Minutes passed and Windethorpe Manor finally came into view. It looked every bit an ancestral home. The edifice was made of stone, gray and imposing against the country landscape. English ivy crept and criss-crossed on the walls, lending a dark green color to the facade. A wide expanse of neatly-trimmed lawn sprawled at the very front, with ash trees lining a gravel path. Violets and marigolds bloomed magnificently at the side. No element was out of place; everything was trimmed, spruced and pruned to perfection.

A butler in tails stood waiting for us at the bend of the private road, and a groom took over the reins when we alighted the trap.

"Morning, Lestrade, gentlemen," the butler said, "Lady Russell is expecting you."

He led us into a finely furnished main hallway. Baroque sculptural reliefs lined the walls, while the polished marble floor shone with the reflected light from the bay windows and the crystal chandelier that hung overhead. An enormous stairway at the end of the hall led to the second level. It overlooked the floor below with ornate wooden balustrades and columns that stood a few feet apart from each other.

We were admitted to a private sitting room, covered by lush carpeting and enclosed by oak panels. A rotund, silver-blonde lady sat trembling on a midnight blue settee, and a young woman with a despondent expression had an arm around her. Beside them stood a man, sable-haired and well-dressed.

"Lady Russell," said the butler, and the grief-stricken lady raised her eyes. "The Inspector is here with Mr. Holmes."

"Ah, thank you Samuels," said Lady Russell. "Can you please send Avery here? He's in the study when I last saw him."

"Of course, ma'am."

The younger woman spoke, "I am so sorry, Lady Russell, about Paul. Please, if you ever need anything, do not hesitate to call on us." She stood up and rested a hand on the man's elbow.

Lady Russell patted the woman's hand. "Thank you, dear," she replied. "I shall be fine, don't worry. Avery is here, he will be taking care of matters. And Jack will be back here in two days once his business in India is sorted out."

The couple passed us, gave a curt nod, and went on their way.

Lady Russell beckoned us to come closer. "Please, gentlemen," said she in a tremulous voice.

We stepped towards her, and she pointed to the empty ladder-back chairs littered beside the daybed. "Sit," she said. "I only know Inspector Lestrade. Which one of you is Mr. Holmes?" She looked between the two of us.

"That would be me, Madame," Holmes said, tipping his head. "This is my friend and colleague Dr. Watson."

She placed her hands over her lap, fisting a silk handkerchief between them. "Francine, that is, Lady Martin's daughter, had told me about how you found her mother's diamond necklace. That is how I found out about you. I am, frankly, quite exhausted from my condolent and apologetic visitors. There is only so much sympathy that one can handle. I would rather grieve in my own way. I want the truth; I want to know who killed my Paulie, so I could make sure that blackguard would never see the light of day again."

"The Inspector and I will do our best," said Holmes. "But you must follow our orders and give us leave to speak to everyone in your household independently."

Lady Russell nodded quietly. "That could be done," she answered. "You can also have access to the rest of the house. Avery can show you to Paulie's room if you want to."

"Thank you," said Holmes.

A young man strode unannounced into the sitting room. He was Avery Russell, no doubt, for he bore a striking resemblance to his brother. There was the same pale blond hair, narrow nose and thin lips. He was slightly bulkier than Paul, but no taller. His cheeks were also fuller and his skin healthier. But where his brother's aspect was lanky and fragile, Avery was ruddy and active, with an ease in his own space that bordered on slight arrogance.

He looked at Lestrade and gave him a polite nod. "You wanted to speak to me, Mother?"

Lady Russell nodded. "Yes, dear," said she. "This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the detective I told you about."

"Ah, yes, of course." Avery smiled and shook hands with us. He moved with effortless grace that seemed to be the hallmark Russell charm.

"Avery will show you around. If you have any questions, you may ask him. Or Samuels, if he is around. He knows everyone who works in the Manor."

"Thank you, Lady Russell," said my friend. "We would like to proceed with the investigation now."

Lady Russell sat quietly for some moments. We remained standing, waiting for her to give us leave. Her son was about to speak for her, when she spoke, her voice a little above a whisper: "It is possible, isn't it, that Paulie's murderer could be here at home?"

From the darkness in her eyes, I knew she had the answer.

Holmes nodded. "It is a possibility," he admitted, and Lady Russell threw her arms around her son.

"There, Mother," said Avery, soothing her. "It will be alright."

"Oh my Paulie!" she cried. "Who could have done it? Who could have killed your brother?" She broke down in her son's arms.

"Nothing is definite yet, Lady Russell, until we have some evidence," said Holmes.

"What if it is someone we know? Someone we trust? I saw him at the daybed, practically bled to death! Inside our home!" She shook her head and buried her face on Avery's shoulder.

Avery only looked at us silently and nodded, bidding us leave. Lestrade and I stood up and we left Lady Russell and her son.

Lestrade took Holmes by the elbow at the hallway. "What are you planning?" said he. "Shall we go to the east wing? I've been to Paul Russell's room yesterday; can't find a damn thing."

"I don't think so," my friend replied. "Watson and I will talk to Samuels first. We could go about our separate ways and compare notes later this afternoon, perhaps? Good-bye Lestrade, and good luck."

When the Inspector shrugged and left, Holmes caught me by the arm and led me to the stairway. "We have to find Samuels. I think that should be our first move. He could tell us who owns the jacket. Have you got it?"

"Yes, right here," I said, lifting the muddied item on my arm. "Holmes, how do you know this jacket is not Paul Russell's?"

My friend stopped mid-step and fixed me with a look of disbelief. "Think, Watson!" he said. "The collar, the back of his head." He gesticulated wildly, but I still did not understand what he meant. "Never you mind," he said with a flick of his wrist.

. . .

A voice sounded through the hall. "Mr. Holmes, Doctor, a moment, if you please." We turned and came face to face with Lady Russell's son. He climbed the steps briskly and stood one step below us with a self-deprecating smile on his face. "I must apologise for my mother's outburst earlier. She is just overcome with my brother's death," he said.

Holmes put out his hand reassuringly. "There is no need for that, Mr. Russell. We understand completely."

Avery nodded. "Thank you," said he. "Well, gentlemen, if you have any questions—"

"Yes," my friend interjected. "In fact, we do. If we can trouble you for a few minutes of your time, it would be of great help to us."

"It is no trouble, I assure you," he said gently. "I think it's better if we talk in Father's study."

Avery Russell led us to one of the several corridors at the west wing. He opened a door and showed us inside. It was rich and comfortable, but not ornate, and the few decorations about the room pointed to a man with a singularity of purpose. A wooden horse reared permanently atop a small table, and trophies of silver and gold glinted with the reflected light from the gasjets. Bookcases lined the walls, filled with volume after volume of horse-breeding manuals.

It was, however, the mounted head of an elk above the fireplace which ran off with my attention. Avery must have caught on my interest, for he said, "That is Janus."

"Your father loves to hunt?"

Avery folded his arms. "You won't meet a man who detests it more. Janus was my grandfather's. Dad's tried to take him down several times." He walked over and stared the elk at the face. "Told him once that nothing would work short of blasting the wall."

"And what did your father say?"

"He told me he'd blast me off to hell."

"Oh."

I wondered at his curious statement. Even though it is unlikely that I will ever meet the fellow, Lord Russell struck me as a churlish man who endeared himself to no one, not even his sons. I looked at Holmes, but he only pointed to his wrist and signaled me to look.

Avery turned and sank abruptly on the chair behind his father's desk. "Well," he said, "you told me you have questions?"

Holmes spoke, "Dr. Irons told us that there was a ball going on at the time your brother was murdered."

"Yes," he replied. "It started around six in the evening. When the groom came for us, it must be about nine or ten." He played with a gold chain around his neck. "I'm not entirely sure."

"You did not notice that your brother went missing?"

Avery opened his mouth to speak, twice, but gave himself pause. "I know it sounds terrible, saying that I did not notice his absence. But if you knew my brother, well, he's not very sociable, not with our sort anyway." He leaned and clasped his hands over the desk. "Our mother drags him to these balls to meet people. He doesn't like it one bit, so he parades himself for a few minutes until he escapes her notice. Then off he goes," said he with a wave of his hand.

"To where?"

He shrugged. "Anywhere," he said. "Sometimes he'd be with the servants. Found him playing craps with the help once." He paused. "But he was with Samuels mostly."

"He knew your brother well?"

Avery smiled wanly. "Better than Mother did," he confessed.

Holmes paced about the room. "So you are saying that your brother was a congenial man who made friends with anyone—"

"Anyone lower than his station-"

"—And that no one had a reason to kill him—"

"Except Harrison," Avery said.

Holmes stopped. "Harrison? Who is Harrison?"

Avery shook his head and smiled all too widely. "A joke, Mr Holmes," he said. "Harrison—the horsemaster—always carries a pitchfork and glares at everyone." He paused and waved his hand in dismissal. "Just a silly joke the servants have."

"Peculiar humour you have around here," my friend remarked.

Avery's face twitched. "We're a grim lot, you can say." He stood. "But to answer your question: no, Paul did not have enemies; he never had the energy to make them. You have probably heard that my brother was a bit of a shut-in." He removed the chain about his neck. "We're complete opposites in that way." I caught a glimpse of a gold pendant that hung about the end of the chain. Avery dropped it in his palm and stuck it inside his trouser pocket.

My friend paced about with a smooth gait. "And yet you are alike."

Avery's eyes held amusement as he followed my friend with his gaze. "In what manner?"

"You are both capable of great sympathy." Holmes looked at him with complete frankness. "Everyone knows of your service to the London poor."

Avery laughed in embarrassment. "Oh, well, I don't know what to tell you—"

"Your humility precedes you, Mr. Russell. I see no shame in being a benefactor, especially to a city in dire need of it." He paused. "What I really want to know—and I hope you will not resent me for asking-is why you sold your half of the company before you left London. Not for charity, I suppose?"

"Ah, word spreads fast." Avery smiled. "You give me too little credit, Mr. Holmes, if you think I'll resent you for asking a fair question. And you give me too much, if you think I sold my company for charity. I fear the purpose was strictly a matter of business."

"You won't mind telling us the details?"

Avery sighed and thrust his hands within his pockets. "Only a couple of ventures in—um—Liverpool. Shipping and railways."

Holmes nodded. "You will make a good fortune, Mr. Russell. Luck, I am sure, will be on your side."

"Thank you." He smiled with uncanny friendliness. "Do you have further questions?"

"No, you have given us all we need to know," said my friend. "If you could tell us where we could find Samuels—"

"He's in the library, I think. The hall, second floor, last door to the right. Samuels is usually there before twelve." Avery paused. "I hope you gentlemen will join us for lunch."

"Thank you, but we intend to finish the case as soon as possible." Holmes turned to me. "We'll go to Samuels, but first I must send a wire—"

"If you have to send a telegram, I can do it for you," Avery offered all too quickly.

"You are too kind—"

"No, I insist. I'm about to send one as well." He raised a piece of paper and set it down. "I see no reason to keep you from your investigation." He pulled out a pen and a sheet of foolscap from the desk drawer.

Holmes came forward and scribbled a message. It took him some moments, but before I could inquire as to its contents he had already finished and folded the paper thrice. Holding it out to Avery, he said, "I'll be expecting a reply from London."

"Then I'll make sure it gets to you." Avery tucked the paper in his breastpocket and smiled. "Good day, gentlemen."

. . .

The second floor of the main hall held several rooms and a small stairwell. Paintings in their enormous gilded frames chewed up the walls. Vases overflowed with marigolds and lilies, and a wide rococo mirror bestowed the illusion of unnecessary spaciousness. Holmes and I walked straight to the last door on the right.

I took the opportunity to ask him what he thought about Avery Russell, but he only threw the question back to me. The man seemed to be of good intentions, I replied, and that his philanthropy marks him as a man of great probity. My answer drew a bark of derisive laughter from Holmes.

"My dear fellow," he said, "I should thank you for affording me a window to the pedestrian's mind. It makes you quite invaluable in my detective work."

"Well, that's rather new," I said dryly.

He glanced at me, chin raised. "I meant it in good spirit, Watson. I intend to say that your observations give me a fresh perspective."

Even his apologies sounded disdainful. "Fresh but erroneous," I said. "Alright, what were your observations?"

"Two, mainly. I told you to look at his cuffs. What did you see?"

I remembered it very well, for it was passing strange. "His cufflinks were mismatched. One was gold and square while the other one was a silver horseshoe."

"And what do you make of that?"

"I suppose it reflects on his personality in some way." I paused. "He's a careless man who gives little attention to his apparel. A careful man never pulls two different cufflinks and puts them on without a thought."

Holmes patted me on the back and swiftly withdrew his hand. "A perfectly reasonable inference," he said, "but I am inclined to think differently. Watson, have you ever heard of the Palamedes Club at Regent Street?"

I shook my head and said I have never heard of such a thing.

"Their members have a peculiar custom of wearing a horseshoe cufflink. Ah, here we are at the library—"

A/N: I'd like to thank all those who have reviewed the story so far! Arya May, Anon, Lua j, Slytherin et sa Ptite Voix, Penman Grenade, annabelleaurelius, Psychofan, qurota ayuni, Seoritaluna, Parhelia, anon (Any relation to Anon?) and youkodoll...I love you guys. Like a frickton. (To all reading this: see you guys next week! )