A few days later, Arthur could be seen sitting alone on an old wooden bench at the edge of the park near the Leonharth family estate, the park he had often visited during his early childhood to play or to get a change of scenery and some fresh air when he grew tired of studying all day.
The sky was covered with light clouds, interspersed with pale sunlight filtering quietly through the branches, while the wind caressed the leaves of the trees, scattering them around him like silent whispers.
But even though the place seemed vibrant with the sounds of passersby and children's laughter in the distance, Arthur remained immersed in his own silence, as if the noise of the outside world was no longer able to penetrate his thoughts.
His gaze was lost, fixed on the distant horizon without focusing on anything in particular, while his features reflected the unfamiliar heaviness that had begun to form within him since his return to the present after his encounter with that accursed Cult.
Of course, to anyone who did not know the story, the scene was nothing more than a child sitting in temporary isolation, perhaps due to grief or something similar. But inside him, the isolation was a whole world in which he struggled with endless questions and a strange feeling that grew inside him the more he tried to ignore it.
"Ahhh... Damn it, William, why did you have to force me to go out at a time like this, just when I was starting to get some results in my research on the mystical world?"
That was Arthur's thought at that moment as he looked at the other children around him playing and laughing all over the park. If it were up to him, Arthur would have preferred to continue researching the mysterious side of things, especially after reaching some very promising conclusions while exploring his father's studies.
But suddenly, as he was thinking, the relative calm of the place was broken by the screams of an elderly woman, whose terrified voice rose: "Aaaah! Someone stole my bag! It's gone!"
Hearing the high-pitched scream, the children around her naturally stopped playing, and some faces began to turn toward her with curiosity and confusion, while a few people approached the elderly woman—two men and three women—trying to calm her down. The woman was trembling as she explained that she had placed her small leather bag next to the bench, and when she turned around to feed the pigeons, it had completely disappeared.
Of course, among everyone at the scene, Arthur sat still for a moment, but his eyes began to work with intense focus. Ultimately, for him, this situation was not as complicated as it seemed to others, but at the same time, he realized that something was not quite right about the scene.
With just a glance around, he had noticed how the old lady had been sitting next to a narrow dirt path leading to the trees, and on the dirt there were irregular footprints that looked recent, as if someone had rushed in that direction. But of course, Arthur, with his extensive experience in dealing with such cases, especially in dealing with a certain troublesome thief he had encountered many times during his work as a detective, did not allow himself to be carried away by this superficial clue, as it was very obvious that it was a deliberate distraction.
As he scanned the scene around him, his gaze fell on a young boy standing a few steps away from the incident, holding a red balloon and watching the chaos with a glance. His hand faltered for a moment as he touched his jacket pocket, but Arthur did not jump to conclusions. On the contrary, he smiled to himself after seeing this, as it was quite clear to him that this little boy knew something, and perhaps he had even seen the real culprit among the five who had gathered around the old lady to calm her down.
Arthur then turned his gaze back to the five people surrounding the woman. They were all talking to her at once, showing sympathy and concern, but one of the five in particular caught his attention. He was speaking in an overly confident tone, as if trying to calm her down too much, yet his right hand had been hidden in his pocket since the beginning of the situation, and he had never taken it out.
Seeing this, Arthur muttered to himself in a low voice, "Hmm... The footprints there are nothing more than a misdirection, and the perpetrator can't be too far away... He must be very close, closer than you think."
Then he looked up at the boy and saw a slight glint in his eyes, as if he wanted to point something out but was hesitant to speak. Arthur realized that the solution lay not in blindly following the tracks, but in piecing together the small clues: the boy's confusion, the hand hidden in his pocket, and the exaggerated display of sympathy.
But the most important question was: how could he expose the perpetrator and prove his case? He couldn't just walk up to the crowd and start explaining his conclusions directly, as no sane person would believe the words of a nine-year-old child over those of an adult . He had faced the same problem before when he first started working as a consulting detective, but at that time, he was at least fourteen years old and was known for his extraordinary genius after graduating from university at the age of fourteen and obtaining two PhDs, among other achievements. This was not available to him now, as a mere nine-year-old child, making his current situation much more complicated.
So Arthur thought calmly, observing every little detail as he was accustomed to doing. The small footprints in the dirt were scattered and narrow, and the fact that their depth was shallow did not match the weight of an adult; the distance between the steps was uneven, as if they had been made on purpose. Underneath some of them, at the edge of the path, there were finer, deeper prints with a distinctive pattern, as if they were the prints of a larger shoe that had been partially smudged. On the bench, near where the bag had been, Arthur noticed light scratches in the wood, as if something had been pulled quickly, rather than just carried gently.
With all these signs and clues logically gathered in his mind, it was not difficult for him to reach the following conclusion: "The small traces are just bait to mislead the observer, while the real perpetrator had passed close to the bench and tried to hide his traces." Another point did not escape his notice: one of the five people who had gathered around the woman did not remove his hand from his pocket the entire time, and his right palm had a fresh dirt mark on the edge of his coat, and his shoes showed a pattern similar to the deeper mark in the dirt. This was certainly no coincidence.
Of course, Arthur himself had no desire to make any direct accusations before gathering simple evidence that would break the excuse of doubt. He decided to reveal the facts gradually, so that they would appear clearly to those present without exaggeration. He walked calmly until he was close enough to look at the footprints and the bench without causing a commotion. In a voice that was audible but not loud, he said, "The small footprints are a game. Look underneath them, there is a deeper imprint that has not been completely erased."
All eyes turned automatically to the dirt; some whispers broke out, then Arthur added in an even calmer tone, "Whoever stole the bag didn't run far. He approached the bench, ran his hand over it, and probably hid the bag somewhere nearby, not under the lady's bench, but perhaps in his jacket pocket."
It was not a direct accusation, but rather a transparent ploy to divert public attention to the behavior of one of those present. Then a nervous smile flashed across the face of the man in the light-colored coat, unnoticed by everyone except Arthur, of course, followed by a slight tremor in his fist as he clutched his hidden hand.
Using this simple trick, Arthur had confronted his current problem with a meticulous plan based on manipulating the crowd by highlighting evidence and directing public opinion. In this way, he had managed to identify the perpetrator without making any direct accusations. Either the suspect would be forced to voluntarily show his pocket to prove his innocence—which he would not do, as it would be an explicit admission of guilt—or his confusion would expose him if he tried to evade the issue. Only then did Arthur whisper to the boy carrying the red balloon, who looked nervous, "Do you remember if the man in the light-colored coat approached the bench?"
The child, who had indeed glimpsed a quick movement, nodded and then said in a low voice that was audible to everyone: "Yes... I saw that same man approach and quickly put something in his jacket pocket."
After that, there was a moment of silence before the old lady, confused, asked the man in the light-colored coat to have his coat checked. The request was not aggressive, but came as a quiet invitation from the old lady, who had decided to believe Arthur, who simply explained what he had noticed: "The print here is slightly larger, and this patch of mud on his heel is the same as the one on the ground." His explanation was concise and based on physical observations, not emotional accusations.
The man shifted uncomfortably, then slowly raised his hand to open his coat from the inside; there, between the lining of the coat, something strange protruded... the woman's leather bag, which had lifted part of the lining with it.
Cheers and whispers erupted from the crowd as the woman clutched her bag, tears streaming down her cheeks from a mixture of relief and anger. The man stammered, trying to justify himself, but the traces of mud on his shoes and the imprint of his footprints in the dirt were too clear to deny in front of everyone.
Arthur stood calmly, not boasting, but a faint sense of satisfaction crept into him before he thought, "The right questions and careful observation are more than enough to dismantle simple deceptions and illusions like this and reveal the truth. But of course, such a thing would hardly be effective against crimes associated with the mystical world... But for now, it was more than enough."
"Oh, I must say, as expected of the great detective! Don't you agree, Arthur Leonharth, king of mysteries?"
Arthur had barely left the scene quietly, after the police came to arrest the man, who he later learned was named Bond White, and was sitting on one of the wooden benches in a remote corner of the park near the trees, when a cheerful and unfamiliar voice pierced his ears, coming from beside him, addressing him in a confident tone that carried a hint of humor.