When Hopkins entered the little secret room, he was assaulted by the smell of old paper, whiskey and leather.
The small office inside the fireplace, just like the rest of the apartment, was a refuge for scrolls and books that jumped from the shelves in an organized chaos. Behind the mahogany desk, a white board was full of photographs, scribbled names and places. All information was connected by red lines in a complex scheme.
"Hopkins," Clark called, pointing to the desk. "Give it a look."
It was an old diary, with leather cover and a rusty lock. The thick pages were filled with a thin calligraphy, full of erasures and grotesque corrections. Clark breathed heavily, her face holding the same curious look as usual.
"'Dear friend S.'," she translated, pulling the diary closer. "'Don't turn your back on me. You know that I think very highly of you, but, please, stay where you are. Okay, this is kinda... unimportant. Let me see... Oh, here! 'I'm going to send you a beautiful gift, hoping you can remember the place where we forge this beautiful alliance...'" Clark stopped and raised her green eyes, making Hopkins shiver. "This can't be true. Catherine was a prolific writer, but... all of her diaries ceased in her teenage years. This must be a letter draft for her lover, the king of Poland. Look at the date! 1764, the year he was crowned."
Clark strolled the room with the diary on her hands, smiling like a maniac. Hopkins always loved when she acted like that. "This is a clue, 'hoping you can remember the place where we forge this beautiful alliance...' Catherine and Stanislaw met in St. Petersburg! The necklace, Hopkins," she said, searching the mahogany desk. Her smile widened when the fake necklace shone in front of them, under the pile of scrolls and diaries. "The necklace takes us somewhere. We just need to find where."
Hopkins grabbed the fake jewel from the desk. The name "Catherine" was circled with fury on the board. He turned the necklace against the light, examining the glass and the setting with the attention of a monk. The setting. Hopkins grunted and shoved the books and scrolls from the table, ignoring Clark's protests, before pouring out a glass of black ink on the necklace setting.
The ink formed a small puddle on the metal, revealing a message. Hopkins cleared the glut of ink with his thumb and there was it. Clark smiled and he smirked.
"Geographic coordinates, princess. Seems like we're getting somewhere."