It was the chirping birds outside the window that awoke Marcel from a sound slumber. His eyes flashed open and he immediately thought about the missing Bible. He quickly peeled off the blanket and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot to where his boots were and he promptly pulled them on before he stood up.

Other men were just beginning to stir, but not so for the man that Marcel thought had his Bible. Charles walked to the man's cot and stood over him for a few seconds. He glanced around the area to see if he could find his book but it was nowhere in sight. His eyes narrow in anger. Gruffly he swooped down and grabbed the sleeping man by his tattered jacket lapels, jerking him upwards, "Where's my Bible?" he bellowed into the man's face; the man's eyes were wide with fright as he squirmed on his cot as he tried to free himself. "I don't know what you're talking about!" the man gulped.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about! I've seen you watching me read my good book!" Marcel shook the man again trying to get him to talk. The man just shook his head no, "I really don't. Sure I watched you," he admitted.

"So where's my Bible?" Charles growled.

"Some guy in a suit came in here early yesterday," another man stated as he watched the ruckus from his cot across the room.

Marcel slowly looked at the man, "A man in a suit?"

The man nodded. He seemed to know what he was looking for. Can't say for sure he took anything though," he shrugged.

Marcel released the man his had his hands on, dropping him back to his cot. He sternly walked back to his cot and pulled his carpet bag out from underneath. Placing the bag up on his cot, Charles carefully moved through the contents, wary of the syringe he kept in the cloth, tucked down near the bottom. As he searched, he realized that the needle was also missing. He whipped his head around and glared at the man who told him of the other. "What did this man look like?" he growled.

The man shrugged, "I didn't pay too much notice. He came in and walked right to your cot," he stated.

"Did he wear a badge?" Marcel asked.

Again the man shrugged, "I've never seen him before. I only arrive yesterday myself," he said as he stood and tidied the blanket on his cot. "I hope you find your Bible. A man could be lost without the comfort of something he cherishes," he tried to smiled.

Marcel's eyes narrowed as he looked around the room. "A man in a suit," he said to himself. Detective William Murdoch, my guess," he sneered. Charles ran his right hand down over his face realizing that if Murdoch has his book, he was as good as dead and he had not fulfilled his dream of full retribution on Inspector Thomas Brackenreid. "I'll pay the bastard a visit in the hospital, then," he growled.

Detective Murdoch was at the Station House, bright and early, combing over the items on his desk. He felt he had an iron-clad case against Marcel Charles and his two Constables. But he felt that there was still something missing – that was until Constable George Crabtree entered his office, brushing his hand down his tunic.

"George?" Murdoch questioned.

The Constable looked up, "A dirty bird," he grumbled as he washed the mess off with a damp cloth. "But they say it's suppose to be a sign of good luck to come," he then smiled.

William's eyebrows arched at the comment, "Interesting," he puzzled over the login of bird droppings being good luck, but it fostered his idea. The Detective looked back at the Constable, "George, I'd like you and Henry to go to Reese's and Dobbin's flats and retrieve their uniforms," he stated.

"Their uniforms, Sir?" Crabtree questioned.

"Yes, George. Their uniforms," Murdoch said. "We're going to test them for blood," he then smiled.

George made the connection, "The Inspector's blood from the beating," he clicked his fingers.

"Right. Now off you go. I'll set up the UV Daylight in a Box machine," Murdoch shooed the Constable with a motion of his hands. "Yes, Sir," Crabtree said as he dashed off to find Constable Higgins.

Murdoch smiled to himself as he retrieved his equipment from from the storage closet in his office.

Doctor Ogden met Margaret Brackenreid at the entrance of the hospital. William had informed the Inspector's wife that the two constables had been apprehended and likely that much easier to travel within the city, for which she was grateful.

"Doctor Ogden," Margaret smiled.

"How are you doing, Margaret?" Julia asked.

"I'll be glad when this is all over and Thomas can come home. I'd like to go home myself," Margaret sighed. Clearly being away from her house and husband were taking their toll on her nerves.

"You'll feel better once you see the Inspector," Julia noted.

"How bad does he look?" Margaret asked.

Julia thought back to when the O'Sheas laid a good beating on him and left him for dead, "Not nearly as bad as the last time," she answered.

Margaret sighed. "Well I brought him a little something that should cheer him up," she patted her handbag while she looked around to see if anyone was watching. She quickly opened it and exposed a small flask and gave an impish smile.

Julia's mouth dropped open, "Oh my! It appears we were thinking the same thing," she laughed. "It was William's idea," she quickly added as she showed the inside of her hand bag to Mrs Brackenreid. Margaret giggled at the thought as Julia cupped her hand under the woman's elbow and led her up to the room where her husband was resting.

The Inspector was sitting up with his right arm wrapped tightly across his lower chest. His feet on the floor and he was hunched over slightly; he was clearly in pain having just come back from the loo; any movement in his ribs caused him to almost vomit from the grinding inside and just getting out of bed and walking were onerous.

Margaret and Julia stood in the doorway, "Thomas?" his wife spoke.

Brackenreid looked up, "Margaret!" he was clearly happy to see her and tried to straighten up, braving the searing pain in his side. Margaret raced to her husband's side and quickly sat down next to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, "Oh Thomas!"

"Careful, Margaret," Brackenreid squirmed as her affection.

"I've missed you, Thomas," Margaret cooed as she studied the Inspector's bruised face. "I've missed you too, Love," he replied. "But I hurt like hell," he noted.

"Oh my poor dear," Margaret pulled back and looked at Thomas, "I brought something for you," she mused.

"New ribs, I hope," Brackenreid snorted.

"Don't be silly. You know I can't do that," Margaret scoffed as she opened her hand bag, again looking around hoping that there were no hospital staff watching.

Thomas' eyes were fixed on his wife, "You didn't..." he wet his lips in anticipation.

"I did!" Margaret giggled. "Now, mind you, I'm only doing this to help make you happy and feel more at home," she then scolded. "Right," Brackenreid sighed. "Happy."

"William and I also have something for you," Julia smiled and stepped forward and handed the Inspector the flask wrapped in a handkerchief. "Much appreciated, Doctor," he smiled and took the object, and quickly stuffed it under his pillow, "I'll start with yours, dear," he glanced at his wife with a tinkle in his eyes. She seemed pleased, as she wrapped her arms around her husband.

"I'll leave you two to talk. I'll see what the doctors have to say," Julia smiled. She enjoyed the subtle affections that the Brackenreid's shared publicly. "Thank you Doctor," Brackenreid said as he watched the doctor leave, before he kissed his wife. "I've missed you," he smiled broadly.

"I've missed you too. So have the boys," Margaret stated. "Hopefully Doctor Ogden can find out when you can leave here," she tightened her arms around her husband's slightly.

"I look forward to going home," he smiled at his wife. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone in the doorway. The man moved further into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Bloody hell! Marcel Charles!" Brackenreid's eyes were wide in fright.