It was now eight o’clock in the evening.
Under the repeated persuasion of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, Arna finally, albeit with deep regret, left the Gold Sword with its 9,999 damage value back in the room before heading out.
She had attempted puzzle games before, but she lacked the patience to see them through. Eventually, every puzzle game she owned ended up gathering dust in her library.
—But playing these games alone was entirely different from following a powerful teammate and enjoying the feeling of an effortless victory, wasn’t it?
After all, an expert was an expert because even in a “scavenging” game, if a noob teammate accidentally smashed the most valuable treasure, the expert could still make up the required sum by hunting monsters!
At this thought, Arna was filled with confidence.
“You’re sure we can resolve… um… the matter the Viscountess needs help with tonight, right?” She tried to recall the information he had mentioned earlier. “Regarding the blackmail and the stolen jewelry?”
Sherlock Holmes walked down Baker Street with a light step, the gas lamps intermittently illuminating his sharp profile.
“Sure?” He huffed. “My dear Essas, certainty is a word used only by those lacking imagination. But if you must ask, then yes, we shall resolve everything tonight.”
He led Arna down a small path, navigating the dark alleys like someone intimately familiar with every uneven patch of London’s ground.
Pubs likely lined both sides; the rowdy voices of the patrons could be heard faintly through the walls, accompanied by the ethereal, drifting notes of a violin.
“The one who requested Lestrade’s help was Viscount Rotherby,” he said in a low voice. “Naturally, the stolen jewelry is connected to the Viscountess. It was her dowry—an emerald of immense value.”
Arna held her breath, her eyes practically glazed over by the mental image of glittering jewels. She quickly interrupted, “How immense is ‘immense value’?”
Should she be a little greedy?
What belongs to the player belongs to the player!
Sherlock Holmes reached out and gave her forehead a sharp flick, earning an “Ouch!” from Arna.
“Three thousand pounds,” he said. “Don’t even think about it.”
Rubbing her forehead, Arna exhaled an indignant huff.
“Got it. Fine. Keep going,” she said listlessly.
“The person helping the outsider blackmail the couple is the Viscountess’s former maid, who is now employed by the Viscount’s political rival.” Sherlock Holmes glanced at Arna. “A clumsy plot, truly.”
He adjusted his gloves. “According to my analysis, taking advantage of the party being hosted by the Viscountess, the maid will have a tryst with her employer near the Greenhouse tonight—to prove her worth, she will bring the jewelry with her.”
“And?” Having completely failed to follow the analysis, Arna asked with simple honesty, “What do I need to do?”
“What you need to do is pose as a new servant and intercept the maid for me,” Sherlock Holmes explained, walking with great strides. “Ten minutes to go. Rotherby’s staff are waiting for us.”
He pushed open a door, revealing the vast gardens of the Viscount’s Mansion. “As soon as you go in and see her, stop her. Once the blackmailer arrives, I shall deal with that fellow.”
A fierce light flickered in Arna’s eyes as she understood perfectly. “Understood.”
Her hand was already reaching for the zipper of the backpack behind her, where the Gold Axe was shining brightly.
Sherlock Holmes was speaking with the butler and took a set of clothes from him. “Change into this, and then…”
Under the butler’s terrified gaze, he turned around and asked dryly, “When did you bring that bag?”
Arna didn’t bat an eye, remaining perfectly calm. “The bag has always been here.”
Under Sherlock Holmes’s persistent stare, Arna was forced to hand her bag over to the butler for safekeeping before hastily pulling the provided clothes over her own.
“There,” Sherlock Holmes said, finally satisfied. “That will do. Intercept her; use whatever method you please. Bribe her, threaten her, flirt with her…”
He paused. “Of course, it would be best to avoid excessive force.”
As he spoke, Sherlock Holmes winked. “Though, if it becomes unavoidable, I would suggest aiming for the knees. To prevent them from running too fast.”
With that, he waved a hand and quickly slipped away through another small door, as agile as a hound catching the scent of a hare.
Led by the butler, Arna made her way to the vicinity of the Greenhouse and began searching for the suspicious maid.
She loitered around the Greenhouse, her attention soon captured by the fish in the fountain and the glittering coins within. She shuffled over toward it.
So much money! So many pennies! There were even several coins shining with a bright golden luster that looked very expensive at first glance.
Just then, a woman rushed out from another direction and collided with Arna with a loud *thud*.
The velvet handbag in the woman’s hand flew out, striking a statue in the fountain. Many items spilled out, clattering as they fell to the very bottom of the fountain basin.
Arna was knocked into a roll. She stood up dizzily and reached out to help the woman who had fallen with her.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
The woman was petite with dark eyes, and she stumbled back a step.
Up close, she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Her face was pale beneath her carefully styled curls.
“I—thank you,” she said strainedlly. “I’m fine. Not hurt.”
Her eyes kept darting toward the water; she looked like she wanted to go and fish out the fallen items. “Are you new?”
“Um, yes.” Arna also looked toward the fountain basin, where she could faintly see a glint of green. “…Need some help?”
Realizing that Arna was also looking at the things she had dropped, the maid’s fingers twitched instinctively. Then she composed herself, forcing out a fragile laugh.
“Ah, that was my… lavender sachet,” she stammered. “For calming the nerves. It’s not important.”
Arna paused, then beamed with joy.
She quickly walked to the edge of the fountain, reached down, and easily retrieved the cold, hard emerald.
“In that case, this definitely isn’t what you dropped.” Arna held the gem up, saying with satisfaction, “It’s mine now.”
Three thousand pounds! Three thousand!
The maid lunged at her with frantic speed, but Arna tucked her hand behind her back and skillfully dodged the raging woman.
“Didn’t you say it wasn’t yours?” she said righteously. “What, you trying to rob me?”
“Give it back,” the maid whispered, her voice trembling. “Please. You don’t understand—if I don’t do this, he’ll kill me—”
“Kill who?” Sherlock Holmes appeared. “No matter who it is, I’m afraid the plan can no longer be carried out.”
He pressed the tip of his cane against the blackmailer’s back, pushing the fellow forward. “A farcical performance.”
As he spoke, he freed a hand and held it out toward Arna.
Arna, clutching the gem tightly, looked at him pleadingly. “…Can’t I really…”
Sherlock Holmes stared at her without a word.
Arna gave up.
Fine, quest items can’t be kept… Curse the developers!
She gloomily handed the gem to Sherlock Holmes, feeling as if a piece of her soul had flown away along with those three thousand pounds.
Sherlock Holmes placed the gem in his pocket and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He turned to the maid, his voice softening with a hint of gentleness. “As for you—the Viscountess has already agreed not to press charges, provided you act as a witness and testify against this fellow.”
He gave the blackmailer a shove; the man looked even more despondent.
The maid’s eyes widened.
She looked shocked. She glanced at Arna, then at Sherlock Holmes, and finally covered her face and began to weep.
Faced with this scene, Sherlock Holmes looked somewhat panicked.
He tried desperately to signal Arna with his eyes, nudging her with his elbow to indicate she should quickly offer some comfort.
Arna drifted back from her trance over the lost three thousand pounds.
“There, there.” Feeling a sense of shared misery, she patted the woman’s shoulder quite sympathetically. “At least we lost a three-thousand-pound gem together today. You’re not alone. Feel any better?”
Amidst the maid’s even louder wailing, Arna shut her mouth, and Sherlock Holmes gave her a warning look.
After a while, the police arrived and took the blackmailer away. The butler, who was supposed to come and collect the gem, had not appeared.
Guessing the Viscountess’s intentions, Sherlock Holmes could only sigh. “Well, it seems we must deliver this gem in person.”
With that, he led Arna down another path.
Arna used her brain, which was exceptionally sharp when it came to gossip.
“The Viscountess?” she said immediately. “…The one who admires Watson?”
Sherlock Holmes stumbled slightly.
“Er, ah. Yes,” he cleared his throat. “Including inquiring whether his medical services include a cure for loneliness.”
Ahead, the gilded doors of the main drawing room loomed into view. Sherlock Holmes finally stopped, a sly smile playing on his lips.
“She even claimed to keep a signed portrait of the Queen by her bedside,” he whispered. “Our poor doctor nearly swallowed his tongue when he heard that.”
Arna’s eyes widened.
Before she could respond, the doors opened from the inside, revealing a magnificently dressed woman with an ostrich feather in her hair.
“She’s been waiting, it seems,” Sherlock Holmes murmured under his breath, then gave a theatrical bow.
“My Lady,” he said loudly. “Your emerald and the continued service of your maid have both been secured. Might we trouble you for a moment of your time? It seems my companion accidentally dampened their sleeve in the garden.”
The Viscountess’s gaze slid toward Arna, taking in her disheveled state.
Then, inexplicably, her gaze softened.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she sighed, reaching out to pat Arna’s cheek. “Come inside at once.”
Sherlock Holmes’s eyebrow twitched upward, while Arna, her arm being pulled, looked around blankly. She looked down and saw her nearly dry sleeve.
…Go in for what? To get it wet again?
Seeing her confusion, the Viscountess shook her head and led her to a luxurious dressing room, gently closing the door behind them.
Arna opened the wardrobe.
Arna saw a vast collection of clothes.
Arna’s eyes widened in sudden realization.
After a while, she emerged from the dressing room, head held high.
The Viscountess, waiting nearby, scanned the changed Arna up and down, looking quite satisfied.
“So exquisite. It suits you well,” she mused, reaching out to help adjust Arna’s cufflinks. She then took a delicate, small brooch from her pocket and pinned it on her, though the time she spent lingering near Arna’s collarbone was somewhat suspicious. “You must dine with me next Thursday. I have a new shipment of Venetian silk that could make you look even more beautiful.”
Arna’s eyes went wide as she looked toward Sherlock Holmes in a panic.
She… she felt like something was wrong. This didn’t seem like a normal reward cutscene!
Sherlock Holmes was leaning against the sofa by the drawing room fireplace, warming himself like a cat that had swallowed both the cake and the plate and was feeling thoroughly satisfied.
Meeting Arna’s gaze, he let out a cough—a sound that was very close to a stifled laugh.
Or rather, he was definitely stifling a laugh.
“…It would be my honor, My Lady,” Arna said through gritted teeth, facing the Viscountess’s intense gaze.
She offered a few hurried pleasantries, took back her backpack from the butler, and dragged Sherlock Holmes with her as they escaped into the vast night.
Even in such an awkward situation, Sherlock Holmes’s mouth didn’t stay idle.
“Well, that was very educational,” he said solemnly. “Still want that emerald?”
“Shut up,” Arna muttered, struggling with her clothes as she tried to remove the expensive brooch the Viscountess had pinned to her chest.
“I haven’t said a single word.”
“You’re breathing smugly.”
At this accusation, Sherlock Holmes finally burst into laughter.
“Look on the bright side,” he said, tossing his pocket watch into the air and catching it easily. “For instance, your license fees are secured, you have a new admirer in high society, and…”
“And it’s not even one o’clock yet,” Arna’s gaze fell on his pocket watch, her attention completely diverted.
She rummaged through her backpack and, under Sherlock Holmes’s shocked gaze, pulled out a fishing rod.
“Wait for me just a moment.” Arna was full of confidence. As they happened to be passing near the river, she found a spot and sat down. “I have a hunch. I feel like I can get a good catch here!”
Having solved the case and with nothing else to do, Sherlock Holmes simply sat down beside her.
“Very well, my friend, no problem,” he joked. “I suppose sliced fish porridge would make a fine breakfast tomorrow morning.”
Half an hour later.
Watching Arna pull up one river mussel after another, and finally even a heavy box, Sherlock Holmes—who had been sitting nearby using a knife to open the mussels and help check for pearls—fell silent.
In total, they found nine small, iridescent pearls from the mussels. The heavy box contained some gold nuggets that looked quite old, likely dropped by someone long ago.
The value had already far exceeded the money they had earned from their half-night of detective work.
“A massive harvest!” The time on the pocket watch hit exactly 1:40 AM, and Arna happily announced, “Calling it a night!”
Remembering that Sherlock Holmes was also quite poor and that she hadn’t sent this week’s gift yet, she generously handed him a piece of gold. “Here, spend it. Don’t mention it.”
Sherlock Holmes stared at the gold, then at Arna, and finally turned to the fishing rod, looking at it as if it were a magic wand that defied the laws of physics.
“I have spent years perfecting the science of deduction,” he said slowly. “And you have surpassed it with folk wisdom and a stick.”
Arna glanced at her fishing rod and tossed him a pearl as well.
“The stick is also for sale,” she said, naming an outrageous price. “For my aunt’s sake, a flat rate: two hundred pounds each.”
Sherlock Holmes laughed and caught the pearl.