Chapter – 16
…‘This is the work of that despicable phantom thief! That day, ‘Rolling Pin’ infiltrated my mansion!’
Viscount Ian Walker insisted that the recent fall of his wife was an attempted murder carried out by the mysterious “Phantom Thief Rolling Pin.” As evidence, he submitted a note—said to have been delivered to him at his party—to our newspaper… (excerpt omitted)
“How do you see it?”
At Octavia’s sudden question, Brielle tore her gaze away from the front page of The Berkshire Times to look at her. Clear bewilderment shone in her blue eyes.
“Well… I don’t know. They’re saying the note Walker claims the thief gave him is real?”
“Our reporter says it matches Rolling Pin’s handwriting exactly—same as every note seen so far.”
“I see… But Tabby, why do you look so disappointed? You’ve looked devastated since you got here.”
As Brielle folded the newspaper and set it on the table, she pointed out her friend’s pallor. It was true—ever since Octavia had rushed in early that morning clutching the paper, her face had been completely drained of color.
“If Rolling Pin really did it… it’s just too disappointing. Lord Walker is shady, sure, but his wife seemed like a good person. You saw her at the party too, right?”
“Yeah. I felt the same. That’s why I don’t think the thief did it. Up until now, Rolling Pin has only targeted people who’ve done wrong.”
Octavia exhaled with relief at Brielle’s soothing words.
“I knew you’d think so! Everyone suddenly jumping at the chance to bash Rolling Pin is what’s strange! …But is there anything more logical that could be used as evidence? Something that proves Rolling Pin didn’t do this… something worth printing in the paper?”
“I doubt it. And no matter how hard we try to explain it in words, nothing will have the impact of that note Walker released.”
“Ugh… this is bad.”
Octavia looked deeply troubled, worried that Rolling Pin’s carefully built reputation would be ruined. She added that even among nobles, there were many who secretly supported the thief.
Meanwhile, Brielle fell into a long silence. After a while, she spoke quietly—her voice firm, like a vow.
“We need to find the real culprit who did this to the viscountess… and expose them.”
“Huh? Real culprit? Do you have someone in mind?”
“…No. It’s not like I know anything. I just mean—if Rolling Pin didn’t do it, someone else obviously did. And figuring that out… well, that’s the job of the new National Police Bureau, isn’t it?”
Octavia’s eyes had sparkled with hope at first, but her spirit instantly deflated at Brielle’s last comment. There wasn’t even a speck of faith in the authorities’ competence.
I knew it, Brielle agreed silently, staring blankly ahead.
Her resolve hardened. She would uncover the truth behind Alice Walker’s accident herself—not to clear Rolling Pin’s name, but to restore justice for the wronged woman.
Two nights later, Rolling Pin slipped into Alice Walker’s bedroom.
To understand what had really happened, the thief needed to see the victim directly.
In the modest bedroom, the viscountess lay on the bed, her face pale as chalk.
So the hospital could do nothing, and they brought her home. …Is she really beyond waking?
The fact that no one was guarding her room relieved the thief—but also left a faint ache in her chest.
Instead of giving false interviews to newspapers, he should be taking care of his wife.
Swallowing her anger toward the viscount, the thief stepped closer to the bed, moving under the moonlight shining through the window. Today her disguise—a simple butler—made moving around far easier.
The viscountess’s room is on the fourth floor. His lordship’s study is on the third… that’s likely where they talked.
Naturally, Rolling Pin’s top suspect in this incident was Viscount Ian Walker himself.
She imagined the scene: after her previous visit, Alice confessed everything just as she had promised. Faced with his wrongdoing, the viscount—blinded by greed—might have lost control and turned violent. And the proof of that violence must be somewhere on Alice’s body.
It was suspicious enough that Walker loudly displayed the stolen note to reporters—yet never once let them see his injured wife.
With his love of theatrics and exaggeration, he’d have held a press conference at her bedside if he could. Hiding her can only mean one thing.
It didn’t take long to find evidence of abuse. Just as Alice groaned faintly and turned her head, Rolling Pin spotted the distinct marks on her jaw.
“Ah…!”
She knew instantly what they meant and allowed herself a triumphant smile. Then, folding her hands, she quietly prayed for Alice—who had suffered her husband’s cruelty.
“I hope you wake safely… and find happiness of your own.”
After whispering her earnest hope, Rolling Pin’s eyes sharpened again. She pulled out a large sack from inside her clothes—the same sack she had originally prepared for Ian Walker, her “secret weapon.”
It was a pity she couldn’t stuff him into the sack and roll him down the stairs as planned. But this use was worthwhile too.
“Just bear with me a little.”
With a gentle whisper into the unconscious woman’s ear, the thief lifted her carefully, placed her inside the sack, slung her over her shoulder, and slipped out of the room.
Two days later, the skies of the capital were filled with a massive hot-air balloon, and the streets below were packed with onlookers.
“Wow… that’s actually real?”
“Heavens! He’s barely human! A devil, that’s what he is!”
Across the balloon’s envelope, Viscount Walker’s crimes were written in huge letters. In the basket below, the large-bodied viscount hung with his arms and head sticking out, unconscious.
At the same time, The Berkshire Times released a special extra edition. The one-page headline read:
“The Truth Revealed by the Ring.”
At Café Midday Garden, customers filled the tables, gossiping loudly as they cursed Walker.
“I heard that ring was a custom signet he made after getting his viscount title.”
“And it was so ornate that when he struck his wife, the design stamped itself on her face, leaving a bruise. The shock made her fall out the window!”
“Good grief… the poor woman.”
“It’s a miracle she woke up safely. If Rolling Pin hadn’t whisked her away and protected her, Walker might’ve killed her the moment she regained consciousness!”
“Ugh! Horrifying!”
Listening to the chatter drifting through the café, Brielle gave a bitter smile.
It was true—Alice Walker waking up was a miracle. Still…
Divorce isn’t easy in this country. And she has no wealth of her own…
The realities awaiting Alice weighed heavily on Brielle’s heart.
As she sighed helplessly, Octavia returned—she had stepped outside for a moment—and slapped a sheet of paper dramatically onto the table. Her expression was strange.
“Bri! Look at this! A brand-new extra edition!”
“Huh? We just saw the first one. Tabby… are you okay? Did you lose sleep?”
Seeing Brielle’s genuine concern, Octavia snorted in disbelief and thrust the paper practically against her nose.
“This is the second extra! And the contents are way more serious than the first!”
“What? Now what happened…?”
Octavia’s shout drew the attention of everyone in the café. Brielle reluctantly accepted the sheet and read the headline aloud, her voice strained.
“Exclusive: The True Identity of ‘Phantom Thief Rolling Pin’… Revealed?”
Gasps erupted throughout the café. But no one was more shocked than Brielle herself.
What?! They discovered my identity?
As Brielle froze, Octavia snatched the paper back and continued reading rapidly.
“‘Aidan Hill, the special investigator assigned to the Rolling Pin case, announced major findings at a police bureau briefing this afternoon. After analyzing every case—including the recent Walker incident—he concluded that the phantom thief, long believed to be a boy… is actually a woman.’”
