Chapter two.

As the city streets passed by in a whirling flash, Holmes and I discussed the peculiarities of the case. "However did you find out where this 'Mrs. Colepepper' lives?" I asked, "However did you even know that 'Gloria's' last name was Colepepper? However did you even know she was married!?"

"Calm yourself Watson," pressured Holmes, "and don't trouble yourself, it wasn't some extreme act of deduction, I barely had to lift a finger."

"But how!" I cried.

"There was a card attached to the index of Mr. Hartford's coat, it not only had Gloria Colepepper's name on it but, her address as well."

"Then why did you not say so earlier in front of Mycroft, or later in front of Lestrade?"

"Mycroft saw the paper, and I had no inclination to believe that you hadn't."

"But what about Lestrade?" I challenged.

"Lestrade's a smart fellow," answered Holmes with a twinkle in his eye, "It shouldn't be to hard for him to find the card where I left it."

"Holmes, I'm shocked!" Said I, "tampering with evidence just doesn't seem like a thing you would do!"

"Oh posh Watson, what the deuce is it to you, if I solve the case, which I have every intention of doing, what does it matter if Lestrade has one extra lead? A well rounded problem is good for the mind every now and then, I know that I find it most invigorating."

"Sorry to bother you Gov'ner," the cabman broke in, "but we're at the location, and just as I promised we've done it in half the time."

Holmes and I stepped out of the carriage; my friend drew some silver out of his pocket and handed it to the driver. "There's your schilling, and there's three more, get something fine for your wife, the washing job is very hard on her, and she's considering a change in scenery if read my meaning."

Holmes and I tramped off through the thick fog, leaving an incredulous cab driver behind.

We approached the address of our destination and a pleasant sight greeted our eyes, rising up from the walk was a congenial looked house with graceful arches and large windows. Holmes stepped up to the walk and gave the bell a good long ring, it was only seconds later that I realized that it was late, almost midnight, most respectable people would be in bed...Other than Holmes and I of course.

Holmes yanked at the bell again and then hammered loudly at the door.

A ladies maid opened the door just enough to peek her head out. "May I help you sirs?"

Holmes smiled. "You may indeed; we'd like to speak with your mistress, Mrs. Colepepper."

The maid paused at the doorway; clearly she was reluctant to let two strange men into her house in the middle of the night. "Ma'am isn't home right now; can I leave her a message?"

"Oh tut woman, there's no need to lie, we're not burglars, now go wake your lady."

The maid was slightly taken aback at this and hesitated briefly.

"Get to it woman! We haven't got all night!" Holmes commanded.

The maid scuttled off to wake her employer, I turned to Holmes. "There was no need to be short with her Holmes; she was only doing what she thought well."

Holmes sighed. "And I only did what I thought was right."

I looked Holmes straight in the eye. "You're the most emotionless person I know Holmes!"

"Why thank-you Watson," Holmes replied, "in my line of work I take that as a complement, but quietly now, those are the footsteps of a cultured lady I hear approaching."

As the footsteps grew louder, I craned my head to get a better view of this Mrs. Colepepper. Inclining my head to the left I peered through the slightly opened door and caught sight of our quarry. Gloria Colepepper was a young woman; I should expect that she was no older than twenty-seven, with long brown hair, rosy skin and the deepest most innocent, brown eyes I had ever seen. The long black coat she was wearing could not cover the stately grace with which her silken nightgown flowed about her, the tiny velvet slippers she was wearing clicked softly against the marble hall.

"May I help you gentlemen?" Her voice was a smooth as silk.

"You may indeed madam," replied Holmes, "we're here to speak to you about your relationship with Mr. Ian Hartford."

The lady pursed her lips; her skin grew a shade paler.

"I know no one by that name."

"Oh come now woman, I'm not that naïve."

"As I said before Sir, I do not know a Mr. Ian Hartford," The woman said awkwardly.

"Ian Hartford is dead Ma'am."

The good lady reeled backwards in shock, her eyelids fluttered and she leaned against the doorjamb for support.

Holmes grabbed her by the wrist and propelled her towards a handsome couch.

I called for the maid and salts were soon procured, Holmes sat upon the arm of the couch and held the salts under her nose for a few seconds, her eyes opened wide, she sat up shakily. Immediately her sobs punctuated the air.

Holmes took a seat next to me and patiently waited, I tried to calm the woman, but it was to no avail.

After a few emotional moments, Mrs. Colepepper lifted her worn head. "How did he die?"

"He was murdered."

Mrs. Colepepper nodded, "I had feared as much."

I felt for this woman; clearly Ian Hartford was close to her.

"Now," said Holmes, "please explain your relationship with Mr. Hartford."

She stared blankly at Holmes for a moment. "It is very hard to explain..."

Holmes nodded. "You must try your best madam."

"Very well, It started long ago, when I was a young lady, Ian and I had been friends since childhood and we were desperately in love with each other, we were planning to get married," she scowled, "but my father had other devices for me, he demanded I wed the man of his choice, no coincidence that he was a rich young lord."

"No doubt you mean Sir Edward Colepepper?" Holmes asked.
The lady blinked back tears and nodded. "Yes Edward is my husband, but I love him not, nor could I ever, even now that Ian is dead. I had been seeing Ian, we were planning to run away together to Europe, at first Ian told me it was a fool idea, he said that he could never support me, but I convinced him. I told him that I didn't care what happened, as long as we were together it was enough."

Holmes eyelids fluttered. "I see a pattern here; you know who the murderer is do you not?"

The lady swallowed deeply, she bit her pale lips. "There is only one person who could have done this."

"Sir Edward Colepepper," Holmes replied

Mrs. Colepepper closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Yes; as you may know, Edward is a famous actor, he has the uncanny ability to play the character of his roll so well, that it seems his own character. I'm very much afraid he used this feat to kill poor Ian."

"The club maid!" I cried.

"Yes," Holmes agreed, "I had suspected something of the sort when I read the card and found the makeup, this merely approves my theory."

"But Lestrade let her go!"

"Not to worry Watson, we shall find him."

"What will happen to him?" asked the lady.

"That is for the courts to decide; as for us, we must take our leave, I advise you to return to your father's house, you may be called upon as a witness when we wrap this web up."

"Farewell to you sirs, I pray you find Edward before something even more terrible happens."

We walked briskly out of the noble lady's presence; the home which at first had seemed so cheery was but a pale ghost of what it had been, or so it seemed, thirty such heartrending minutes made even the best of places look miserable.

Holmes hailed a passing cab; the driver stood the horse too. Holmes opened the door. "Get in Watson." "Where are we going Holmes?" I inquired.

"'We' are going no where, you are returning to Baker, I'm afraid that you'll not be able to help me on this next venture."
"Doing some late night snooping?"

"Indeed I am Watson, and I think you'd find the establishments I chose to sojourn at are quite below your station."