The hospital room was simply furnished with only a bed, a table, chairs, and a window with railings. A faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the air. Charles Brown was sitting on the edge of the bed, head slightly bowed, unconsciously gripping the hem of his hospital gown. He looked far calmer and more normal than when he had been in the interrogation room. However, from his subtle movements, it was clear he was still in an anxious state.
The moment he heard the door open and Vanessa's voice, Charles immediately looked up at the doorway. Perhaps thanks to Vanessa's devoted care, Charles showed no signs of panic or terror. He simply sat quietly on the edge of the bed, looked at Vanessa, then scanned everyone present: Charlotte, Lestrade… and finally Russell.
The instant Charles and Russell's eyes met, his body instinctively stiffened. But he quickly returned to normal.
"Hello… hello…" Charles's voice came through, sounding a little weak.
"Hello, Mr. Brown."
After speaking, Vanessa slowly stepped forward and signaled to Charlotte and the others not to leave their positions.
"The people behind me are from Scotland Yard. They have no intention of harming you. They just want to ask a few questions—is that all right?"
"O-okay." Charles nodded obediently like a child.
"Thank you for your cooperation." Vanessa smiled gently, then turned to Charlotte and nodded. "That's enough, Miss Holmes."
Hearing this, Charlotte took a step forward, stood beside Vanessa, and looked at Charles standing opposite her.
"Hello, Mr. Brown. I heard you were once the best gunsmith in the army and a master lockpicker."
When he heard those words, a brief spark of light appeared in Charles's cloudy eyes, but it quickly faded.
"That's all… in the past." He lowered his head and spoke in a voice full of disappointment.
"We're in a bit of trouble and would like to consult an expert." Charlotte ignored her own emotions and continued speaking as if to herself.
"A riddle?" Charles looked up with a slightly puzzled expression.
"Yes." Charlotte nodded. "Imagine a Swiss-made safe. It has a double-lock mechanism and a six-digit dial combination lock. You've probably seen safes like this many times before, right?"
Charles said nothing and simply nodded quietly. His breathing seemed a little calmer than before.
"Now, here's the problem." Charlotte's voice was slow and patient, like a teacher offering gentle encouragement. "We don't know the password, but we know these six digits have some special connection to the safe's owner. It could be his birthday, his wife's birthday, or perhaps his house number. In other words, it's a unique sequence of numbers personal to him."
She paused briefly to observe Charles's reaction. He remained silent, but the hand that had been fidgeting with the hem of his clothes had stopped at some point.
"So, if you were the lockpicker, Charles, where would you start?"
Charles fell silent. He looked up at Charlotte, regret visible in his cloudy eyes.
"I… quit…" he said, trembling. "I'll never touch anything like that again…"
"I know, Charles. I won't make you touch anything," Charlotte reassured him. "This is purely a hypothetical scenario, okay? It's just a game."
"This… this isn't a hypothetical situation." Charles shook his head. "I know what kind of lock you're talking about… I've seen it before…" He paused for a moment, then continued, "…at Lloyds Bank."
Hearing this, Charlotte was slightly surprised. She turned her face and exchanged a glance with Russell. Russell nodded, signaling her to continue the questions, while silently taking out paper and a pen.
"Then…" Charlotte took a deep breath, retracted what she was about to say, and rephrased her words. "Which specific part of Lloyds Bank?"
"In the underground vault… there are locks like that all over the place…" Charles said. "Then Mr. Bilson asked us to open one of them…"
"Which one?" Charlotte asked immediately.
"Ah…" Charles hesitated for a moment, his expression one of recollection. "I… don't remember it very well…"
"It's okay. Take your time thinking," Charlotte said. "The professor made a perfect plan for you, right? If we follow the plan, everything should go smoothly. Now, think about it. With the help of an inside accomplice, you broke into the underground vault room of Lloyds Bank and took down all the security guards. So, what do you do next?"
Charlotte's gentle yet persuasive voice echoed through the quiet hospital room, as if invisible threads were pulling at Charles's fragile and chaotic thoughts.
"Next, we headed to Area A." Charles's voice was very low, almost like sleep-talking. "Where is Area A?"
"'A-3 sector. The target is right there,' the professor wrote in the letter."
"Very good." Charlotte nodded lightly, and Russell beside her quickly jotted down the information.
"What happened after that?" Charlotte continued. "Did you find the safe?"
"Hmm… there were so many doors, finding that safe wasn't… easy."
"But the professor… the professor wrote numbers in the letter…"
"What number?"
"12," Charles muttered. "Bilson said the safe was behind the twelfth vault room."
"And you found it, right?"
"Hmm… I found it. Now, let's open the lock."
Charles closed his eyes. It was as if he had returned to that life-changing night filled with smoke and terror.
"What happened after you pried open the lock?" Charlotte asked.
"When I pried it open, there were several safes inside… I didn't know which one was the target, so I had no choice but to try them one by one… We tried entering the passwords one by one, but they were always… always wrong. The professor didn't tell us which safe it was."
"Do you know the password?"
"I know… Bilson told me the password. He said I had the best memory."
"Yes, Charles, you have a good memory." Charlotte offered encouraging words. "So that means you still remember that password, right?"
"Um…" Charles's voice began to tremble. And the hand gripping the hem of his clothes unconsciously clenched even tighter. "It's right there… inside my mind… like a brand…"
"Tell me." Charlotte's voice became softer and gentler. "Charles, tell me. What is that unique sequence of numbers?"
Lestrade and Russell held their breath, their eyes fixed on Charles's face, waiting for the decisive answer.
"..."
Charles's lips moved, and fine cold sweat beaded on his forehead. It was as if he was engaged in a life-or-death struggle with the terrifying memories in his heart. His gaze left Charlotte's face and unconsciously began to scan the surroundings—the ceiling, the walls, the glass, Vanessa, Lestrade… Russell.
For a moment, Charles's gaze seemed to freeze. Immediately after, those memories surged into his mind like a broken dam. Numbers, smoke, gunshots, and melting faces…
"He… he's right there…" Charles's voice suddenly rose sharply, and uncontrollable terror surfaced in his previously calm eyes. "He's in the smoke… watching me… and laughing…!"