While Russell was still sound asleep, a loud knocking on the door shattered his peaceful slumber.
"Wake up, Watson." Charlotte's voice rang out from the doorway. "It's time to go collect that debt."
Hearing this, Russell groggily opened his eyes, walked to the door like a sleepwalker, and opened it.
"They're already gone." Charlotte was already dressed in outdoor clothes and looked neatly put together.
"Wait a second, I just woke up…" Russell yawned and pointed to the sofa in the room. "Have a seat. I'll go wash my face."
Charlotte looked up, glanced at the still-dazed Russell, and without a word stepped inside the room. This was the first time she had entered Russell's room.
Compared to her own, Russell's room was surprisingly tidy. The bed was a little messy from sleep, but the blanket was neatly folded. On the desk, several specialized books borrowed from the library stood in a precise row, flanked by a fountain pen and a stack of manuscript paper. Everything was perfectly organized and aesthetically pleasing.
Charlotte felt somewhat uncomfortable—and even a little disappointed. She had always assumed that the room of this guy who dozed off in class and loved arguing with her would contain something interesting. Instead, it looked like an ordinary university student's bedroom.
No, even more boring than the average university student's.
Not a single poster of a female celebrity adorned the walls.
"What are you looking for?" Russell's voice came from the bathroom, interrupting her observation.
"Nothing," Charlotte replied, averting her gaze. She pulled out the chair in front of the desk and sat down. "Your room's décor is wonderful. It's like a monastery."
"That means, unlike certain people who always want to turn their rooms into chemistry labs, I maintain a good lifestyle," Russell muttered in protest while brushing his teeth.
Charlotte pursed her lips, said nothing, and continued wandering around the room. She walked over to the desk, picked up the notebook out of curiosity, and opened it.
What greeted her eyes was a page written in clear handwriting that was obviously not Russell's.
This is Mary's handwriting.
Charlotte recognized it at a glance. She flipped through the pages, but most of the notes were dry and boring, hardly worth reading. As she continued, however, she found something quite interesting.
For example, the conversation between Mary and Russell about the Holly David case even included a simple floor plan drawn by the girl.
Charlotte raised one eyebrow and flipped the page again.
Near the very end, she discovered something intriguing: stick-figure doodles. Judging from the delicate lines, they were clearly Mary's work.
Even this model student occasionally slacked off in class.
Charlotte's gaze lingered on the doodles, and the corner of her lips curved slightly. As an artist herself, it was obvious who the doodles depicted.
The first stick figure lay on a table with "Z" symbols floating above its head to indicate deep sleep and small cat ears carefully added beside it.
In the second drawing, the figure sat on a sofa with a plate of snacks in front of it. The artist had added fine lines around the mouth to show chewing motions.
The third, the fourth… With just a few simple lines, the lazy university student's behavior in class was vividly portrayed.
Charlotte looked at each drawing one by one, and her smile grew wider and wider. Yet as she smiled, her expression gradually became more complex.
An indescribable emotion flashed through her heart.
The girl hesitated for a moment, then glanced toward the bathroom. After confirming that Russell would be occupied for a while longer, she picked up a pen and quickly drew a few lines on the page with the stick figures.
Just then, Russell came out of the bathroom.
He walked toward Charlotte while wiping his face with a towel. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing." Charlotte put down the pen, closed the notebook, and quickly returned it to its original place as if hiding something. "I was just admiring Miss Mary's beautiful handwriting. It looks almost like printed text."
Hearing this, Russell raised one eyebrow and stared at the notebook for a moment.
"It's fine." Seeing his indifferent expression, Charlotte felt a strange irritation rise within her for some reason.
She stood up and pushed the chair back into place. "That's enough. Let's go, Catboy."
"Huh? What was that?" Russell was startled, but Charlotte had already disappeared through the doorway.
"Wait, I haven't changed yet."
…
The two of them headed to Lloyds Bank again.
Having learned from the previous visit, Russell this time wrote only "Deposit" in the reason field on the registration form. Then, under the slightly hesitant gaze of the security guard, he led Charlotte straight inside.
Approach it with confidence and an open attitude.
With a clear purpose, the two went straight up to the second floor and arrived at the familiar door.
Charlotte didn't knock—she simply pushed the door open and walked in.
Inside the office, George Adler sat behind his desk, slowly sipping coffee while reading the Financial Times.
Hearing the door open, he frowned, then looked up. When he realized the visitors were Charlotte and Russell, his displeasure and contempt became even more obvious.
"Knocking is basic manners, you two," he said sarcastically.
"Mr. Adler, we're just here to make a deposit," Russell said with an innocent smile before Charlotte could speak. He pulled out a chair and sat down. "By the way, shall we chat a little more?"
"For regular transactions, please go to the teller at the front desk, huh."
"But we really need your help. Is that not allowed? As the director, you should know the procedures better than the front-desk staff, right?"
George put down the newspaper and glared at Russell with contempt. "I can't do everything alone, and I certainly can't waste my valuable time on trivial matters, Mr. Watson. If I had to handle everything myself, why would Lloyds Bank hire so many people?"
He paused for a moment before continuing. "If my memory serves me correctly, you already made that deposit last week."
"Can't be helped," Russell shrugged. "I've got a big job lined up recently, but I'm a bit short on cash."
George snorted and turned his gaze to the silent Charlotte beside him. "Miss Holmes, are you here to make a deposit too?"
"I'm just here to keep my newly rich assistant company for a chat," Charlotte said casually, arms crossed and leaning back comfortably in her chair.
"If that's the case, I suggest you go to the lobby downstairs." George's tone already carried a hint of contempt. "I have work to do later, so unless it's urgent, I'll have to excuse myself."
As he spoke, he reached for the newspaper again.
"Mr. George, don't be in such a hurry to kick him out," Russell said, still smiling. "Who said we don't have important business?"
"I thought my intentions were made sufficiently clear last week." George's tone grew increasingly irritated. "Without approval from the board or higher authorities, you'd better give up."
"Of course we have permission." Russell nodded, then reached into his pocket. "Just let me find it… wait a moment…"
"We can refuse permission from Scotland Yard. I think I said that last week too. If either of you has poor memory, I know a specialist who can help you."
"I know, Mr. Adler. You said that last week too." Russell nodded and took out an envelope.
The elaborately made envelope featured an impressive royal crest.
"But—" He gently placed the letter on the valuable mahogany desk in front of George. "Who said the permit I received was from Scotland Yard?"
…
…
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