The next morning, the snow finally stopped in London.
Golden winter sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the snow-covered streets and reflecting a slightly dazzling, cold light.
On the Imperial College campus, snowplows had already cleared the cobblestone paths before dawn.
As Mary and Russell walked side by side onto campus, a subtle shift in atmosphere could be felt.
Although the students still kept their distance, the initial sympathy and pity had begun to mix with awe and surprise.
"The Guardian seems to have sold very well this morning."
Russell had his hands in his coat pockets as he glanced at several students gathered in front of the bulletin board, whispering among themselves.
Without exception, they were all holding morning newspapers that smelled of fresh ink.
"People love stories of the weak overcoming adversity, don't they?"
Mary wore a camel wool coat over a white turtleneck sweater, her long hair casually tied with a ribbon. She smiled and nodded lightly at the professors who cast admiring glances her way as they passed. Her voice carried composure and confidence.
"Moreover, compared to cold, impersonal commercial advertisements, these human-interest reports are far more likely to evoke empathy."
"Paying Christmas bonuses out of your own pocket?"
Russell raised one eyebrow and lowered his voice.
"It's a very basic investment."
Mary naturally took Russell's arm as they walked slowly toward the school building, their feet sinking into the remaining snow.
"Yesterday, the East District textile factory was on the verge of a strike. The accounting staff were in complete chaos."
"I had William bring over several boxes of cash, settle the wages of a few troublemakers in front of everyone, and fire them on the spot. Then I gave the remaining workers five shillings each. The workers who had initially hesitated to join the riot quickly recognized the instigators as enemies trying to destroy their livelihoods."
A mischievous light appeared in the girl's emerald eyes.
"Not only did that quell the disturbance, but it also became a perfect free PR opportunity for me with the Guardian."
"Under normal circumstances, this would have cost more than five shillings."
"Not bad."
Russell avoided a direct comment and said, "Just slap someone and then give them a piece of candy."
"Thank you for the compliment."
Mary readily accepted it. "But this is only an appetizer."
Her smile faded slightly. "Those relatives who are scheming behind the scenes are probably gathered in some corner of a club right now, plotting how I'll counterattack next."
The two entered the warm corridor of the school building and removed their hats and gloves, which were covered in cold air.
"So, do you need my help?"
Russell keenly sensed the meaning hidden behind the girl's words.
"Is this something you're requesting of your own volition?"
Mary stopped, turned around, and looked up at Russell from a corner where no one could see them.
"There are just over ten days left until Christmas. To have a safe and peaceful Christmas, I need decisive evidence—or rather, leverage."
She spoke gently and leaned forward, her warm breath almost touching Russell's chin.
"Would that skilled thief who can move freely between Scotland Yard and Buckingham Palace retrieve it for a poor girl like me who has just lost her father's protection?"
"Am I allowed to refuse?"
Russell asked.
"Do you really think you can pull this off?"
The girl blinked and looked at him with a pitiful expression.
"Besides, they're after the Morstan family's assets right now. That's the same as going after your assets, isn't it?"
As she spoke, she leaned even closer to Russell.
"What's mine is yours. So they're trying to take part of your money, darling."
"The Morstan family has nothing but property and pounds. Especially without a man as the head of the family—that's the biggest problem, don't you think?"
"If I refuse again, I'll seem weak-willed."
Russell said.
"Then, Mr. Thief, does that mean you've accepted this request?"
Mary laughed.
"Since it's a requested job, there should be a target, right?"
Russell said.
"Indeed."
The girl nodded lightly, put her hand into her coat pocket, and took out a folded card.
Using the act of linking arms with Russell as cover, she slipped the card into his pocket.
"The names and addresses are all written here."
She said in a low voice.
"There were three in total. Uncle Benson, the instigator of the strike; cousin Philip, who was in charge of auditing the South Shore warehouse; and the uncle who always acted like a heavyweight on the board of directors. I knew they had been up to no good for years—embezzlement of public funds, illegal gambling debts in the black market, or raising illegitimate children outside. They must be hiding something in their hideouts."
"But all I know are the names and addresses. The rest depends on Mr. Moriarty's abilities."
Mary took a step back. Her emerald-green eyes were filled with absolute trust.
"That's enough."
Russell traced the outline of the parchment in his pocket through the coat fabric with his long, slender fingers.
"When do you need it?"
"Of course, the sooner the better."
Mary said.
"Understood."
Russell nodded lightly.
Just then, the clear school bell rang from the end of the corridor, interrupting the criminal plans the two had been hatching in the dark corner.
"Come on, it's time for class."
Mary instantly regained her composure and returned to her usual obedient, gentle female student persona. She even straightened Russell's coat collar before they walked side by side into the spacious lecture hall.
Mary opened her textbook and rested her chin on her hand, continuing to play the role of the model student.
Russell quietly opened the notebook in front of him, but in reality, his consciousness had already sunk into the semi-transparent system panel appearing on his retina.
Once he knew the targets' names, the rest of the preparation was as simple as it could be.
By paying a small amount of malicious points, he could obtain real-time 3D maps.
Although Russell appeared to be listening to the lecture, his mind was elsewhere, completely absorbed in the map he had purchased from the system.
The three of them lived in different locations.
Benson Morstan lived in Mayfair, Philip Morstan lived in London's South Bank, and the elderly Adrian Morstan, who boasted of his age, lived in central London.
Mayfair was one of London's wealthiest districts. Its security level was second only to Buckingham Palace and Westminster Palace, with a very high density of police patrols.
Meanwhile, the South Bank was a mixed area of industrial zones and warehouse districts. Since Philip Morstan had been the one responsible for stirring up trouble there, his hideout was probably filled with thuggish bodyguards for shady dealings.
On the other hand, Adrian, who relied on his age and social status, lived in London, where financial capitalists gathered.
"What are you thinking about? Your brows are furrowed."
A whisper came from beside him. Mary had approached without him noticing.
She held a pen in her hand and appeared to be diligently taking notes, but in reality, she had drawn a small figure wearing a top hat on the edge of the parchment.
"I'm planning tonight's schedule."
Russell didn't turn his head. He simply reached out and gently straightened the crooked brim of the top hat the girl had drawn with her finger.
"The three spots are a bit far apart, so staying overnight might be a bit much."
Visiting all three locations in one night wasn't realistic, so the best approach was to split them across three nights, one location per night.
Perfect timing!
Including today, there were only three days left until the holiday. This would give Mary free time and energy to use as a warning to discipline someone.
Of course, just because it was unrealistic didn't mean it was impossible. If he scouted the locations in advance and set up teleportation anchors, he was confident he could handle everything in one day—not just in London, but even in Sheffield or Birmingham. However, that was unnecessary, and explaining it to Charlotte wouldn't be easy either.
How was he supposed to explain to her that he had appeared in places several kilometers—or even dozens of kilometers—away in a single day?
"There's no need to rush," Mary said. "The sooner the better, of course, but I need time too. Even if you get their weaknesses in the next moment, I can't do anything right away."
She said quietly. "Just go at your own pace."
"Then three nights it is."
Russell said, "One per night."
"Understood. I'll do as you say."
The girl nodded obediently.
That day's classes ended with both of them lost in their own thoughts.
When the bell for the final class rang, Russell closed his notebook and looked at the drawings of little Russell with cat ears that Mary had doodled all over the notebook, letting out a helpless sigh.
"Aren't you going to break that habit of doodling?"
As he spoke, he tore off the completely ruined piece of parchment.
"But it's so boring."
Mary retorted confidently. "I already know everything those old professors are talking about. If I don't have something to do, I'll fall asleep."
As she spoke, she efficiently packed her stationery into an elegant handbag.
Over the past few days, there had been so much to handle at Morstan Manor that the two of them hadn't engaged in their usual inappropriate private tutoring in an empty classroom after school.
They walked side by side out of Imperial College. London's evening rain began to fall again, and the freshly cleared roads were covered in a thin layer of frost.
"Well then, I'll leave tonight to you, Mr. Thief."
Mary stood beside the Morstan family's black carriage and turned around. Her emerald-green eyes shone with absolute trust.
"Who's our first target tonight?"
She asked softly. Even on a busy street, her whisper sounded like lovers' playful banter.
"Benson, who lives in Mayfair."
Russell spoke in a flat tone.
"If he's the one who incited the strike today, he'll be the one to rebel tomorrow. This man is courting death."
The girl couldn't help but chuckle upon hearing this.
"Then I'll be waiting for good news!"
She stood on tiptoe, ignoring the casual glances from the surrounding students, and gently kissed Russell's coat collar as though blessing a knight heading into battle.
"See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
Russell watched the Morstan family's carriage disappear down the snow-covered street, his calm expression gradually fading.
He turned around and walked toward Baker Street, against the flow of people leaving school in the evening.
When he returned to 221B, Mrs. Hudson was preparing dinner in the kitchen. The rich aroma of stewed beef drifted up the stairs.
"Welcome back, Russell."
Mrs. Hudson poked her head out of the kitchen and greeted her with a smile.
"Dinner will be ready soon. Go call Charlotte."
"That child spent the whole day upstairs again today."
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson."
Russell took off his snow-covered coat and headed upstairs to the second floor.
When he pushed open the living room door, Charlotte was still wearing that oversized men's thick knit cardigan, curled up on the armchair like a lazy cat.
She held a thick, unfamiliar foreign-language book in her hands, with a wool blanket over her legs.
Even when she heard the door open, she didn't bother to raise her eyelids.
"Has the famous detective's muscle pain eased up at all today?"
Russell approached her and asked in a slightly teasing tone.
"Shut up."
Charlotte coldly spat out two words, but the slightly reddened tips of her ears betrayed her true feelings.
However, she seemed to have recovered—at least mostly recovered.
The girl closed the book with a snap and raised her gray-blue eyes, staring sharply at Russell.
"It seems someone is finally planning to return to their old ways tonight?"
"How did you figure that out?"
Russell asked curiously. "I didn't say anything, did I?"
"Expression, micro-expressions, and small gestures."
Charlotte said in a calm tone.
"You look like you're about to pounce."
"Yeah."
Russell didn't deny it.
"Where are you going tonight?"
Charlotte asked with interest.
"Mayfair first."
Russell stated the facts honestly.
"Mayfair district…"
Charlotte narrowed her eyes slightly and instinctively began thinking.
"If I remember correctly, that area is home to many factory owners and old families who have amassed immense wealth since the Industrial Revolution. Considering Miss Morstan's recent strike crisis, tonight's target must be her uncle, Benson Morstan, right?"
"You know that too?"
"Is it that difficult to find out who Arthur Morstan's family members are?"
Charlotte countered matter-of-factly.
"Especially when the older brother holds power essentially equal to that of the British government."
"Did Mycroft do it too?"
Russell's eyes widened. "He didn't say anything?"
"No deaths, no serious impact, and no negative social repercussions. And even Arthur Morstan, who had always been opposed to us, stepped down and was replaced by a more obedient ally."
"This is nothing but beneficial for him, so I don't think he'll object."
Charlotte said in a calm tone.
"No matter how honorable Miss Professor may be, to Mycroft, she is nothing more than a little girl."
"What mattered to him was whether Mary Morstan was controllable and useful. He didn't care about anything else."
"That's good."
Russell let out a sigh of relief. "Christmas is coming soon. As thanks, I'll pass on some data to him."
"Then I should be the one thanking you."
Charlotte said.
"Not only am I your guarantor now, but I'm also that woman's guarantor."
"If it weren't for me, you and Mary would already be under Mycroft's strict surveillance."
"Yes, yes, Miss Holmes. Thank you for your kind words to the government officials."
Russell smiled and walked over to the sofa, skillfully ruffling Charlotte's slightly messy chestnut curls.
"Then, as a token of gratitude, shall I give you another free massage?"
"Get lost!"
Charlotte blushed and kicked Russell.
"You're sleeping on the sofa tonight!"
…
1 a.m.
London, West End, Mayfair district.
Around midnight, the wind and snow gradually subsided. Breaks appeared in the thick clouds, from which a faint waning moon cast silver light onto the snow-covered roofs.
Outside the grand three-story brick mansion of Benson Morstan.
A tall, slender figure dressed entirely in black silently appeared on the trunk of the oak tree towering behind the villa. He blended perfectly into the darkness, like a ghost that had vanished into the night.
As a member of the Morstan family with a long-standing name, Benson Morstan's mansion clearly had a strict security system in place.
Even at midnight when the temperature was below freezing, two teams of bodyguards with Dobermans took turns patrolling inside the villa.
The towering brick and stone walls were embedded with iron spikes to prevent climbing, and dim gas lamps were hung in several key locations in the courtyard, illuminating potential blind spots.
"The security is quite tight. Mr. Benson seems to have committed quite a few misdeeds over the years."
Russell quietly made his judgment in his mind.
Of course, for him personally, this level of defense isn't much different from having no defense at all.
His gaze turned once again to the few windows on the second floor that were still emitting warm light.
Benson Morstan's study was the room with a balcony on the right side of the second floor.
"It's almost time."
Russell quietly calculated the difference in time between the two groups of patrolling bodyguards meeting and separating.
In the extremely short five-second gap when one group with guard dogs turned the corner and the other was still lingering near the villa's main gate, a black shadow descended rapidly from the tree trunk like an owl.
He executed a light somersault in midair. His toes lightly touched the spiked wall as though brushing away fallen leaves, without dislodging a single snowflake.
Immediately afterward, Russell used this slight foothold to draw an extremely beautiful parabola in the air and landed steadily on the protruding stone balcony on the villa's second floor.
The entire infiltration process was smooth and seamless, without making any unnecessary noise. Even the most sensitive Doberman failed to notice anything unusual.
Russell pressed his body against the cold glass door and held his breath. The floor-to-ceiling window was locked from the inside.
He took a thin rod from inside his coat and patiently inserted it through the gap in the window.
Click.
A faint click that only Russell could hear echoed as the mechanism snapped open.
He carefully pushed open the French window, slipped into the warm room, and closed the window behind him.
This was Benson Morstan's study.
The air was filled with the rich aroma of high-quality cigars and whiskey.
However, to Russell's surprise, the owner of the study was still awake at such a late hour.
"All my money went to waste! Those useless, useless bastards!"
An angry shout came from the study connected to the living room. Through the half-open double oak doors, the voice was clearly audible.
Russell stopped and silently slipped into the shadow of the tall teak bookshelf row, vanishing like a fish.
He leaned forward slightly and peered through the gap in the door, quietly observing the situation in the adjacent room.
In the living room was a man in his fifties with a protruding belly and a Mediterranean hairstyle. He was drinking alone and occasionally overcome by intense anger mixed with helplessness.
This man was none other than Mary's uncle, Benson Morstan.
"That damn little girl… She used to be like a puppet who could only play the piano. I never thought she would reveal her true nature the moment that old fool Arthur fell."
Benson cursed through gritted teeth and downed the expensive whiskey in his hand in one gulp, then slammed the crystal-carved glass onto the mahogany coffee table in front of him.
The amber wine splashed onto his expensive silk robe, but he didn't seem to care.
Opposite Benson stood a man in a black overcoat with a sinister face. He looked like Benson's trusted confidant or a black-gloved handyman who handled his dirty work.
"Boss, it seems Scotland Yard heard about the incident at the East End factory today."
The confidant lowered his voice. His tone carried a trace of anxiety.
"That girl not only caused a big fuss with those poor people using cash, but also made headlines in the Guardian."
"Now the lower-class workers all see her as a great philanthropist, while the leaders we arranged were beaten up by enraged workers and nearly thrown into the Thames… If Scotland Yard hadn't intervened, there might have been deaths."
Hearing this, Benson frowned.
"They didn't betray us, did they?"
"No, Boss."
The confidant shook his head. "They don't have the guts."
"That's good."
Benson let out a faint sigh of relief.
But afterward, he paced back and forth anxiously on the carpet several times. With every step of his obese body, the floor creaked faintly.
"No, we absolutely cannot let her take that position. If that woman really takes it, she will definitely take revenge on everyone else."
"In that case, we won't just lose the bad debts from the casino, but we won't even be able to protect the women and children we're sheltering in Surrey!"
"In other words, you're planning to…?"
The confidant made a throat-slitting gesture.
"No, absolutely not!"
Benson stopped him.
"Kill her? What are you thinking with that brain full of cheap tobacco?!"
Benson suddenly turned around. His fat face was trembling violently.
"She just gave an exclusive interview to the Guardian this morning!"
"All of London's attention is now on this tragic heiress who is comforting the workers out of her own pocket."
"Scotland Yard is worried about not having any major cases to boost their year-end performance. If something happens to her at this critical juncture, do you think Scotland Yard investigators won't turn our entire mansion upside down by tomorrow morning?"
Faced with Benson's storm of abuse, the subordinate confidant immediately lowered his head in terror and couldn't utter another word.
"No violence at all, no bloodshed at all…"
Benson irritably tugged at the collar of his robe. His face was flushed from blood congestion, and the light flickered under the gas lamp.
His anger gradually gave way to the shrewdness and coldness honed from years in the business world.
"This little girl is truly ruthless. Not only did she win over the poor men in the East End, but she also brought Scotland Yard and the Guardian to her side… No, we can't just sit here and wait to be destroyed."
The portly man forcibly calmed himself down. After standing still for a moment in the dimly lit living room, he turned to look at his subordinates.
"Immediately prepare the carriage and head to the South Bank tonight to find Philip."
"Tell him that the girl will make a big move within a few days and have him hide all the fake accounts and smuggling records in the warehouse right away!"
"If we get caught now, none of us will have an easy time!"
"Yes, Boss. I'll go right away."
"Wait!"
Benson called out to his trusted confidant, who was about to leave.
"One more thing. Starting tomorrow, have Philip stop supplying raw materials to the East District textile factory."
"Tell him that for the safety of the workers, all barge and carriage transportation from the South Bank warehouse to the East District will be halted for inspection starting tomorrow."
"Operations will resume when the weather improves."
"I want to see if that kind-hearted niece who's doing charity work in the newspapers can turn ice water into cotton yarn using gold coins."
"Without raw materials, the factory is nothing but a pile of scrap, and problems will inevitably arise sooner or later!"
"If she can't fulfill her promise, she'll have to pay breach-of-contract penalties! That way, we'll have a reason to impeach her."
The confidant nodded and immediately accepted the order to leave the living room.
With a thud, the oak door closed, leaving Benson alone in the living room.
He walked to the liquor cabinet, poured half a glass of whiskey, tilted his head back and downed it in one gulp, then let out a heavy breath.
"Let's see how this damn woman gets out of this when she can't deliver the goods and those ruthless distributors drive her to the brink of ruin!"
Benson muttered with a cold smile, then dragged his obese body out of the living room and disappeared toward the master bedroom at the end of the corridor.