Among the citizens of Stormwind, my name is unfamiliar. I served in the Azerothian Army during the First and Second Orcish war, earning medals for bravery and injury as a man of medicine. I lived a rather quiet life until the day I met Jiles Whitman. Though the circumstances of that meeting would comprise a complete narrative in and of themselves, suffice it to say my friend is not an unfamiliar name in the streets of Stormwind. He has been consulted by peasant and noble, soldier and wizard, humans and elves. His reputation is that of the most analytical mind in civilization, and after traveling with him some three years now I can affirm this claim wholeheartedly. The story I am sitting down to pen today took place nearly a year ago. It serves as an excellent example of Jiles' powers of deduction and ability to see truth in dark corners. I suppose the title for this case file should be…

The Case of the Guilty Apprentice

It was two weeks after Winter's Veil and the walls of Stormwind were still draped in numerous festive decorations. The citizens of our fair city are always slow in taking down their decorations. Jiles always joked that it was because they were too lazy to clean up after themselves, but I have always felt it is because the citizens of Azeroth have seen so much tragedy that we have a difficult time letting go of things that make us smile. I smiled at the decorations as I walked hurriedly down the streets to the cozy two story house of Jiles Whitman.

His housemaid, Mrs. Melin, was a widow gnomish woman whom had lost most of her family in Gnomregan's ill fated destruction. She lived on the bottom floor and doted over my friend's every need; it was a magnificent task to be sure. She was sweet in speech, but her focus was always on the care of the home and Jiles himself. She once told me she had six children and a husband in Gnomregan, and yet she still felt overwhelmed seeing to the needs of Mr. Whitman. I do not know a man of more noble character, but he expects those in his inner circle to keep up with him at all times and to not waste time questioning what he asks of them.

That morning Mrs. Melin welcomed me into the house with a beaming smile. The living room was pleasantly warmed by a blazing fire. She took my coat which was wet with snow and almost fell over with the weight of it. I had become a bit rounder in my former years, and all of my cloaks and jackets were large. Mrs. Melin was using all her strength just to hold my coat over her head in order to keep it from dragging. I bent to help her, but she would have none of it.

She shooed me back and said, "Mr. Whitman is awaiting you, Mr. Smit. Just go on up before he notices you're a few minutes late! I will dry your coat off as best I can, but I suspect you two will be off soon."

I wanted to ask her where we would be off to, but she was already walking to the next room with my coat. I turned to the stairway that led up to my friend's main study. I tried to keep the sound down as I walked up the steps, but my boots insisted on echoing my steps throughout the household.

Halfway up, I heard Jiles' voice. "Ah, Cornelius, I am sorry you have been overworked lately, but I am afraid I cannot grant you any rest if you are to accompany me today."

I finished walking up the stairway and went into his study. He was a tall man, not old but neither was he a youth. His black hair was clean but unkempt. He was sitting at his desk with his back to the doorway writing on a scroll.

I asked him, "However did you know I have been out working these last few days? I haven't talked to you in two weeks?"

He chuckled, "It's quite simple, Smit. Your boots told me."

I looked down at my boots in order to see what he meant, but there was nothing there to indicate they had said a word. "Whatever are you talking about, Whitman?"

He turned and caught me looking at my feet and laughed, "You never cease to amuse me old friend. Of course I do not mean they actually spoke to me. The sound they made on the stairs was a bit deeper than it was two weeks ago."

When he saw that my expression was still confused, he explained, "Well it is really nothing special, Smit. Your leather soles have been exposed to great quantities of moisture making them softer and able to absorb more shock as you walk on my wooden stairs. This results in a deeper sound than you usually make in dry seasons. I simply deduced that if your boots have a large quantity of moisture set in them it must be because you have been in the snow quite frequently these last two weeks. Since your profession is that of a doctor, it was a simple thing to figure that you have been out visiting a high volume of patients."

I laughed. "You always make me feel so ignorant of the simple truth."

He smiled and turned to pick up and light a cigarette. He walked over to his office fireplace and stood there for a moment in thought.

He said, "My happiness to see you, my friend, is only slightly agitated by my annoyance at your tardy arrival." He took another puff on his cigarette, which made me reach for my pipe, and continued.

"We are on a tight schedule my friend, and your lateness this morning has cost you the luxury of enjoying the finer details of this case before we set out to the place of the crime."

I became frustrated; I had left my pipe at home in my own study.

I stammered out my excuse knowing it was a waste of time, but nonetheless I could not let my friend think it was mere absentmindedness that caused my lateness. "I apologize, Jiles. My wife refused to let me leave without breakfast this morning, and she told me to tell you that she would be happy to speak to you about it if you gave me any trouble!"

Jiles smiled at my wife's delivered joke. "Tell her that I am too wise to do such a thing, but do pass on some advice to her: letting her husband miss an occasional breakfast would not be detrimental to his health."

We both shared a quick laugh at this exchange (by that I mean I laughed and he continued to smile), but when he flung his half smoked tobacco into the embers I knew the time for pleasantries was over. He had a case to solve, and Jiles Whitman wanted me present so that documentation could be made.

We had to be at the Deeprun Tram in fifteen minutes in order to meet our client in Ironforge. We rushed out of his house and literally ran across the city. By the time we arrived at the Tram I was breathless and covered in perspiration. Jiles lit another cigarette once we were seated in our car.

Despite what Jiles had told me in his office, I needed to know what we were heading into.

When I asked him a moment before the tram departed he responded by saying, "Murder, Smit. And it is our task to prove or disprove the suspect's guilt."