A warm wave of happiness swept over me when I saw that grin break on Holmes' face. We said goodbye to St. James's Park and began our return to Mycroft's flat. Holmes then set about telling me, in a most feverish and excited manner, what he had seen at the Hepburn residence. I intently listened to his findings at first, but then slowly found myself becoming more and more bored. He had just begun to talk about tobacco ash and the various differences among its brands when he saw the slightly glazed look in my eyes.

"You have not heard a single word I said, have you?" he asked, clearly perturbed by my apathy.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry, Holmes." I had become distracted by the sight of a rather handsome, young gentleman; I could not help but notice his easy smile and bright eyes glowing with a mischievous intelligence behind a set of round spectacles. He reminded me of a particular student of my father's that I once fancied when I was younger. "I will honestly tell you that I heard the beginning of your findings but that I gradually lost interest. Has anyone ever told you that you have the tendency to ramble?"

"All I have said is pertinent information," Holmes argued. He shoved his hands into his pockets and proceeded forward in a faster pace; I almost had to run in order to catch up. "Meanwhile, here you are staring like some simpering fool at every young man that passes us by."

I stiffened; he had been watching me. I cleared my throat and gently reasoned, "I shall say in my defense that he was the only gentlemen that I had more than a fleeting interest in. You should be upset with him; he was the one with the nice smile that got me all flustered." I dryly added, "After all, us women cannot help but lose our heads around handsome young men."

"You only use your femininity when it is advantageous," Holmes muttered as he puffed his cigarette. "I need your full and undivided attention, Charlotte."

"Tut, tut, Holmes. One would think that you are getting quite jealous," I slyly remarked. Holmes looked positively apoplectic and was about to spew some words in his defense when I shoved my index finger in his face. "Now, now, Holmes! I merely jest. I do not think I can handle another argument for today… no, most definitely not. If you would kindly summarize your accounts and only emphasize the most important of your findings, I will be eternally grateful."

Holmes grumbled in response as he irritably threw his spent cigarette into the streets. He did not say anything more as we walked down St. James's Street and then turned onto Pall Mall. I patiently waited for his answer. He seemed to be deep within the attic of his mind; he was mentally rummaging through the various facts and stacking them up with the older data he had uncovered.

Ten minutes passed without a single word and I was about to throttle Holmes. However, he was unknowingly saved from my wrath; a throaty chuckle abruptly tumbled out of his mouth, which distracted and confused me. He glanced at me and noted the confusion written all over my face.

"Holmes, what the deuce—"

"Please do not interrupt my thought process, Charlotte. I am merely indulging in a personal joke." He interjected and then added, "I shall reveal my findings when I am ready." Five more minutes passed by and I was about to firmly prompt him about his findings once more when Holmes cleared his throat and finally relented. "Very well, I shall tell you as succinctly as I possibly can about my findings.

"My travels first brought me to Whitehall, the nucleus of our nation's government, where I sought out the offices of Scotland Yard. Mycroft referred me to a rather elderly inspector; he seemed to be on the verge of retirement and was, therefore, more likely to bend the rules. The elderly gentleman, Inspector Ainsworth, was quite willing to assist me even though his junior officer seemed much more reluctant. The sergeant grumbled about the fact that I was a private citizen and said that I had no business poking through police work.

"'My boy, Mr. Holmes, here, is only trying to help us out on this investigation.' Inspector Ainsworth told the young sergeant in a paternal yet condescending manner. 'If he's as good as his older brother is, I'm more than willing to let him take a peek.'

"'But, sir, it is clearly against the rules!' The young sergeant by the name of Lestrade complained and began thumbing through a well worn police manual. 'You see, it says here that—'

"'Rules, rules, rules!' The Inspector exclaimed in frustration. 'Come now, Giles, I am only thinking of the practicalities of the case. Maybe Scotland Yard could benefit from a pair of fresh eyes as his.'

"Ainsworth had the final word and left the young sergeant to mope for the entirety of the day; I, on the other hand, perused through the file. Much as I had suspected, Scotland Yard had ruled the crime an accident. The fire started around half-past-eleven at night and burned for two hours until the fire brigade extinguished it. Mr. Hepburn's remains were found in his bed; he may have been asleep when the fire started but I have insufficient data on that matter—"

I broke through Holmes' monologue. "Do you think you can spare me the description of Mr. Hepburn's... state after his death? I am not wont to hear the details concerning a gruesome death." We arrived in front of Mycroft's flat just as the streetlights were being lit.

"Very well." Holmes opened the door to Mycroft's building for me and we walked inside. We then climbed up the stairs to Mycroft's flat while Holmes revealed more about what he found.

The guilty cigar was discovered next to the remains of what would have been Mr. Hepburn's night stand. Holmes complained about the fact that the Yard had not said anything specific about the cigar.

"It is unfortunate that the Yard only said that it was a cigar. They did not take note of the cigar's brand or the type of tobacco the cigar was made of. Volumes of information could be derived from even the smallest amount of cigar ash."

Again with the ramblings, I mentally screamed. "A cigar is a cigar, Holmes; by any other name, it still smells horrible. I cannot see the significance of your concern with something as trivial as tobacco ash."

"It is extraordinarily pertinent information, Charlotte!" he exclaimed in a clearly offended tone. "In fact, I intend to write a monograph about the subject in the near future. Considering your ignorance on the topic, I shall reveal its importance later than I intended."

I scowled as we walked into Mycroft's flat. The elder Holmes was slumped in the chair by the fire; his eyes were drooping, but they widely opened when they saw Holmes and I walk through the door. He slowly sat up and stretched his club-like arms in the air. His eyes fell upon my face and a chuckle tumbled from his mouth.

"Miss Andrewes, I can see that you did not enjoy your outing with my brother. I'm afraid he's always had that effect on women."

"Very funny, Mycroft," Holmes sneered as he hung his coat on the rack. He straightened out his tie before turning to me with his outstretched arms. "Let me get your coat."

"No, you can get my walking stick," I commanded as I thrust the stick into his arms. I slipped out of my coat on my own accord and hung it on the coat rack.

"Your walking stick, Miss." Holmes placed it back into my hands. He walked over to the window and began to inspect the dark London skyline. I sat in the chair opposite of Mycroft. Holmes started to speak once more but did not turn around from his position. Instead, he looked at my reflection in the window. "Would you like to hear more or am I boring you?"

"You tend to bore me no matter what you do," I unenthusiastically noted. Fatigue seemed to sweep over me as I sank into the cushions. The feathery pillows in my room seemed to be calling for me to lay my head down on their softness.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Come now, children, let's not argue. Or would you rather have me say, 'Kiss and make up?'"

I merely acknowledged Mycroft's comment with a wry smile and focused on Holmes' reflection. "Come now, Holmes, do tell me, for I know how much you love to show-off and all."

Holmes rifled through his coat pockets in a feverish manner. "Damn it! It seems that I have diminished my supply of cigarettes. Mycroft, have you any?"

"I solely indulge in cigars nowadays, my dear brother," Mycroft said as he began to cut one. He held the lighter in his hands and was about to light it when his eyes fell upon me. "Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Andrewes, do you mind if I smoke?"

"Go ahead, Mr. Holmes. However, if you could perhaps tell your brother to open the window, I shall be very much obliged."

"What is the matter, Mycroft? Whitehall paying you too much to buy just cigarettes?" Holmes wryly questioned as he went to close the window; he knew that the seemingly innocuous inquiry would perturb his brother.

"Damn it, Sherlock, you cannot talk about my occupation in such a lax manner." He puffed his cigar and then seemed to realize that I was in his presence. "Oh, terribly sorry, Miss Andrewes—"

"No trouble at all. I shall just ignore that last comment," I said dismissively. "Come now, Holmes, do tell me the rest before I fall asleep in your brother's comfortable chair."

"Very well, I shall," he relented as he sat down on the window bench. "After I managed to absorb all of the information from Scotland Yard's files, I thanked Inspector Ainsworth and the young sergeant and set off for Kensington.

"The bones of Mr. Hepburn's residence were all that remained of his former home. All I managed to find through a brief perusal of the place was a small cigar butt on top of the brick wall surrounding the property. It seems that we were correct in thinking that Mr. Hepburn's home had a garden; anyone could climb over the back fence, into the garden, and towards his house with ease. I could not find anything more significant asides from that cigar butt and was about to leave when a man's voice called to me.

"'You there, young man!' I turned around and saw a middle-aged man come out from the house across the street. He was of the working class, as I judged from the Cockney lilt in his voice among other things. He was also a servant from one of the more opulent dwellings around the neighborhood; he wore a considerably formal chauffeur's uniform made from the finest of fabrics. 'You from the Yard?'

"'Yes, I am.' I seized the opportunity. 'And you are?' I asked the man.

"The man tipped his cloth cap. 'The name's Mathis, sir. I work across the way from the late Mr. Hepburn's place.'

"'Did you know Mr. Hepburn personally?' I asked.

"'Nice enough fellow. He was a quiet sort of chap with his nose always stuck in a book. Pity that he's gone,' he commiserated out of politeness.

"'Yes, well, before the fire, did you seen anything unusual? Perhaps anyone outside his house that looked unfamiliar?' I asked Mathis. The man looked up to the heavens in thought as he scratched his head. Mathis continued this exercise for quite some time until he finally had an answer.

"'No, sir, I didn't see anything of the like,' Mathis declared. 'Sorry that I can't tell you anything more.'

"'Mr. Mathis, do you happen to know where Mr. Hepburn's former help went after their master's death?' I inquired, deciding to take another route of questioning.

"'Yes. From what I know, Mr. Hepburn's butler, Pennyworth, returned to Ireland for retirement. I'm not too sure of what happened to his cook,' Damn, there went one possible trail, I thought to myself. 'But, Mr. Hepburn's housekeeper, Gertrude, lives with her daughter's family here in London.'

A laugh gurgled in my throat. "Ah-ha!" I cried out in order to keep myself awake. Mycroft's chair was much too comfortable for my own good. "So, is it safe to assume that you dashed to the other side of London and found something of importance concerning this Gertrude character?"

Holmes glowered at me for a moment and groused, "Damn, I need a cigarette."

"Have one of my cigars then, Sherlock," Mycroft replied as he opened up his cigar box.

I stifled a yawn. Holmes resignedly took a cigar out of Mycroft's box and proceeded to clip and smoke it. Luckily for me, the open window managed to diffuse the pungent smell.

"Actually," Holmes said, the cigar smoke obscuring his face from my vision. "I went to see her and I was not allowed inside. Her daughter was very stern about that manner; she seemed particularly overprotective of her mother." He took another puff of the cigar and said to Mycroft, "The tobacco is of an excellent quality." Holmes licked his lips and sighed, "We have to find some way to talk with Gertrude. That woman must know something."

"You should bring Miss Andrewes along to Gertrude's house tomorrow." Mycroft suggested. "I'm sure that the daughter would be much more willing to cooperate with another woman there."

"Yes, bring in the woman," I dryly joked. "The secret weapon."

A smile appeared on Holmes' face. "Yes, my secret weapon."

Another yawn snuck up before I could stifle it. "Well, gentlemen, I'm emotionally and physically exhausted. I think it's time that I go to bed." I stood up and the two gentlemen did as well out of politeness; I hated these kinds of actions as they always made me feel so damned conscious. I began to walk away when Holmes' voice drew me back.

"Oh, Charlotte, don't you want to know about the cigar?"

"What about it? Honestly, Holmes, I feel like I'm going to drop any minute," I petulantly replied; I did not even care about the whine in my voice. I just wanted to go to bed.

"I asked Mathis if Hepburn smoked cigars," Holmes began to say. Of course, Holmes being the way he is, decided to make this into some sort of dramatic scene. I was about to bellow at him when he finally spoke up. "Mathis said that Hepburn was an almost religious pipe smoker."

"So, it wasn't an accident," I lamely added.

"Yes."

"Is that all?"

"For the time being, yes."

"Well, then, goodnight, Brothers Holmes," I said as I walked down the hallway and into the welcoming shelter of my room.

I woke up to the slamming of the door and that annoyingly bright voice whispering in my ears.

"Charlotte, wake up!"

My response was to cringe and to pull the covers over my head. I mumbled something unintelligible about how it was still very early. Unfortunately, pulling the covers over my head was not a final solution and I soon felt the coldness of having the covers tugged away from the bed.

"I know it's early, but I need you up right now."

My drowsiness was soon replaced by utter terror; Holmes was in my room and I was in nothing but my nightgown. I sat up at once and attempted to gather the covers around me.

"Damn it, Holmes! I'm in my nightgown!" I cried out just as he opened up the curtains. Sunlight poured into my room and pierced my sleep-dazed eyes. I covered my eyes with my pillow. "Firecrackers!"

"Of course you're in your nightgown," Holmes lightly noted. He placed something on the night stand with a clink. The smell of coffee wafted into my nostrils. "I could hardly imagine you to wear anything else to bed. Now, get up!"

I blindly fumbled for the coffee cup. My hands soon grasped the warm, smooth cup of china. "You're being much more pleasant than normal, bringing me coffee and all. What's on your mind, Holmes?"

"We are going to see the housekeeper, Gertrude, and I would very much like your presence there," Holmes said in that same polite tone, though now there was a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Drink all of that coffee and get dressed." It appeared that I was still moving at a glacial pace when Holmes loudly clapped his hands; I jumped and nearly upset the coffee cup. "Move, woman!"

I drank the rest of my coffee, proceeded with my daily ritual of massaging my limbs, and then got dressed. I fumbled around the room for my walking stick, nearly tripped over it in the process, and finally emerged from my room. I was still in a fog when I found Holmes opening a new package of cigarettes. "Finally got your cigarettes, did you?"

"Ah, finally awake, are you?" Holmes quipped in return. "I went to the tobacconist earlier and replenished my supply. I also asked the man if he could identify the brand of our lovely little cigar butt. He told me to return later in the afternoon."

"My, my, aren't we the productive one this morning? Woke up at the crack of dawn, did you?" I tiredly asked as I tried to stifle a huge yawn. Mrs. Costello entered the dining room and placed a tray filled with muffins on the table. I silently greeted Mrs. Costello with a wave. She gently smiled, took my cup into her capable hands, retreated into the kitchen, and returned with a full cup of coffee. "Oh, bless you, Mrs. Costello." I thanked her. A copy of The Times seemed to stand on its own accord by the dining table. "Good morning, Mr. Holmes."

"Morning, Miss Andrewes," Mycroft greeted, briefly peeking out from his newspaper.

"No, actually I left around nine o' clock to fetch it." Holmes belatedly replied in a bland voice.

I was halfway through the process of bringing the cup to my lips when I abruptly stopped. "What time is it?"

"Half-past-eleven," Mrs. Costello provided in a chipper voice.

"Oh," I managed to say through my apparent embarrassment. Though I did not have a mirror, I was quite sure that my visage was as crimson as my hair. I whirled around to find Holmes quaking in silent laughter. "Oh, go ahead and laugh, Holmes. Surely if there is any moment that I deserve it, now is the time."

"Oh no," Holmes politely refused, though it was quite clear that he wanted to laugh. "That would be quite rude of me to do so… though you did open yourself up to it." He held fast to his word and did not laugh at me, but his mouth was quirked in a crooked smile whenever he managed to lock eyes with me.

I finished my second cup of coffee and found myself fully awake; the coffee, my sheer inanity, and Holmes' silent laughter at said inanity had done its job. "Well, now that I'm wide awake and you're finished laughing at me—" Holmes was about to dispute my claim and I hastily readjusted my argument. "---clandestinely laughing at me, at any rate, could we now go investigate whatever you woke me up for?"

Holmes cleared his throat. "My dear lady, I told you already my purpose, though I suppose that your sleep-drunken state made you disregard it. We are following my brother's advice. I am taking you along with me to visit Mr. Hepburn's housekeeper, Gertrude; you are to soothe the anxious and overprotective daughter while I ask the good housekeeper some questions." He led me towards the door and helped me pull on my coat. Holmes looked at me as he opened the door. "Are you ready? Good. Well, dear Mycroft, do not expect us until the evening. Goodbye!"

He closed the door behind us and proceeded down the stairs at a breakneck speed. I, of course, hobbled after him as quickly as I could. I reached the bottom and walked out onto the street to find Holmes standing by a waiting hansom. I managed to exclaim, though I was quite out of breath, "Firecrackers, Holmes! Whatever happened to 'ladies first'?"

"Well, then, if that were the case, it would be evening before we could go anywhere," Holmes said dismissively. He opened the door for me and, when he saw that I was hesitant, sighed and added, "I apologize; that was rather rude of me."

"You're bloody right it was," I griped as I put my hand in Holmes' and allowed him to help me into the hansom. I sat down and Holmes followed from behind. I shook my head and chortled to myself. Holmes looked at me oddly and I decided to explain myself. "What a team we make, eh, Holmes? A cripple and a drug addict off to save the world."

"Is that cynicism I hear in your voice? It certainly does not become a lovely young lady such as yourself." Holmes mused aloud. He then abruptly began to lecture me. "No, indeed. Charlotte, I shall tell you this once, but would like you to remember what I am about to tell you: I understand, and you must understand as well, that your body is not physically strong." With those words, he took my walking stick into his two hands and laid it there in his palms; his eyes surveyed it with what appeared to be either a fond or thoughtful gaze. He leaned the walking stick against the closed door when he was done. "However, your raw intellect—and believe me, it is quite raw—more than makes up for your bodily shortcomings."

"'Raw intellect?'" I repeated out of curiosity.

"Yes, raw," he repeated and proceeded to say, "You have a solid foundation and good eyes, but your mind could improve greatly given the chance. However, you tend to react through emotion rather than logic."

"You know, Holmes, you could almost be nice if your compliments weren't so backhanded," I slyly remarked. I saw that his tie was crooked and proceeded to fix it. He initially recoiled when my hands accidentally brushed his neck. "I am only trying to fix your tie, dear Holmes. I am not planning to choke you this time."

"'This time,' eh?" he repeated. I finished straightening his tie and sat back in my seat. "I do hope you take my words to heart."

"For once, Holmes, I believe I will take your advice."

"Oi!" A coarse voice bellowed a voice above us. A cloth-capped, smelly, unshaven head of a cabbie peeked over into one of the windows. "This ain't a parlor, guvner. Are you lot headin' anywhere at all?"

"Baker Street, if you please. A sovereign if you can get there in half an hour and an extra sovereign for your troubles." Holmes directed the cabbie. "Oh, and Charlotte, I am so much more than a crazed drug addict."

"Oh, I know, but I do like simplicities," I genially smiled as I comfortably leaned back in the seat.

The cabbie excited by the sudden windfall of money whipped the horses a little too enthusiastically and we sped off towards Baker Street.

The cabbie got his two sovereigns; we got to Baker Street in twenty-five minutes time. The shiny sovereigns were deposited into the greedy little cabbie's hands and we stepped off of the hansom. My hair had not faired well during our hasty voyage; I reinserted several pins and then turned to find that Holmes had completely disappeared.

"Holmes!" I yelled into the crowd. Damn him, he hadn't even the nerve to wait for me, I blackly thought as I combed my way through the crowd and stood on the tips of my toes to see if I could see him. I dodged several street vendors and unkempt children; my hands quickly buried themselves into the safe shelters of my coat pockets. Heaven forbid that my jewelry be snatched by swift and grubby little hands. Holmes ditched me and I was fuming. It was at that very moment that I felt a hand snatch my arm.

"Damn it, woman, please keep up!" Holmes curtly whispered in my ear. He proceeded to steer me through Baker Street with one hand on my arm and the other on the small of my back. He let go when we stopped in front of an unassuming brick building with the number ninety-three painted above the doorway.

Holmes began to walk up the steps towards the door and I made to follow him when he abruptly whirled around to face me. I recoiled in shock and would have nearly fallen off the steps if he had not steadied me. "I shall make our intentions known first and then I shall summon you."

My brow furrowed in consternation. "Holmes, that woman already turned you away yesterday. Don't you think that she'll do the same today? And what will you tell her?"

"I shall simply tell her that you are a distant relative of the late Mr. Hepburn and that you would like to know more about your deceased uncle," Holmes explained in a manner similar to one used when talking to a stupid child. He jumped up the steps and knocked on the door. "Just wait and we will soon be inside the house."

My mouth opened to argue but I quickly decided to let him work on his own; I wanted the pleasure of seeing his arrogance get the better of him. I walked down the steps and stood underneath a nearby streetlight. Holmes knocked on the door once again. The door opened; my first impression of the woman was of a pig wearing a messy brown wig. Her piggy eyes fell on Holmes.

"I already shooed you away from here yesterday! I told you 'absolutely not!'" She screeched as she attempted to close the door; Holmes had strategically placed his foot in between the door jamb.

"Madam, please, if you would let us have a moment." He waved his hand in my general direction. "This woman here, she is—" Holmes implored in a strained voice before he was interrupted.

"My mother has already answered several questions for Scotland Yard. And you don't seem like those blokes, so why should she even answer your questions?" She brought her large foot down on Holmes' foot with that final statement. Holmes cursed as he quickly withdrew it from the door. The door was now free and she slammed it shut.

Holmes morosely grumbled to himself as he gingerly walked down the steps. It was now my turn to silently quake with laughter. He leaned on the other side of the streetlight and waited for me to finish. "She did not even listen to me."

"Yes, she will listen to a logical and reasonable argument." I sardonically reiterated his words with wicked satisfaction.

"Dear me, it seems that I forgot the one cardinal rule about women: They are incapable of comprehending logic and reasoning," Holmes savagely retorted. "Do you think I would have had a better chance reciting poetry?"

"Holmes, Holmes, Holmes!" I shook my head in dismay. "I am quite tempted to tell you, 'I told you so', but I think I will decline for your ego's sake. Mind if I try?"

A doubtful expression briefly crossed his features, but he said, "Well, certainly."

"Don't sound so doubtful of my abilities," I chided. "Who would be best suited to speak with a hysterical woman?" Holmes allowed himself to chuckle. "And you told me yourself that I was the 'secret weapon.' Oh, what is that swine—I mean—woman's name?"

"Mrs. Cadwallader," he supplied as he politely refused to buy flowers from a street vendor. "Welsh by the sound of the last name." He trivially added, "Very much like your own surname."

I nodded and proceeded to climb up the steps. I glanced at Holmes; a smirk was curled on his lips. I knocked on the door. The curtains in the window adjacent to the door fluttered slightly. It was followed by the door opening wide. Mrs. Cadwallader eyed me to a gentler degree than that of the suspicion she had fixed on Holmes.

"Yes?" she impatiently asked. She crossed her large arms over her heaving bosom and waited for an answer.

"Hello, Mrs. Cadwallader," I greeted in a soothing voice. "First of all, my name is Charlotte Andrewes. That man that you just spoke with is…" Is what? My partner? No, no, that wouldn't do at all. "He is my husband." A cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh came from the pavement; I had trouble not rolling my eyes in response. "Well, you see, Madam, like my husband tried to say, I'm afraid that I insisted to come all the way to London to see Mr. Hepburn, my… uncle."

"Where are you from?" Mrs. Cadwallader promptly inquired.

I said the first thing that came to my mind. "Oh, well, we're from a small town in Sussex ."

"Countryside's great down there," she offered as the smallest of smiles appeared on her face.

"Yes, it's lovely this time of year," I agreed, surprised that I had managed to get this far. "Well, when we arrived in London, we discovered that Mr. Hepburn had passed away and we were greatly saddened by his death. I know that this is rather abrupt, but I just wanted to speak with your mother about my uncle for a moment; you know, talk about his final days and all." I added a sniffle for good measure. "It would mean a lot to me."

Mrs. Cadwallader retained her solemn pose for awhile and continued to look at me with that stern look in her beady eyes. I was afraid that she would shut the door in my face when her ruddy face broke in sympathy.

"Oh, you poor dear," she cooed as she unexpectedly seized me into her arms and thrust me into her bosoms. She patted my back as though she were comforting a child. "You come inside and I'll make some tea for you and your husband. Mother! We have guests! Make some tea!" She waddled inside of her house as her booming voice echoed through the rooms.

Holmes tramped up the steps and followed me inside. A dubious expression appeared on his face as though he could not believe what had just occurred. "I cannot understand. I was going to tell her essentially the same story and yet she turned me away."

Mrs. Cadwallader poked her head out of what appeared to be the kitchen door. "Make yourselves at home in the parlor," she said in a sickly sweet voice that abruptly switched to a hoarse yell as she returned inside the kitchen. "Mum! Hurry up!"

We sat down in an ancient, unused parlor. The aged sofa we occupied puffed up dust every time we moved. Holmes quietly laughed to himself. "That ridiculous story actually worked?"

"I appealed to her emotions, Holmes," I whispered and then added in a sardonic tone, "As we said, women are hardly logical."

He smiled and tightly pressed his index finger against his mouth in thought; he said nothing more until Mrs. Cadwallader trumped into the parlor with her mother, Gertrude.

The tea was lukewarm, the muffins stale, and the conversation tedious. The elderly woman looked as though she was in her late sixties. Her thin, white hair was tied into a messy bun on the top of her head and her face was deeply wrinkled. She peered at us with her yellowed eyes behind a pair of pince-nez. Gertrude Campbell revealed nothing criminal in her narration of Mr. Hepburn's daily routine and other extraneous details. I glanced at Holmes from time to time; at first he sat rigidly in attention, but as time passed and nothing of significance was heard, he slid lower and lower into his seat and seemed to gradually lose interest. Though bored, he still intently listened to the woman's every word since his eyes were still open and his hands were folded upon his chest; yet, nothing seemed to strike him.

The old woman's ramblings were not our only problem. Mrs. Cadwallader decided to stay in the room with us and, thus, we did not want to rouse her suspicions. It seemed that Scotland Yard's inquiries had caused her to be overprotective towards her mother.

I politely swallowed the last of the tea. "Mrs. Campbell, were you present when the fire happened?"

"No, you see, Master Hepburn sent all the servants home early that night." She replied and a curious expression passed over her face. "It was odd, really. He did not like to be alone in the house and would always have at least one of us stay with him for the night. Pennyworth, the butler, was usually the one that would stay with Master Hepburn."

"Pennyworth has retired to Ireland, am I correct?" Holmes asked as he folded his arms over his chest. "What of the cook, Mrs. Campbell? Do you have an idea as to where he went?"

Gertrude peered at the ceiling in thought and then answered, "I'm not quite sure where the cook went."

"What about where the cook lived?" Holmes prompted, his eyes half open; he looked as though he were about to fall asleep. The maid shook her head.

"Mrs. Campbell, could you describe my dear uncle's last day?" I asked as Mrs. Cadwallader passed me a tray filled with muffins. I certainly did not want anymore of those stale pastries, but I took one out of courtesy. I turned to Holmes, "Muffin, dearest?"

"Yes, don't mind if I do," Holmes assented and took a muffin. Mrs. Cadwallader's kind eyes quickly switched to coldness when her eyes met his. Holmes seemed nonplussed by the lady's unwarranted coldness. He placed the muffin on his plate but did not eat it.

Gertrude began to recount the day's events. "Well, the day started out regularly enough. He woke up, took a bath, and ate breakfast in his study. He then spent the rest of the day inside of that room; he caught up with his post and his readings."

"Did he have any visitors that day?" I asked.

"No, no visitors that day," she answered as she shook her head.

"Was there anything strange about that particular day?"

"No," she began to say but then quickly changed her mind. "Actually, he received a telegram that day that seemed to disturb him."

Holmes abruptly sat up in his seat. "Tell me, Mrs. Campbell, do you have any idea what that telegram said or who it was from?"

The old woman fervently shook her head. She proudly stated, "No, I'm no snoop, sir."

Holmes sighed and rolled his eyes. He contemptuously inquired, "Pray tell, how Mr. Hepburn reacted towards this disturbing telegram?"

"Well, after he finished reading it, his eyes seemed to bulge in either surprise or fright."

"Which one was it, Mrs. Campbell? Fright or surprise?" Holmes curtly questioned.

Mrs. Cadwallader turned her sharp tongue on Holmes. "Sir, you are not allowed to speak to my mother in that manner and if you do so again, I shall have no choice but to force you and your wife to leave."

"Dreadfully sorry, Mrs. Cadwallader." Holmes apologized, cleared his throat, and said in an overly gracious tone, "Mrs. Campbell, I would like your answer."

"Well, I believe it was fright, sir," Gertrude lamely stated after some thought.

I felt that there was nothing else that could be gained. I turned to look at Holmes; he met my eyes and nodded. Yes, we were indeed done. We both stood up. "Mrs. Cadwallader, Mrs. Campbell, I thank you for your time, but we have a previous engagement to attend."

"Oh, of course," Mrs. Cadwallader said as she stood up. "If there's anything I can do for you…"

"Yes, I shall call on you while I'm here in town," I finished for her. She vigorously shook my hand. Holmes extended his hand towards Mrs. Cadwallader but the only action the woman did was glower at Holmes. Holmes took the hint and left me with the two women to get our coats. "Thank you once again, Madam."

"It is no trouble at all, Mrs. Andrewes," Mrs. Cadwallader said as she took a sip of tea.

Mrs. Campbell's wizened face changed from apathy to shock. The old woman's visage resembled a fish out of water gasping for air. Her eyes locked onto me as though I was a lighthouse and she was a ship lost in a stormy sea. Holmes came back into the room before I could talk to the elderly woman. He helped me into my coat and was about to put his on when I grabbed his arm.

"Let me help you with your jacket, dear," I took the jacket from his hands. A questioning look appeared in his eyes. I winked in response and he understood. I held out the jacket and he slipped his thin arms into the sleeves. My hands smoothed out the fabric by his shoulders and spoke softly. "It appears that Mrs. Campbell may know something."

Holmes' eyes slowly moved towards Mrs. Campbell. "Yes, so it seems."

I came around and straightened his lapel; Holmes was looking down at me as I did so. "We need to question her… on her own, mind you."

"Yes, she looks as though she would like to talk to us further," he agreed. "Leave your bracelet on the console table. It may get her attention."

I started to remove my bracelet as Holmes approached Mrs. Campbell. He took the aged woman's hand and said, "My dear woman, I thank you for the services you have rendered for my wife's uncle." Holmes bowed his head and in a low voice, only audible to Mrs. Campbell, he added, "My wife will forget her bracelet here. After we have left, tell your overbearing daughter that you need to return it to her."

Mrs. Campbell nodded her head in understanding. Holmes smiled at Mrs. Cadwallader and said in civil tone, "Thank you, Mrs. Cadwallader, for inviting me in."

"Thank your wife for that," she flatly replied. Holmes joined me in the hallway and with a final wave, we took our leave.

We climbed down the stairs and began to walk down Baker Street . I wanted to stop after about ten steps but Holmes continued to walk through the crowd. We stopped in front of shop window as if to look at the display when I saw Mrs. Campbell making our way towards us.

"It took awhile to shake her off." She put her hand in her apron pocket and pulled out my bracelet. She observed it briefly in her wrinkled hand before returning it to my hand. "It's a very beautiful bracelet, Missus."

"Thank you; it was a gift from my father," I gratefully replied as I attempted to put the bracelet on again. Holmes took the bracelet from my hands and replaced it on my wrist. I briefly thanked him and turned back to Mrs. Campbell. "I could not help but notice your reaction towards my given name."

"I have heard that name before. A gentleman by that name came to visit some time ago. If I may ask, are you related to him?"

"I am."

"You are his daughter, then?" she questioned; she leaned her head to the right to better inspect me. "Oh, yes you are. Your father had the same kind of eyes." I noticed that Mrs. Campbell seemed much more relaxed when her daughter was not present. "Yes, I remember your father from when he visited Master Hepburn in January. I recall most of that visit since Master Hepburn does not… oh, did not have many visitors.

"Now, I do not have much time since my domineering, though well-intentioned, daughter may become suspicious, but I will tell you that your father and Master Hepburn spent a lot of time talking about wheels and manuscripts." Holmes and I simultaneously looked at each other in puzzlement. "Yes, I don't quite understand it either and I didn't want to eavesdrop or anything; I'm not that kind of person. Well, when your father was about to leave, I remember they had a brief exchange of words.

"'Thank you, Thaddeus, for doing this task on such short notice.' Your father replied. 'Did you take my advice concerning the—' He was interrupted by my master.

"'Yes, Professor Andrewes, I did,' Master Hepburn answered. And with those words, they shook hands and they left for the station together."

Holmes seemed inattentive during Mrs. Campbell's monologue; he was staring at the shop window and observing its wares. Appearances deceived me; Holmes spoke once more. "There is something else that you have not told us, Mrs. Campbell. A two month old visitor would hardly cause a violent reaction on your part."

Mrs. Campbell gravely nodded and cleared her throat. "Well, you see, one of the odd things that happened on Master Hepburn's last day involved your name, Missus. I was busy doing my daily chores when Master Hepburn called me to his study. He was bent over his books as usual when I came in.

"'Gertrude,' he called in his hoarse voice. 'Come closer and sit down in that chair in the corner for me, please.' He pulled out his pipe and began to light it. 'Now, Gertrude, this may seem to be an odd sort of request, but I trust you. You have given me many years of great service. I need you to keep this in your possession.' He then placed a key on his desk and pushed it towards me. I took the key as he explained. 'This key is to a safe at Barclay's. I want you to keep this until someone by the name of Andrewes comes along,' he ordered and promptly dismissed me.

"Well, I followed Master Hepburn's orders though I did find it crazy. The next day, Mr. Hepburn died in that terrible fire, but I still kept the key on my person for his sake. Sure enough, he was right that you came along." And with that, she pulled out a key from her apron pocket. "I pass this to you, my dear."

She placed the small key in my palm. The key was small but it felt heavy. Holmes took it in his hand and held it to the light; the key looked like any ordinary key. The key returned to my hand and stuffed it into my pockets.

"We thank you, Mrs. Campbell." Holmes fervently shook her hands. I saw that he had regained that dancing gleam in his eyes. Mrs. Campbell smiled and began her return home. She had retreated into the crowds of Baker Street when Holmes abruptly ran after her. "Mrs. Campbell!"

Of course, I had to race after Holmes and bashed a couple of shoulders in the process of chasing him. I found them near Mrs. Campbell's home. He held out his hand to stop me from getting closer. He said farewell to Mrs. Campbell once again and then walked over to my side.

"What was that all about, Holmes?"

"I merely wanted to distinguish whether Mr. Hepburn gave her that task before or after the receipt of that telegram," he stated as he took a cigarette from his pocket. He held it up and I resignedly nodded. The pungent and familiar scent of tobacco filled the air.

"And?"

"It was after the receipt of that mysterious and disturbing telegram that he appointed her this task," Holmes answered as a large puff of smoke exuded from his mouth. He offered me his arm and I took it; there was a gleam in his eye that indicated that he was in an excellent mood.

"This is certainly getting very interesting," Holmes acknowledged in an amused tone.

I was about to agree with Holmes, but was stopped in the process; a young man in his early teens was sprinting after his friends when he bumped into my walking stick. I lost my balance and would have fallen over if I had not taken Holmes' arm. The boy turned around and saw that it belonged to me. He rushed over and picked the walking stick up.

"Sorry, Missus, I didn't mean to knock over your cane," the youth apologized as he gave it back to me. I took it back and politely thanked him. He nodded and then ran off. He loudly admonished after his friends, "You blokes! You almost made that crippled lady fall over!"

I watched his progress down the streets until he turned onto Paddington Street. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and used it to wipe off the dirt. My eyes moved toward Holmes; he did not look at me, but I knew he had listened to the previous exchange. He seemed to be waiting for a response on my part.

I sighed and said in an overly breezy tone, "Sticks and stones, eh?"

Holmes did not acknowledge my comment but abruptly proceeded onto another subject with vigor. " Charlotte, I managed to confirm a superfluous hypothesis of mine. Would you like to hear it?"

I merely shrugged my shoulders in response and leaned my head in Holmes' direction to listen better. He cleared his throat and began to speak. "I proposed that the hospitable Mrs. Cadwallader," he started to laugh but attempted to stifle it; he clapped his hand to his mouth and held it there until his amusement subsided. "Hospitable does not automatically come to mind when describing her attitude towards me, wouldn't you say?" I remembered the hostile behavior she had shown Holmes and nodded in agreement. "I surmised that Mrs. Cadwallader had recently separated from her husband."

I decided to indulge his ego for the moment. "Pray tell, Holmes, how ever did you deduce such a thing?"

"Firstly, her particular show of bitterness towards me demonstrated that she did not care for the company of men. However, that is not enough data to make such a conclusion. Did you see anything else that would have indicated such a state in domestic affairs?" I shook my head. "Tut, tut, one sees but fails to observe…"

Holmes further discussed his observations and had finished by the time we turned onto Marylebone Road. Suddenly, a thought cruised into my mind that caused me to smile. He bent his head towards me and asked, "Pray tell, what has put such a sphinx-like smile on your face?"

"Nothing that concerns you, dear Holmes, I can assure you of that," I answered in a simple tone. In his own arrogant way, he had successfully distracted me from the lad's comments. I must find some way to thank him someday, I noted to myself.

"Hmm, very well, I shall allow you your secrecy for the time being." He dropped his cigarette onto the pavement and stomped it out. "Now, I was about to suggest that we head over to Barclays to see exactly what that key opens. However," he paused and turned to me with a crooked smile. "I thought I heard your stomach growl when we were inside Mrs. Cadwallader's rooms despite the presence of nourishment."

The air around Baker Street was cool and yet my face was hot with embarrassment. I retorted, "I did not have a thing to eat for breakfast. You simply rushed me out the door. It should also be noted that her wares did little for my appetite."

"Hmm, I certainly do not want you to be dead on your feet." He belatedly realized the implications of his statement. He hastily cleared his throat and pushed on. "Come to think about it, I am rather famished myself. I shall suggest we indulge at Simpson's on the Strand. Do you find that suitable? Good, then that's settled." A hansom pulled up on the corner and we ran for it. Holmes quickly assisted me inside. I was waiting for him to follow, but he did not. He was perched at the side of the hansom with his hand held over his forehead. He looked as though he were searching for something.

"Holmes, what is it?" I asked out of curiosity. I made to stand and look, but he quickly pushed me back down. He sat back down after a moment and told the cabbie our destination. The hansom skillfully negotiated through the city streets under the vigilant whip and the colorful curses of our cabbie. We turned onto Gower Street when I asked Holmes what he had seen.

"Only a coincidence, my dear Charlotte. Nothing more," he waved his hand dismissively. He then added in a lower voice to himself, "However, I am not too fond of coincidences."

The lovely scents sailing from the kitchen doors caused my stomach to rumble loudly. My face flushed as Holmes' gaze fell upon me, though at this time his eyes twinkled with good humor instead of the usual disparaging look. We sat down in the large dining hall with the other members of the lunch crowd. The crystal chandeliers glittered above our heads and added to the elegant and sophisticated atmosphere. For the first time in awhile, Holmes and I managed to have a conversation that did not pertain to the odd circumstances that surrounded us. He spoke about his want for a Stradivarius, of his opinions on the current state of politics, and several musings about London, among other things. I, on the other hand, was content to listen to his animated conversation.

Holmes took a swig of wine and switched subjects. "As argumentative as you can be, Charlotte, you have a tremendous gift for silence; I can talk about many a subject and you can sit here quietly and merely listen."

"Thank you, Holmes," I said. "But, in due honesty, I hardly have anything to offer in a conversation with subjects that run the spectrum of cryptanalysis to the latest Gilbert and Sullivan comic opera."

He chuckled to himself and conceded, "Yes, I am afraid I have the tendency to bemuse many conversationalists with my sporadic and vast interests. However, I think that your silence is due rather to your curiosity than to any lack of participation." I allowed myself to smile and he took that as my approval. At that moment, the waiter came to our table and served a lovely treacle sponge pudding. Holmes nodded his thanks to the waiter before continuing the conversation.

"I have been wondering about your education ever since I met you. Your father was an Oxford professor; you probably memorized the names of the colleges before your maths tables and you would sleep in the Bodleian if they let you. I am quite sure that you could have eased your way through those entrance exams. Hence, my question is this: Why are you not in university?"

I held a finger up to indicate I needed a moment; my treacle-filled mouth prevented me from answering right away. I swallowed and was about to speak when Holmes brought something to my attention.

"You have cream all over your mouth." He motioned in the general direction of my mouth.

"It's not a good look for me, is it?" I joked as I wiped it off with the napkin. "Is it all gone? Honestly? Well, I am just making sure that you aren't trying to make me look like an idiot." I took a sip of wine and proceeded to answer his previous question. "I know I could have gone to university. I actually took the entrance exams when I was seventeen but failed that first time. I was going to take it the next year but then I… well, you know what happened. I missed that year's exams as well. Holmes, I have lived around the university's scholastic system my entire life and I know that system well.

"Lady Margaret Hall is the only institution available for women seeking an Oxford education. It is practically an infant compared to the Methuselah-like institutions of Christ Church , Balliol, and Oriel." My fingers circled the rim of the wine glass; the glass produced beautiful and ethereal crystal tones. I looked across the table at Holmes and he sat before me with his fingertips pressed together. "Perhaps Anne, James, and I were spoiled when we were children, but I remember my father had many tutors pass through our house to educate us. Tutors for music, Latin, Greek, French, chemistry, maths, literature… practically anything that could be learned, we learned it. When I was considering higher education, Holmes, I found something that left a considerably bitter taste in my mouth; I saw that women were encouraged to take certain subjects such as literature and music. The tougher materials such as the sciences and the maths were to be left for the men.

"A large sum of money would be spent on my higher education. If I were to spend that much money on my education, I should be able to learn whatever I want. However, seeing as I would not be able to, why I should I even bother?"

"It should also be noted that most women attend a university to meet young men for marital reasons," Holmes observed as he took a bite of treacle pudding. "These fledgling women's universities are difficult to take seriously since, more often than not, the women themselves are not taking the experience seriously." I was about to rebuke him when Holmes preemptively conceded, "Of course, there are those select women who actually desire a good education and, for those women, I wholeheartedly and sincerely wish them the best of luck." Holmes gazed at me with a contemplative look tinged with regret. "After all, intelligent women are somewhat frowned upon in our present society."

I guzzled the last of my wine. I dreamily mused aloud. "Yes, I shall never be wed for that particular reason. Knowledge is a deplorable quality in a woman except if it is knowledge in the arts of cooking, cleaning, and childbearing."

Holmes leaned back in his seat and pressed his fingers together. "I certainly could not imagine you entering that cult of domesticity."

"Neither can I imagine you coming home to a wife and children," I replied before thinking. I belatedly recognized that my statement had been blunter than I realized.

Holmes looked at me through his half-closed eyelids for a long time before he answered. He stated in a barely audible voice, "That life is not mine to live."

A pressing question lingered on the tip of my tongue, yet I knew that I would never develop the courage to ask it. I decided that now would be the opportune time to change the subject. "Holmes, you are almost finished with your education at Christ Church. Pray tell, what are you planning to make of yourself? Are you going to join your brother and serve Whitehall ?"

"No, Mycroft's line of work is far too lethargic for my tastes. I would like to help people. That is rather vague though, is it not? I want to seek out justice and right wrongs…"

"Save the world, Holmes?" I jested.

"Cynicism does not become you, Charlotte," he admonished. "That last statement of yours is far too idyllic and idealistic for my palate."

"Why not join the capable fellows at Scotland Yard?"

"Ha!" He chuckled as he drank the last of his wine. He then pulled out his pocket-watch and inspected the time. "Hmm, well, we have been here much longer than I intended."

"What time is it?" I asked. My fork mopped up the last remnants of treacle pudding.

"We arrived at Simpson's around a quarter past noon. It is nearly three o' clock and the banks shall close at five," Holmes stated as he closed the cover of his watch with a snap. "I shall pay for the bill and we shall proceed to Barclays in haste. I am most anxious to see what is inside that safe. Ah, and we also must make a trip to the tobacconist's to see what he has found."

Cold air blew the moment we set foot outside Simpson's. I was buttoning up my coat when Holmes whispered in my ear, "Do not look, but there is someone following us."

Of course, the idiot that I am, my head instantly snapped upwards to look for this supposed stalker. My eyes scanned the opposite side of the Strand and suddenly I saw him. It was instantaneous; our eyes both locked on each other and a roaring filled my ears. I knew that face, for I had seen it last night. It was that bespectacled young man that had distracted me with his smile and the gleam of intelligence in his eyes. However, this time, a cold and calculating gaze filled his them. This look was soon replaced by panic; he realized that he had been spotted. He roughly shoved the gentlemen ahead of him and bolted down the street.

"Damn it, he's running!" Holmes roughly pushed me aside and sprinted off after him. I started to run after him but realized that there was no way that I could keep up with Holmes' long strides. After some time, Holmes returned without the man and in a black mood. He banged his fist on the streetlight in dismay and whirled around to face me. "Well, you do realize that we have lost him."

Regret gnawed on my insides as I felt Holmes' hot gaze fall upon me. "It's all my fault, Holmes, if I—"

"You are damn right that it is your fault!" he exclaimed. "My God, woman, that man could have provided us with plenty of answers, but now we will never know. Of all the idiocy, you deliberately disobeyed my orders and you just had to look up. You are damned lucky that we have that key and that cigar butt or else we would be lost altogether."

Holmes' tirade against my stupidity was expected and deserving. Nevertheless, it certainly did not stop me from feeling entitled to defend myself. My mouth, as usual, opened to rebuke but all the words I could muster were the beginnings of lame excuses. He fixed me with a smoldering gaze that stopped my prideful sputtering. Holmes did not say anything more, but everything about his person indicated that he was still extremely livid about the situation; his voice still had a vitriolic quality when he hailed a hansom. We boarded in complete silence and did not look at each other for the entire trip. The pivotal moment kept playing over and over in my head in brutal clarity as we traversed through the streets; oh, how I longed to turn back time and stop myself from committing such an indiscretion. My eyes accidentally roamed over to the seated figure in front of me; I knew that Holmes refused to look at me because something as little as a glance in my direction would ignite his temper once more. I also refused to look at him; for, not only did I act so dense, but I had ultimately let him down.