There were not many classes in the afternoon.
By the time the last class ended, it was only around three o'clock—more than enough time to rush back to Baker Street.
"Do you have other arrangements for the afternoon, Mr. Watson?"
Mary put down the fountain pen in her hand, looking at Russell, who had already packed his things and was ready to bolt.
"No arrangements per se, but I have to discuss the case with Holmes first."
Russell said, "This is also for the sake of my sleep quality tonight."
"Very well." Hearing this, Mary nodded. "Then, see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
Bidding farewell to Mary, Russell walked quickly out of the classroom, exited the school gates, boarded a tram, and set off in the direction of Baker Street.
Meanwhile, inside the classroom, the faint smile at the corner of Mary's mouth only gradually converged after watching Russell's figure disappear.
The young girl slowly and methodically packed her things, occasionally lifting her head to respond with the most basic social etiquette and attitude to those classmates who gradually crowded over, attempting to curry favor.
For Mary Morstan, socializing with others and observing people's expressions were skills she had already mastered by heart when she was small.
What attitude to take with what kind of person, what tone to use, and what kind of response to give to get the result or answer she wanted.
These things were like one fill-in-the-blank question after another. Once you do enough of them and get a feel for the questions, you naturally learn to apply the formulas.
For no reason, Mary thought of last night and the "praise" that rude Phantom Thief had given her.
—A slick social butterfly.
Even though she was reluctant to admit it, the young girl could not deny this answer in her heart.
She just hated having someone point it out to her face.
"Tsk."
The moment she thought of that guy's face, begging for a beating last night, Mary couldn't help but click her tongue.
Next time she sees him, she must break his legs.
·
·
[Mary Morstan is dissatisfied with your provocative behavior last night. Malice Points +10]
"?"
Russell, who was on the tram, looked up, subconsciously looking left and right, his eyes blank.
What the hell?
What did I do now?
Why is she settling old scores at this moment?
Don't guess a woman's mind; you'll never understand it no matter how much you guess.
Russell sighed, then got off at his destination stop.
Just as he pushed open the door to 221B Baker Street, he saw Mrs. Hudson busy in the kitchen.
"Russell, you're back so early?"
"Yes, didn't have many classes this afternoon." Russell nodded. "Where is Holmes?"
"You mean Charlotte? She has stayed in her room all day today and hasn't come out, except for lunch."
Mrs. Hudson said, "She seems to be busy with some big case, but she hasn't had any train of thought."
"It's only right that she has no train of thought." Russell laughed, then walked up the stairs. "Because the direction was wrong from the very beginning."
He stopped at the door of Charlotte's room. Just as he was reaching out to open the door, it was opened from the inside first.
Charlotte Holmes was standing in the doorway, wearing that loose nightgown from last night.
Clearly, the case of Nicholas Winter had annoyed her so much that she hadn't even bothered to change her clothes.
"Who did you just say was wrong in their direction?"
Before Russell could speak, Charlotte launched a preemptive strike.
"You, of course." Russell said neither humbly nor arrogantly. "From the beginning, the direction of your deduction was wrong."
Hearing this, Charlotte's gray-blue eyes narrowed slightly, like a provoked kitten.
She didn't refute him immediately but turned sideways to make way, signaling with her eyes for Russell to enter.
The level of chaos in the room could only be said to surpass that of last night.
Nicholas Winter's files, photos of the scene, and Edgar Wright's biographical data were scattered all over the floor, while the skull on the fireplace mantel seemed to be mocking it all.
"An ordinary person who just finished university courses is now coming to tell me that my deduction is wrong.
Please begin your performance, Mr. Watson. I am all ears."
Charlotte's voice betrayed no emotion. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, looking at Russell.
"I wouldn't call it a performance." Russell familiarly navigated around the minefield on the floor and found a clean spot to stand.
"If I said I had a dream last night, would you believe me?"
"A dream?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow, the impatience in her eyes almost overflowing.
"If you want to say some stupid nonsense about an angel telling you the truth in a dream, I will ask you to leave right now."
[Charlotte Holmes feels intense impatience toward your mystification. Malice Points +20]
See, getting anxious again.
"Don't rush," Russell shrugged. "I just happened to hear some rumors at the university.
And that news happened to prove one thing—you got the motive wrong from the start."
"Motive?" Charlotte sneered. "To inherit a fortune large enough to change one's destiny—is that not enough?"
"But what if this fortune was destined to be his long ago?" Russell asked in return.
The mocking expression on Charlotte's face froze for an instant.
"Go on." She was concise.
"Someone told me that Nicholas Winter had prepared to leave everything to his apprentice from the very beginning, and he had said so personally in a public setting."
Russell said.
"And his apprentice, Mr. Edgar Wright, was present at the time."
Hearing this, Charlotte fell silent.
"That doesn't prove anything," she asked. "What if he couldn't wait?"
"This involves the second rumor I heard." Russell smiled mysteriously.
"Nicholas Winter didn't have long to live."
"...!"
Charlotte's pupils contracted abruptly.
"The specific illness is unknown. It was initially misdiagnosed as consumption, but evidently, it wasn't.
It was likely some disease that cannot be diagnosed with current medical standards."
Russell explained calmly.
"Moreover, not many people knew about this matter.
A teacher with numbered days, and an apprentice with confirmed inheritance rights.
Tell me, Miss Holmes, does your theory of murder for money still hold water?"
Charlotte stared fixedly at him. The room fell into a terrifying silence, with only the hustle and bustle of Baker Street faintly drifting in from outside the window.
"Source of information."
After a long while, she finally spoke, her voice dry.
"Miss Mary Morstan." Russell sold Mary out with complete decisiveness.
He didn't believe Charlotte would go to confront her.
Even if she really went, given Mary's level, Charlotte probably wouldn't gain any advantage.
Taking another ten thousand steps back—
He liked watching women fight the most.
Hearing this name, a trace of realization flashed through Charlotte's eyes.
"So it was her." She muttered to herself in a low voice, then fell into deep thought once again.
The original logic chain collapsed, and at this moment, a new logic chain was being established at high speed in Charlotte's mind.
Less than two minutes later, Charlotte raised her head again, then walked quickly to the telephone in the room.
Dialing, picking up the receiver, all in one smooth motion.
"Lestrade."
Charlotte had no intention of exchanging pleasantries and cut straight to the point.
"Release the man. Nicholas Winter committed suicide."
________________________________________
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