisible fuse to catch fire.
"Untraceable, untouchable, uncontrollable…"
Mary closed her eyes and whispered the evaluation of Appled that Charlotte had relayed from Mycroft. Even the investigators of the British government could not find it; the police dogs of Scotland Yard could not catch its scent; even a master thief like Russel, who could freely enter and leave Buckingham Palace, could find no way to lay hands on it. Against this vast, distributed Dead Hand system, physical intrusion or theft was completely ineffective. Even if every safe in Milverton's possession could be opened, it would be impossible to stop a letter from Birmingham arriving at an editor's desk without any interference.
In quiet contemplation, time slipped silently by. Mary returned to herself from deep thought only when William gently knocked on the study door, carrying a steaming cup of Darjeeling tea.
"Put it on the table, William."
The girl rubbed her slightly aching temples.
"Miss, there is one more matter."
The old butler set down the silver tray, casually took a letter from the pocket of his coat, and handed it to Mary with both hands.
"The doorman received a letter for you from the Savoy Hotel."
The Savoy Hotel.
Mary paused for a moment; the emerald-green eyes that until a moment ago had shown signs of fatigue instantly regained their usual sharpness. She stretched out her hand and took the envelope. The envelope was of high quality and carried a faint cigar scent. The sealing wax was not the Morstan family seal but a custom seal symbolizing Milverton.
"Understood. You may go."
Mary issued the order in a calm tone. When the study door closed again, the girl picked up a smooth silver paper knife and skillfully pried open the vivid red sealing wax. Opening the letter revealed a passage written in elegant, refined English calligraphy.
My dearest cousin Mary, I hope the unexpected events of this afternoon at the hospital have not dampened your enthusiasm for inspecting the East District factories. At first I had considered that a genius capable of manipulating the Morstan family would be the wiser choice. Unfortunately, your foolish arrogance and your blind determination to protect a mere tool-dog have clouded your judgment. I do not care whether you know about Appled, because that is precisely Appled's purpose—to make everyone who tries to rebel against me tremble and despair before this unsolvable abyss. London winters are always abnormally cold, yet this year Christmas seems to be arriving earlier than usual. I am a very patient businessman, but I detest meaningless waiting. Counting from today, there are exactly fourteen days until Christmas—that is, a maximum of two weeks. These two weeks are the time for you to sit on the family head's throne and, one last time, reminisce about your youth and power. When Christmas comes, I hope I will receive a Christmas present. If possible, I would like a complete contract for the transfer of shares in the Morstan Group, preferably presented by that mysterious thief himself. If I do not receive a present I will be very sad, and once I become sad, nothing else will matter. I await your wise decision. —Your future head of household, Charles Morstan Milverton
The white letter was slowly clenched in Mary's white fingers.
Fourteen days.
This was Milverton's ultimatum.
"A fool's dream."
Mary gave a contemptuous smile and casually tossed the threatening, arrogant letter into the blazing fire of the fireplace. The flames instantly enveloped the expensive letter; Charles Milverton's name twisted, scorched, and finally became a few ashes that were carried up by the hot air and disappeared into the chimney.
…
"Fourteen days?"
Charlotte held a teacup, raised one eyebrow, then let out a cold laugh.
"That man has truly excellent timing. Only fourteen days left until Christmas. If we package the Morstan mansion and Moriarty together and deliver them to him, there would be no more valuable Christmas present in the world. Who could argue with that?"
Mary said curtly.
"Where is the letter?"
Russell asked.
"Burned."
The girl lifted her chin and pointed at the brightly burning fireplace.
"Burned?"
"Otherwise, what would be the point of keeping it? It's just a nuisance, isn't it?"
Mary said, then looked at Charlotte.
"What do you think about Appled?"
"Mycroft said that MI6 has been searching for years without result, and because of its special nature they never dared to launch a large-scale search."
Charlotte said. She paused for a moment, then looked up at Mary as though remembering something.
"Have you met Milverton?"
"I've seen him. At the hospital."
"What kind of impression did he give?"
"I hate him."
The girl answered without hesitation.
"Arrogant, conceited, extremely controlling, always wearing a nauseating smile, and he recognized me immediately."
"Your identity…" Charlotte and Russell frowned at the same time.
"Professor?"
The girl nodded lightly. With her movement the heavy atmosphere seemed to thicken further.
"He still has one trump card hidden—no, two."
Charlotte shrugged.
"He knows you are not a true member of the Morstan family. Therefore, when he eventually impeaches you, he can directly secure the moral high ground. And do not forget your position as Professor. If he brings that out, he might be able to persuade Mycroft, but I have no confidence that he can stop Lestrade."
"I never expected Scotland Yard to show me any leniency in the first place."
Mary picked up the slightly cooled Darjeeling tea in front of her, took a light sip, then set it on the blue-and-white porcelain coaster with a faint clink. She gently stroked the rim of the cup with her fingertips.
"Besides, whether he knows I am the Professor is not actually important. To a blackmailer who believes that everyone in the world is driven by profit and fear, the title 'Professor' is nothing more than a gang leader with a little extra power."
"Then what do you intend to do?"
Charlotte asked. "While there is still time—including today, the remaining fourteen days… no, thirteen days—shall we enjoy the days as head of the family and then retire?"
"Is that even possible? I'm still young."
The girl snorted. "This is precisely the time to shine."
She paused, then said, "Yesterday I spent the whole day thinking about Appled. Even if it is a fatal system, it still needs a central hub, doesn't it?"
Mary looked up at Charlotte.
"Milverton absolutely needs a means of sending security codes outward."
"And?"
Charlotte asked, "If you were in my position, what would you do?"
"If it were me, I would place the headquarters in Birmingham, but I would also need a way to send regular messages to my subordinates no matter where I am…" The girl frowned slightly. "This has to be done in a convenient way that no one would ever notice."
Assuming Milverton's Appled has a distributed structure, even just transmitting the security code would take a considerable amount of time. He could never write a letter and send it to the first node, which then forwards it to the second node—that would take far too long. The best approach is to find a method that can be observed simultaneously without raising suspicion.
Her voice suddenly stopped, then she abruptly raised her face and met Charlotte's gaze. As though connected by telepathy, the two spoke in unison.
"Newspapers."