Stop trying to control me, Miss Moriarty!

Chapter 22 The Man with the Crooked Lips

"Aysa, are you going out on a date?"

Just as Asha was getting ready in front of the mirror, Charlotte put down the "Chronology Yearbook" in her hand and asked a question.

"That's right."

Aysa pinned a brooch inlaid with a dark red garnet to her lapel and casually asked, "What about you? Aren't you going to the academy to see Adler today?"

"First of all," Charlotte in the mirror held up a finger, "I must reiterate to you that my going to the Academy has nothing to do with Adler."

"Secondly," she added, "while I'm relieved that you're no longer fixated on that mysterious Mr. John, it's unfortunate that Mr. Hudson has also been deceived by your blind date; he's not a good partner."

Upon hearing this, Aysa stopped fixing her hair.

Mr. Hudson's arranged date was a man who worked in the Navy, had a respectable job with a weekly wage of £8, and was an honest and trustworthy British gentleman.

But she had complete trust in Charlotte.

So Asha stopped dressing up and turned to walk towards the high-backed chair opposite Charlotte.

She sat down again and looked at her best friend curiously: "Could you tell me more specifically? Um, starting from how you found out about my blind date."

Although Baker Street was built during the late reign of George III and the buildings on it are at least fifty years old, the sound insulation is still quite good.

She wasn't speaking loudly during her conversation with Mr. Hudson last night, so Charlotte shouldn't have been able to hear it at all.

Charlotte touched the tips of her ten fingers together, rested her elbows firmly on the armrests of the chair, and smiled.

—This is her signature move when she's making deductions.

"Then, let's analyze it step by step. First, how did I find out about this?"

At this point, she looked up at Asha: "Do you remember how many steps are there from the stairs in the hall downstairs to this room?"

How many steps are there?

Although Asha passed the stairs several times a day, she never noticed it.

"I'm not sure, maybe level 20?"

Charlotte shook her head: "It's seventeen steps. Even though we're climbing the same steps, we're getting different results, precisely because you haven't observed it."

"During that year, Mr. Hudson visited us a total of sixty-seven times. Apart from the sixty-two times when he treated us to snacks and dinner, there were three times when the faucet was leaking, once when the fireplace damper was stuck, and once when the wardrobe hinges were making a strange noise."

At this point, she changed her tone: "However, he specifically contacted you at 7:42 last night, and considering that you dressed up unusually today, the conclusion is obvious."

"I see." Asha nodded. "The stairs are easy enough. But remembering something that happened within a year is too difficult; I can't do that."

Charlotte laughed triumphantly, rubbing her slender fingers together as she laughed.

"Not everything needs to be memorized in such detail. You can omit some and remember the important parts. For example, with Mr. Hudson, you only need to remember that he never contacted any of us individually."

Aysa nodded in agreement, "Yes, I understand that part. So how did you know about that blind date?"

Charlotte stood up, walked to the window, and lifted a corner of the curtain.

Outside the window, Baker Street was shrouded in the typical London haze, making it difficult to even see the traces of pedestrians. Only occasionally could one hear the sound of horse-drawn carriages rolling over the cobblestones.

"Mr. Hudson is a kind, old-fashioned gentleman with a fairly fixed social circle."

With her back to Asha, her gaze pierced through the fog, falling on the other blocks: "Those who come to visit him are all old friends who live nearby, around his age. And just the day before yesterday, a young man I'd never seen before appeared on Baker Street and had a very pleasant conversation with him."

"Hmm...that doesn't seem to prove anything. He could also be here to rent a room?" Asha asked her, somewhat puzzled.

Charlotte turned around, shook her head, and began to explain, "That's not the case. Their conversation lasted about half an hour, and they left alone."

She continued, "In addition, out of curiosity and detective instinct, I went downstairs to observe the gentleman."

"His top hat and double-breasted dress were very formal, but the lining peeking out from the cuffs was yellowed and worn at the edges, indicating that he was not in good financial condition. Considering the calluses between his index and middle fingers, he probably had a gambling addiction."

"In addition, his pupils were somewhat dilated in the overcast light, and his right hand was trembling with a very low amplitude—a sign of excessive drinking, long-term use of certain illegal stimulants, or even both."

"Furthermore, he has abrasions and bruises on the back of his right hand at the knuckles that have not yet fully healed. The location and shape of such injuries are usually not caused by an accident, but by hitting an object forcefully, such as a wall or a face."

Charlotte walked over to Asha and concluded, "So, he's not only a gambler, but he's also very likely an alcoholic or involved in something worse, and has violent tendencies."

She concluded by saying, "He has high cheekbones, long and narrow eyes, and upturned outer corners..."

"Stop, stop, stop..." Asha interrupted, "No need for specific descriptions, these three conditions are enough, it is indeed him."

She gazed at the wisps of smoke rising from the dead firewood in the fireplace, remained silent for a moment, and finally sighed, her voice muffled: "Your reasoning is impeccable."

From the very beginning, she was mentally prepared.

But when the truth is laid bare before you, you still feel somewhat defeated.

"Knowing he's a despicable guy, I still have to at least meet him. There's nothing stupider than that."

She was there complaining to the air.

Just then, Charlotte suddenly walked to the coat rack, took down her signature brown Chesterfield coat, and put it on: "I'll go with you."

"Charlotte..." Asha felt a warmth in her heart, but she still declined, saying, "You don't need to worry about me. I'm a veteran, after all. Dealing with a man corrupted by alcohol shouldn't be a problem."

"Asha, you've misunderstood." Charlotte shook her head. "A Mrs. St. Clair has asked me to investigate her husband. Since your blind date is destined to fail, why not come with me to resolve this request?"

"..." Aysha looked at that beautiful face full of rational calculation and said with a resentful expression, "You really know how to order people around."

"Time is a precious asset, and wasting it is shameful."

Charlotte had already put on her gloves and deerstalker hat, tucked her cane under her arm, and opened the door with her other hand.

A breeze blew in from the corridor, carrying the aroma of fried fish and oil from downstairs.

"It's time to go, dear Miss Watson."

"Yes, Miss Holmes." Asha also put on her hat. "Dinner tonight is on you. We'll go to that new Italian restaurant on Queen's Road."

"no problem."