Hearing this, Russell raised an eyebrow, his expression betraying nothing false.
"Probably because, after pulling off the theft, he found that Lloyds Bank had tightened its security," he explained.
"In any case, the documents he stole belonged to your family — so what does it matter who he returns them to?"
"Is that so?" Mary raised an eyebrow. "That actually sounds rather reasonable."
She nodded, looking as though she had truly been convinced by Russell's line of reasoning.
"Then what do you think," she said, switching to another topic.
"The newspapers make Moriarty out to be something miraculous — this Midnight Phantom, an afterimage that bullets can't catch... do you think it's real?"
"How could it be." Russell scoffed without a second thought, as if he'd heard some colossal joke.
"Those reporters will make up anything for the sake of sales.
A few smoke bombs, plus a bit of skill, combined with the exaggerated accounts of those robbers who've never seen the wider world — and there you have it, no?"
As he spoke, he gave a casual wave of his hand, as though he couldn't care less about Moriarty's whole bag of mystifying tricks.
This performance, falling into Mary's eyes, made the girl want to laugh out loud.
Had she not known the truth, she might really have been taken in by his acting.
It seemed that even if this fellow didn't become a Phantom Thief, he could probably make a name for himself as an actor at the Royal Grand Theatre.
"Come to think of it, Charlotte's guess really was spot on," Mary went on.
"I never imagined Moriarty would actually go all the way to Buckingham Palace — and steal a snuff bottle, no less."
She made no mention of Princess Louise, behaving as though she had no inkling of the deeper inside story behind it all.
"And it seems Mycroft really didn't tell Buckingham Palace about it."
"Mm, Charlotte said the same." Russell nodded.
"At this point it's basically confirmed that he's connected to Moriarty. It may not be the kind of relationship we guessed, but there's certainly some cooperation between the two of them."
"But what sort of cooperation would require Moriarty to enter Buckingham Palace?" Mary tilted her head, feigning puzzlement.
"And even with Mycroft choosing to keep silent, given the Palace's usual security, it's not as if one can simply waltz in at will.
How do you think... Moriarty managed it?"
"You're asking me? How would I know?" Russell blinked. "Maybe he threw on a yellow vest, hoisted a telescoping ladder onto his shoulder, and just strolled right in."
"Really?"
"You'd have to ask Moriarty about that." Russell shrugged.
This watertight performance, in Mary's eyes, was particularly delightful.
She listened quietly, the laughter in those lovely azure eyes almost brimming over.
"So, do you think Moriarty will return to Buckingham Palace again?"
"Probably not. The snuff bottle's already in the newspaper's hands, isn't it? By now it's likely been recovered by Buckingham Palace, so there'd be no point in him going back.
Unless he's still set on proving to the Palace that, having come once, he can come a second time — otherwise I can't think of any reason for him to return."
Russell shook his head, his argument well-founded and reasoned.
"Is that so?" A meaningful smile surfaced on Mary's face.
The girl gently tucked a stray lock of silver hair behind her ear, her body unconsciously drifting a little closer toward Russell.
Her warm breath, carrying the fragrance of white tea, hovered faint and elusive at the tip of Russell's nose.
"But what if, just maybe, what he stole was actually more than the snuff bottle?"
"Hm?" Russell's motion paused, almost imperceptibly.
That brief flicker of bewilderment did not escape Mary's eyes.
It was just like how, once you know the secret behind a magic trick, when the same trick is performed again, the audience's attention can hardly stay fixed on the original place.
To Mary, Russell at this moment was riddled with openings.
"What do you mean?" Russell turned his head, coming face to face with the girl's azure eyes, so very close now.
"What I mean is," Mary lowered her voice.
"What if, when Moriarty went to Buckingham Palace, what he stole was actually more than the snuff bottle — what if he stole something else as well?
That snuff bottle was nothing but a decoy to muddle people's perceptions, just like last week's advance-notice letter.
What if that's the possibility?"
"..." Russell fell silent for a moment.
"Why... would you come up with an assumption like that?" he couldn't help asking.
You also turned it on?
"Because it doesn't fit Moriarty's persona, that's why," Mary said with a smile.
"You see, in the past he always returned any valuables he stole, and exposed any dirt he stole.
But this time, he stole a snuff bottle and handed it straight over to the newspaper — why is that?"
"Because he wanted the newspaper to know he'd been to Buckingham Palace."
"But he wouldn't need to give the thing to the newspaper for that. He could just let them have a look and confirm it."
"Well... the newspaper would still have to photograph it, wouldn't they," Russell said.
"He can hardly hold up that snuff bottle and have the reporters come up one by one for close-ups, can he? That would be far too much bother."
"Hmm... that does sound reasonable too," Mary said noncommittally.
"But I still think my assumption has a point to it." She said it stubbornly, like an obstinate child.
Please, don't go being right.
If you're right, then I'm the one who's done for.
Russell couldn't help thinking it, yet aloud he chose to go along with her.
"It's not entirely impossible, I suppose. Why don't you give Mycroft or Buckingham Palace a call too?"
At his words, the smile at the corner of Mary's mouth deepened.
"That does sound like a good idea... As it happens, Moriarty said some rather rude things to me before.
I might as well seize the chance to make a bit of trouble for him."
Russell was momentarily struck speechless.
Oh no — have I really turned into a 258?
"This Moriarty really has done every wicked thing under the sun," Russell remarked with feeling.
"Indeed, indeed." Mary nodded. "Not only does he speak offensively, he's a liar too."
"?"
I did that as well?
Never mind — if you say so, then so be it.
Russell didn't pick up that thread of conversation any further.
Because he saw Professor Fields walk in through the main entrance.
It was time for class.
The morning's lesson slowly got underway amid The Professor's steady, composed lecturing.
Mary, too, reined in the smile at the corner of her mouth and turned her attention to the class.
After some unknown length of time, she sensed that the seat beside her had gradually gone quiet.
Mary didn't disturb him.
She simply sat there quietly, the fountain pen in her hand rustling across the notebook, recording every key point on the blackboard.
It was just that today, she seemed to drift off more easily than usual.
Those beautiful azure eyes would, time and again, unconsciously stray from the blackboard and the notebook, quietly coming to rest on the fellow beside her who was sleeping so soundly.
She watched his shoulders rise and fall faintly with each breath, watched the contour of his profile that looked especially gentle in the sunlight, watched those few disobedient strands of black hair curling up.
Everything was the same as always, no different in the slightest.
And yet, in Mary's eyes, all of it had become utterly different.
It was like a book you've read many times over, so familiar you couldn't possibly know it better, in which, during one idle, careless flip-through, you suddenly discover an Easter egg the author had tucked away between the lines — one never noticed before.
And so, the whole book became fascinating because of it.
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