"Father, Detective Corcoran and his associate have gone missing," Robert reported sternly.

"Shame that. Is the department looking into it?" Morehouse did not glance up from his newspaper.

"They are, but I think you know something."

"Me?" Morehouse put down his newspaper and gave Robert a truly innocent look.

Trying to ignore the look, Robert went on. "Yes. You were the last one to see them. The butler confirms they came in but did not leave."

"As far as he is aware."

"And Corcoran's friends and his whore and his captain have not seen him since yesterday. Which makes you officially the last person to see him and his friend. So, Father, what do you think of that?"

Morehouse raised a brow. "I think Corcoran would be quite proud of your novice sleuthing skills." He stood and walked slowly around his desk, speaking as a businessman instead of a father. "Robert, yes, I did see them yesterday. But they were beginning to bother me so I made them leave. It is no fault of mine if the butler did not see them leave."

"Father, the last person who 'bothered' you ended up face-down in a gutter. Now then, where are they?"

Bored of the game, Morehouse returned to his newspaper. "As I told you before, look around. They have to be around here somewhere. Now then, I suggest you get out before you start to bother me as well."

"I'm your son!"

"Get out!"

Fuming, Robert left through the first door he saw, though it was not necessarily the double doors through which he had entered. Instead of going out to the foyer, he found himself in a dimly lit room. Now where did this come from and how had he missed it? Of course, this was his father's private office, strictly forbidden to everyone, even his own son. Robert waited for his father to yell and come storming in. He considered getting out. But when his father did not show, his fear waned and his curiosity got the best of him.

Like the study, it had a modest fireplace though the fire had burned low. But it was the footprints on the floor that grabbed his attention. The boot marks were huge, too big to be his father, and there was more than one set. Taking a last quick audio check to make sure his father was not about to barge in, Robert followed the prints into a dark corner. He felt along the wall and came to a door handle.

"Well, father, what are you hiding?"

To his surprise, the door was not locked. His jaw dropped as he found a staircase behind the door.

"What are you hiding?"

Pushing his fear aside, he descended.

When Corcoran woke, the first thing he did was look the Doctor who was sleeping peacefully. Surprisingly enough, he didn't look as bad as he had. His back still resembled one of the questionable dishes served at the taverns, but somehow he just seemed better. A moment later, Corcoran realized why; most of the blood had disappeared. How was that possible? Had someone cleaned him up? To what end?

Corcoran wanted to call out to him, but did not want to disturb him. His worry did not last, however, as the Doctor spoke.

"Good morning, Corky," he murmured.

"Doctor," Corcoran acknowledged. "You're looking better."

"Aw, you're just saying that because it's true." The Doctor took a breath and struggled to his feet, slipping instead to one knee. "Two hearts serve many purposes."

"I don't suppose you could loan me one for the morning."

"Sorry, no."

They fell silent as heavy boots sounded outside, three pairs if Corcoran was any judge. Indeed, the thugs appeared in the chamber, surprisingly cleaner than he would have guessed. The ringleader carried Corcoran's cane like a gentleman's walking stick. And yet, they ignored the detective completely, moving instead to the Doctor and whacking him clean across the back, opening several wounds.

"Morning, Doctor!" the ringleader cried. "You're looking fine this morning!"

The Doctor at least had the sense to remain silent, or maybe he lacked the will to speak. Either way, the thugs moved on, returning to Corcoran. The leader regarded him for a moment. Then, "String him up." He raised a brow. "And don't try anything funny this time."

Corcoran was taken away quietly. The Doctor tried to relax and slump further, but his shoulders were about ready to give out as it was. The human couldn't hope to survive the torture. He himself had barely survived.

"Oh, Corky, please forgive me," he breathed.

From the other chamber, the ringleader laughed. "Well, Corcoran, lookee here. I found your brass knuckles! You remember, don't you? You used these on poor McClarty – among others. Let's see how you like 'em."

Whatever resolve Corcoran had, one fist to the stomach quickly erased it. He couldn't curl up or protect the tender flesh. On the second hit, the detective cried out. A third, a fourth. The Doctor shuddered. Had he sounded like that? What about his weeping and begging? Had he really fallen so far?

Morehouse took each step with extreme caution. There were a few torches on the way down, but most of his descent was done in total darkness. His curiosity had brought him down the steps; fear would likely drive him back up.

"Well, Father, I suppose a direct-access staircase into Hell would not be any real surprise," he murmured. His skin prickled as the words were swallowed by the shadows.

He at last came to a small room lit surprisingly well. It was square and in one corner was a coatrack; along the wall was a rod for suits to be hung. But even more surprising than the light was the fact that the rack actually had a hat and coat on it and the rod held two suits. Listening for any sneaks, Robert approached the rack and rod.

"I know that hat," he whispered, taking said hat from the rack. "And the coat." He sniffed them to be sure. "Copper."

Corcoran had long since stopped bracing himself for the punches, but when he heard the forbidding hum that signaled a Dalek approach, he tensed with fear.

"We're getting there!" the ringleader snarled, raising his fist as if to strike the Dalek.

"A human is coming. He has been identified as the offspring of the human More House."

The other two thugs glanced at each other, then at their boss. "Robert know about all this?"

The ringleader looked thoughtful. "He must or Morehouse would never let him down here."

"Regardless, we must vacate the premises."

"But we're just getting started. We thought you wanted us to 'exterminate' them?"

The Dalek started to fidget. It seemed almost angry, not that Corcoran was any judge of Dalek behavior. "You will cease questioning and come with me!"

"You want us to cut him down?"

"Do not. Come with me."

And like that, Corcoran was left hanging in the middle of the room while the thugs followed the Dalek out of the room.

"Doctor!" Corcoran called after a moment.

"I heard," came the weak reply.

"Don't worry, Doctor, help is on the way!"

I hope.