Ch.BONUSSide Story – Clarice Holmes, The Leaden Study (5)

Isabel returned while they were taking a break. She looked quite confused.

“I spoke with the control team staff, and they claim there were no unusual circumstances. Of course, that’s nonsense. How could there be nothing unusual when a high-pressure pipe was damaged like that? So I had to put a little fear into them.”

Watching Isabel clench and unclench her fist, Clarice could guess what she had done.

“And?”

“I got an answer that they performed their night duty negligently. Apparently, they closed their eyes for a moment and when they opened them, dawn had already broken. I’m planning to report that the staff in question and their superiors need retraining.”

There are commoners who cannot follow Her Majesty the Queen’s guidance. Or perhaps they were born with rebellious tendencies. Such people are social ills, but they are also imperial citizens whom the Great British Empire must embrace and care for. Thus, the Empire gladly bestows the gift of healing upon these sick individuals, and once reborn, they happily labor in mines and farms, singing songs about Her Majesty the Queen all day long.

“Anyway, this has become quite difficult. A series of coincidences has turned into such a complicated problem.”

“Coincidences, you say.”

Clarice firmly packed dried tobacco into her pipe. With a practiced motion, she struck a match against the rough wall to light it. A pleasure more harmful than the dust of New Albion filled the circus agent’s lungs and respiratory system.

“Very coincidentally, a letter was delivered, very coincidentally a French spy met his death, and coincidentally the high-pressure pipe in that house happened to burst. Yes. All these things could be coincidences. But no coincidence I know of entangles with others without reason. When coincidences align according to cause and effect and correlation, we call that an event. What we need to discover isn’t what’s coincidental. It’s what brought all these things together in one place.”

“Hmm, could it be the letter?”

“No.”

Clarice took another deep drag.

“Something more fundamental than that. Follow me.”

Clarice led her to the spy’s room. The police quickly made way for them. Upon entering, Clarice removed the dirty carpet from the floor, revealing worn-out floorboards underneath.

“Isabel.”

“Yes?”

“Jump lightly in a ballet pose. Don’t just jump in one spot, move around the room and step on different areas.”

“Me?”

“I’m truly curious about the next generation’s sense of balance.”

“…Promise we’ll look in the mirror together at my place. Then I’ll do it.”

“Sure.”

Clarice had absolutely no desire to do so, but considering the mission, she had no choice. Isabel gave a sly smile, then stood lightly on her tiptoes. She danced gracefully around the room with the precision of a clockwork mechanism.

It wasn’t exactly what one would call ballet. It was a vulgar movement imitating ballet. In the back alleys of old Albion, men and women used to dance the cancan together. Among them were some excellent dancers who performed like actors from the “Opera House.” Of course, they might have been actors desperately in need of rent money.

But there was no balance in it. Only excess. A feeling that subtly, or boldly, emphasized certain body parts. Gazes and touches full of secretive and seductive suggestions. Isabel’s movements contained that kind of desperation and sensuality.

‘I like medals.’

People said war was inevitable. Isabel’s beauty and talents would be powerful assets abroad. Probably countless variations modeled after her would be created. There would be male models, female models with different body types, skin colors, and gazes, and perhaps even child or elderly versions. And they would all be called Isabel.

‘I like medals.’

The desire to be recognized. Compensation for everything done so far. A compression of countless past experiences. And proof of what she would become in the future. That’s how Isabel was made. Created as a perfect tool, but destined to live with a lifelong desire, thirst, and hunger for recognition. Whether it would be the Queen’s medal or reluctant affection from an older generation model, even she wouldn’t know.

She simply craved something better, something superior to herself.

Thud.

“Stop.”

Isabel straightened her body. She too seemed to notice something odd, as she tapped the floor once or twice more. There was a deeper resonance that hadn’t been there when stepping on other floorboards. When Clarice nodded, Isabel pointed her foot.

Bang!

Her pointed foot broke through the floorboard. As the board that had been serving as a secret door fell away, hidden equipment was revealed.

It was a complex machine, but it had everything necessary. A punch tape printer with spare paper tape, and something like a stethoscope attached to it. The stethoscope had suction cups for easy attachment, with more than five branches.

“A primitive wiretapping device. Made from easily obtainable items combined together. I wondered why a high-profile spy would willingly enter such a place—it wasn’t just to avoid suspicion, but to extract information.”

The machine was intact and could be operated anytime by simply unwinding the spring. It seemed designed to attach the stethoscope to pipes, then operate the machine to output amplified radio waves on punch tape.

“We should tell Lestrade to examine the fireplace carefully. Analyzing the remaining ashes could add more evidence. It’s fortunate there’s no transceiver equipment. If he had converted and transmitted using something like Morse code…Clarice?!”

Isabel was startled. Clarice had suddenly started rummaging through the dead man’s clothes. She pulled out a fountain pen and quickly disassembled it. A metal antenna-like object popped out. When she inserted the pen upside down into the machine’s groove, it fit perfectly.

“…My goodness. What on earth.”

Isabel swallowed hard.

“What an incredible device. I should report this immediately…!”

“No.”

Clarice shook her head. Isabel looked at her senior with puzzled eyes.

“Nothing has changed. Desiree had been under Circus surveillance for a very long time. It’s not surprising that he had equipment like this. Of course, his skill in creating such a device from easily obtainable items is impressive, but that’s an issue we can address. The real problem is that we still haven’t found the letter, and…”

Clarice looked at the message the dead man had left on the wall.

“Desiree didn’t have time. This equipment was in a secret compartment. So he probably couldn’t transmit. But he had information that needed to be conveyed, so he chose to write it on the wall like this.”

“Which means?”

“He wrote it there for an informant or collaborator to see. Someone who had entered this room, or was expected to enter, or someone who is here right now.”

Clarice stared quietly at Isabel. Isabel nodded silently.

“You suspect Lestrade.”

“He’s unpredictable, so there’s no telling what he might do. Quietly investigate him. I’ll go find the first person who reported this.”

“Understood.”

As Clarice was about to leave the room, Isabel gently grabbed her wrist.

“By the way, when shall we look in the mirror together?”

Clarice quietly shook off her hand.

“I’ll come by around midnight tonight.”

“I’ve prepared a very pretty outfit too. I’ll give you a night to remember, senior.”

Isabel whispered softly.

* * * * *

Night fell on New Albion. Clarice was holding onto a public telephone. After tedious exchanges and security verification procedures, she finally got through to the director.

“Aren’t you sidelining Isabel too much?”

“She’s currently tracking Lestrade. It was worth keeping Desiree alive until now. We had no way of knowing who was receiving and transmitting the French clown’s information elsewhere.”

“Well, will he move according to our expectations? I’m not so sure, Holmes.”

“We’ve cast the net, now we just have to wait for something to get caught.”

“That’s true. What are you planning to do now?”

“Since the prey has moved, I should retrieve the bait while it’s still fresh. I think I know where it is. I’ll collect it before it’s too late. Any news from abroad?”

“None. Nothing at all.”

The call ended.

Clarice put her hands in her coat and walked through the night streets of New Albion. Despite it being May, the night was a bit chilly. The daytime heat and steam had made everything humid, but as night fell, it became surprisingly cool. Cold and darkness make people melancholy, so people walked with their coat collars pulled up tight.

After passing through clean streets, she entered a back alley littered with garbage and filth. The trash was piled up rather neatly. The problem was that it wasn’t being collected properly.

Clarice carefully climbed on top of a garbage heap and cautiously fired a wire. Pulling on the firmly attached wire, she climbed up the wall like a spider. She had wound the spring a little in preparation. In case of danger, she could escape immediately.

She twisted her wrist to pull out a large knife. She carefully inserted it between the gaps of a second-floor window to unlock the latch. Grabbing the window frame, she carefully pushed it open. The window opened silently without even a creaking sound, and she swiftly entered. The room was well-organized, with circus posters on the wall.

Clarice flung open the door to the room. Cheerful music was playing from the living room radio. A middle-aged man with tired eyes dropped his plate in surprise. As the middle-aged woman was about to scream, Clarice extended her finger. The woman covered her mouth.

“Strazinsky, correct?”

“Y-yes, that’s right.”

“I’m Clarice Holmes from the Circus. I heard you were the one who discovered Desiree. At 10 AM, is that right?”

“Yes, yes!”

Clarice kicked her foot. The broken pieces of the plate on the floor flew toward the man. Fortunately, they didn’t cut his flesh, but instead stuck into the wall. The frail woman fainted.

“It’s the truth!”

“So I hit the wall instead.”

Clarice glared at the man.

“Why did you go looking for Desiree?”

“He didn’t come to work on time! With so many festival preparations to make, he didn’t show up for work, so I went to check if something had happened to him!”

Clarice spread her fingers. Blades that had been hidden on the back of her hand sprang out. The edges gleamed blue under the electric light.

“You said the door was closed, not locked. Is that right?”

“Yes, yes! The door was closed.”

“Nonsense.”

Clarice’s blade touched the man’s cheek. His skin was pressed in as he trembled.