"The Widow" Bertha

Mrs. Fisher originally wanted to entertain several ladies for dinner at school, but she didn't expect to get too involved in the chat, and the meal time was long past.

Mycroft waited until almost midnight.Bertha apologized a little, but didn't say much—she also waited so late on the first day she moved in, so the two sides were evened out.

After the meal, her mind was still full of messy thoughts, Mrs. Fisher's magazine, the detective and Thomas' clues today, and Colonel Dent's whereabouts. These thoughts were like a rope tied to Bertha's brain. Keeps her extra sane after a busy day.

Even after Grace helped Bertha turn off the lights, she lay in bed feeling sleepless.

Bertha was so annoyed that she turned over and got out of bed, and went to the study with her coat on.

The room was quiet, and the smell of paper also helped Bertha calm her mind. She casually leaned against the window of the room, staring at the rarely bright night sky, and began to recall the situation during the day.

The laboratory visit of Sherlock Holmes and Thomas Thames obtained breakthrough clues. Now they have two directions of investigation in their hands. One is the darkroom pattern drawn by Holmes, which must have its own meaning; the other is Thomas Thames. The ledger found, the information in it is of great use.

As for what's next...

Before Bertha could start thinking, a knock on the door interrupted her first.

"Come in," she turned her head. "Is that Mike?"

It's him.

It was, of course, Mr. Mycroft Holmes, the master of the house in Pall Mall.He opened the door and entered, and what he saw was a scene that was almost like a painting.

Bertha Mason leaned against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the study room. She opened the heavy curtains, and the bright moonlight poured coldly on the wooden floor, stretching her tall shadow longer.

The moonlight was so bright that Bertha, who turned her head, was blurred by the light behind her back. Mycroft could only see the corner of her silk nightgown exposed in her coat, and her slender and elegant neck and neck like a black swan. arm.

And Bertha seemed to have no self-consciousness about showing her skin to men at all. When she met Holmes' gaze, she just turned her head: "What's the matter?"

It seems that meeting in nightdresses like this is a matter of course.

Mycroft smiled at this, and he raised his left hand: "Whiskey?"

He was a little more formal than Bertha, at least the man was still wearing an unmistakable white shirt—provided he didn't wear the cuffs to the elbows, and he didn't hold whiskey and wine glasses in his hands.

"Why not," Bertha curled her lips, "the moonlight is so beautiful, it's worth a drink."

"I am honored, Bertha."

"Honored what?"

After getting the lady's approval, Mycroft walked unhurriedly. He walked up to Bertha and handed her one of the whiskey glasses: "It's an honor to know that you are also a person who likes to think at night."

Bertha: "..."

She raised her eyebrows, took the glass, and let the man slowly pour the ethylene glycol liquid into it.

"I suppose," she said, "that you had no one to drink this drink with you before I came?"

"of course."

Mycroft put on a natural look: "The moonlight is very beautiful, but I am the only one who appreciates it on weekdays. Fortunately, I have you."

"Why am I not?"

"Award."

Here it is again, Bertha couldn't help laughing: This guy has to brag about business with himself before he is willing to talk about business.

"You said you like to think at night," so Bertha skipped the steps of mutual politeness and went straight to the point. "Then what do you think about on weekdays, Mike?"

"That's my problem too, Bertha," said Mycroft.

"Ah."

Bertha did not continue to pester, she was about to say something.

There was no business to be discussed at the dinner table, and Bertha was going to wait until tomorrow to relay the story to Mycroft, and it happened that he was not asleep, so it would be better to explain it plainly, lest she should not be able to sleep tonight.

"Have you sent Colonel Dent to Liverpool, will you tell me what he is going to do?" asked Bertha.

"Miss Ingram's lover who was in charge," replied Mycroft, "and Colonel Dent thinks there may be further leads in him. Could this be connected with the investigation by Day Shelley?"

It does.

It’s easy to talk to smart people. He guessed the key point directly. Bertha explained succinctly: “Thomas found out that Dr. Lang not only accepts funding from cabinet ministers, but also accepts a monthly remittance from Liverpool. It’s not clear who sent the money.”

Mycroft understood Bertha at once.

"In that case," he said slowly, pouring himself whiskey, "either Colonel Dent is at fault, or Miss Ingram's lover is responsible for sending the money."

If it is Colonel Dent, it is enough to prove that Dr. Long is indeed a member of the Truth Society; if it is the latter, then maybe Colonel Dent's knife is not a core member of the Truth Society, and maybe he can still be saved.

As for the cabinet ministers...

"Does this mean," said Bertha, "that Sir James Ward, who funded Dr. Long, may not have known?"

"uncertain."

Mycroft knew Bertha's thoughts: "I'm sorry, Bertha, I understand that you hope that the kind Mrs. Ward is indeed married to a straightforward gentleman. But to fund a laboratory, a sum of money is usually enough The probability that the two parties are related, or even partners, is much greater than Sir Ward's ignorance."

"You seem to have recognized Sir Ward as a member of the Truth Society, Mike."

"You've wronged me, my dear," Mycroft smiled while holding his whiskey glass. "It could also be that Colonel Dent was behind it, and neither side of the remittance knew anything about it, did they? Suppose the answer is It is a big taboo to infer results, I will not let subjective feelings influence objective reasoning."

That was the reason, but Bertha didn't say he was "assuming."

Who told you to be the Great Demon King? Bertha slandered in her heart, causing her to always feel that Mycroft Holmes was one step ahead and the investigation was still underway. In fact, he already had the answer in his heart.

Bertha said nothing more about it.

She just brought the whiskey glass to her mouth, and fell into deep thought as if no one else was there.

All Mycroft did was quietly admire Bertha as she lowered her head slightly, her full upper lip pressed against the rim of her glass.

With slightly drooping golden eyes and a calm face, the beauty is as beautiful as a seductive painting even if she is just toasting to enjoy the fine wine.This kind of scenery is close at hand, and the distance is less than half a foot, so it can be said that all the details can be seen.

But Holmes did nothing.

When Bertha's throat moved slightly and she swallowed the whiskey, he said softly, "What are you going to do?"

Bertha raised her eyes and raised a smile that was between provocation and coquettishness.

"What am I going to do," she repeated, "what am I going to do, and you'll let me do it?"

"Let's talk about it." Mycroft said happily.

"I..."

Bertha shook the glass in her hand: "I want to put on a play."

"a show?"

"How about a grand secret room murder?"

"Like Thornfield Park?"

"Like Thornfield Park."

After Bertha finished speaking, she added in a serious manner: "Oh, of course, this story can't end hastily. Before the whole case had a clue, Colonel Dent directly revealed the script. It ended quickly enough, but it was boring enough .”

Mycroft showed a knowing look.

He nodded slightly, and then said seriously: "It sounds feasible."

This... was beyond Bertha's expectation.

She has her own way of thinking: Ms. Agatha Christie's detective novels have a unique plot structure, and murder in a locked room is almost her signature feature.With Miss Marple's name, one has to do it in style, doesn't it?

Such behavior should be somewhat absurd to others.

But Mycroft Holmes had only heard her say a few words, and let her do as she pleased.Isn't he afraid of failure?

If the tall man in front of him whose eyes were always on him was not Sherlock Holmes, such eyes and concessions could almost be called pampering.

She raised her eyebrows: "Are you serious?"

"Of course," Mycroft said as a matter of course, "if a murder case can solve the problem, how much time will be saved in trial and excuse, follow-up and investigation, and fighting with various departments?"

In saying this it seemed as if Bertha had betrayed his confidence.

"That's fine," she didn't hesitate, "maybe I still need your help."

"I'm all ears."

"Is there any way for you to gather Dr. Long, the cabinet ministers, and Colonel Dent together? If you want to imitate the Thornfield Manor murder case, you always need all the relevant personnel to be present."

When Mycroft heard the words, he paused the hand holding the wine glass, and then he had an idea: "Since the sword is on the wrong side, you don't mind if I play tricks, Bertha."

Bertha turned her head to the side: "I'm afraid you don't have enough tricks, Mike. Leave the rest to me. This time it's my turn to arrange carefully. I will definitely not disappoint you."

"Then I wish you success, Bertha," the man raised his glass, "how about a toast?"

"Okay, but before that, I still have a lot of preparations to do."

Bertha lifted her glass with a smile.

Mycroft was half a head taller than Bertha, so he lowered his elbows and slightly moved the whiskey glass in his hand, waiting politely for Bertha to take the initiative to clink the glass.

This gesture is almost humble.

However, what he was waiting for was not the crisp sound of glass colliding.

Bertha raised her hand, and the hand holding the cup barely brushed against his hand, and finally stopped at Mycroft's chin, her index finger stroked lightly under the man's collar, the skin almost touching, But in the end there is such a thin layer of fabric.

It seems to be flirting, it seems to be a reminder, the short contact is fleeting.

Then Bertha withdrew her hand and clinked glasses with her: "The collar is crooked."

Lines of sight met and the atmosphere was ambiguous. Under the cold moonlight, Bertha's dark golden eyes showed a color of anticipation without any impurities, as if standing in front of Holmes was just a man who had been tempted and waited for his lover to take the initiative. The average girl who responded was average.

And when she withdrew it, Mycroft Holmes recovered from the slight accident. His movements subtly paused, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he didn't.

The man looked deeply at the lady in front of him, and brought the wine glass to his lips.

***

The next morning, Bertha called Charlie Bates, who was acting as a newsboy, and entrusted him to find a street boy to send a message to Thomas.

And Thomas Thames was always quick.

After she gave her instructions, she left Pall Mall leisurely as Miss Marple around noon, with the appearance of a leisurely "lover".Not long after returning to South Bank Street, Thomas brought a large group of workers to the door.

Although South Bank Street is close to Whitechapel and the factory, it is not the time to rest after get off work.The appearance of eight or nine plainly dressed workers still shocked the neighbors.

Fortunately, Bertha was overseeing the work at the bar shop on No. 22 at this time, saving the workers from shouting at the door.

Hearing the movement outside, the builder ran out in a hurry, startled by the battle, he hurriedly grabbed Thomas: "What's going on?"

"This--"

Before Thomas could speak, the workers behind him began to whine.

There were too many people talking, and each of them had something to say. For a while, the scene was as chaotic as a vegetable market. The builder stopped for a long time and didn't understand why.In the end, the young man in the lead couldn't hold back anymore, and raised his voice, "Shut up! Let me speak!"

When he gave an order, the surrounding people stopped discussing.

The young man turned to the builder and said in a loud voice in English with an Irish accent: "We want to see Mrs Thames."

The builder was stunned: "What did you see Mrs. Thames for?"

"The gypsies said that Mrs. Thames helped them," the young man replied frankly, "then she will naturally help the Irish. Let's beg Mrs. Thames to help our compatriots get justice!"