I made my way to a nearby diner and ordered hibiscus and gravy – simply, hearty, and cheap. By the time I left, the sun was sinking somewhere behind the clouds, and thick, heavy drops of rain were starting to splash and plunk off cobbled streets and canvas awnings. I turned the collar of my duster up and pulled my fedora down closer to my eyes. So much for beating the storm.

I had a decent walk ahead of me, so I put my hooves on autopilot and turned my thoughts to what I had learned so far.

Miss Calla – Calla Lily, apparently – probably wasn't Silver's fiance. It's possible that the stallion could've fallen for a young, beautiful pony with a sob story and a hard-knock life, but if so, why would he have hidden his engagement? Calla would hardly be the first filly promoted from prostitute to privileged elite, although generally, a pony would take her as a "mistress" or "companion" rather than a wife. No, something was going on, there, and I had a feeling I was getting played.

Silver himself sounded like a real piece of work. Whether he'd knocked his father off or not, he'd certainly benefited from the old stallion's demise. Add in his antagonizing of the Union, and there was no shortage of ponies who wouldn't mind seeing him dead. But, like Steed said, the Weather Union didn't get where it was by being stupid. That made it more likely that Gold Coin's old friends were involved, or might know somepony else who was.

And what about Crown Jewel? If half the rumors about the First Equestrian were true, he could have made Celestia herself disappear without a trace. But what motive would he have for disposing of an apparent ally? Well, money, obviously. Not that you'd think he'd need any more of that, but one of the defining features of the rich is that they always want to be richer.

Dammit. I had too many questions to ask, and not enough ponies to answer them. I could start by confronting Miss Calla in the morning and demanding some straight answers. Hell, if she didn't want to give them, I could just drop the case and walk away. No fur off my flank if no one ever finds Silver Coin's body. And surely another case would find its way into my office before the repo ponies arrived.

Right?

I sighed. I'd think about my next step in the morning. I had one more lead to check out, and then I'd head home for a shot of brandy and a few hours' shut-eye.

The Horn and Feather was famous around town as being the classiest and most exclusive bar in Fillydelphia. In fact, it didn't even want to be called a bar – it was a "gentlepony's club." I could hear classical music, played by no less than a full orchestra, drifting down the well-paved streets and across the perfectly-manicured lawns from blocks away. The steadily intensifying downpour distorted it slightly, making it seem more distant and ethereal. Over the scent of rain falling on freshly cut grass and pristine roses, I could smell a wondrous bouquet of hot food and warm cider. My hibiscus and gravy suddenly seemed rather dull and disappointing.

The club itself was built like an ancient pegasi temple, with thick and intricately carved white columns of polished marble holding up a stone roof that extended about twenty feet past the doors. Simple but clearly extravagantly expensive tapestries were draped symmetrically about its face, all scarlet red and emblazoned with gold symbols from the old Pegasi tongue. Twin alicorn statues rose out of wide fountains at the top of the wide marble stairs that led up to the doors, water shooting from each of their horns in a wide arc to land in the other's basin. A pair of guards, dressed like Canterlot soldiers but in shades of red and gold, stood rigidly at attention as they stared out into the storm.

"Celestia's teats," I grumbled. "This is freaking ridiculous."

I self-consciously adjusted the collar of my coat as I clopped up the stairs. I knew from experience that the best way to get where you weren't supposed to go was to pretend you were supposed to be there, so I kept my head down and avoided making eye contact with the guards as I headed for the door. My progress was brought to an abrupt halt when a freaking halberd, shining with a magenta aura of magic, dropped in front of me.

I glanced over at the unicorn guard. "Excuse me?"

He glared at me. His partner, a pegasus, stomped a hoof and snorted in challenge.

"I have someone expecting me," I said in my best Manehattan voice.

They didn't look impressed. The pegasus nodded towards my coat. "Yer in violation of the dress code," he rumbled in a decidedly non-Manehattan voice.

"My good pony, I'm rather in a hurry, and I demand that you-"

The halberd swung around so that the shaft was pressing against my chest, and I found myself being pushed back by the unicorn's magic. I dug in my hooves, but the smoothly polished marble made it impossible to find purchase.

"Get lost," he growled.

"Very well," I huffed, turning my nose up, "but I shall inform Crown Jewel of this travesty, mark my words!"

The guards looked at eachother in mild surprise. The pegasus looked back at me, then back to his partner, and shook his head.

"I said get lost," the unicorn said again, the halberd swinging upright to punctuate his words.

Dammit. Nothing worse than smart guards.

I retreated down the street and rounded a corner to break the guards' line of sight, then ducked down an alley between a posh-looking cafe and a jewelry shop. There, I found enough carbage cans and old boxes to build myself a makeshift staircase, and clambered up top to get a look at the Horn and Feather's flank.

As I suspected, the sides and rear of the building didn't seem to have received as much love as the impressively ostentatious front. Plain brick-and-mortar walls ran the length, broken up by a few doors, windows, and gutters.

I hopped over the wall and made my way to the one of the rear windows. It was slightly ajar, and not too high off the ground for my to climb through. Bingo.

I found myself in what passed for a restroom in this place. Again, white marble or red velvet covered every available surface, aside from the faucets, which were – of course – solid gold. I was starting to get really, really sick of this place.

Well, first thing first. I set about cleaning my hooves and doing my best to make myself look presentable – tough to do without a razor or a clean shirt. As I did, I went over my plan: make some inquiries about Silver Coin and the "associates" Calla said he'd been on his way to meet, try to get some names, and maybe even corner a pony or two if I was lucky enough to find them here. I'd need to keep a low profile and avoid drawing attention to myself, but hopefully, the owners stationed the two smart guards out front and kept the idiots inside.

The door suddenly slammed open, and I jumped. My hoof went to the heavy, iron horseshoe I keep in my coat for emergencies. Instead of a squadron of armed guards, however, in stumbled a clearly intoxicated unicorn in a tuxedo. He had a yellow coat, a gray mane and thin mustache, both with a few hints of green still in them. The unruly lay of his jacket revealed a large balloon carrying a basket as his cutie mark. He stumbled past me, green eyes unfocused, and into one of the stalls. He didn't even bother to close the door before the torrential sound of his unleashed urine began to fill the room.

I eased my hoof back out of my pocket and waited for him to finish. If I was going to start asking questions, I may as well start here, right?

When the old stallion finally finished and started stumbling back towards the door, I stepped in front of him. "Aren't you gonna wash your hooves?"

He blinked at me in drunken confusion. "Whozzah?"

I nodded towards the sink. He seemed to grasp the concept, staggered over, and began washing.

When he was just about finished, a stuck a hoof under the faucet and splashed a burst of cold water into his face. He sputtered, coughed, and fell back against the stalls. "H-how dare you!" he demanded.

I gave him a mild look and extended my dripping hoof. "Looking Glass, private eye."

The shock of cold water seemed to have penetrated his inebriated haze, and after a moment's surprise, he responded in kind. "Ah, yes, I do recognize you now. From the papers. I do believe you saved those young foals awhile back?"

I rubbed the back of my head. "The ones that I could, yeah."

The stallion got back to his hooves, dusting himself off and adjusting his tuxedo. "Nasty business, that. Bloody griffons. Can't trust them, I say. Should drive the lot of them out of Equestria."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything. Instead, I changed tack. "And you are...?"

He cleared his throat. "Ah, my apologies, I assumed you might recognize me. Hot Air, founder and owners of Equestrian Air, manufacturers of the finest zeppelins, gliders, gondolas, and, of course, hot air balloons in Equestria."

"Oh, of course, I knew you looked familiar," I lied.

"Yes, well," he harrumphed. "What brings you here, detective? Hot on the trail of a murderer? Searching, perhaps, for a stolen heirloom?"

"Missing pony, actually. Do you know Silver Coin?"

Hot Air's face went through several different expressions in the blink of an eye, but ended in surprise. "Why, yes! Of course! I knew something foul had happened to him, but the others..."

I quirked an eyebrow. "You were one of his acquaintances?"

"One of his father's, really, but young Silver was attempting to rebuild the bridges burnt after Gold's unfortunate demise. I never believed him involved with the accident, of course, but the others..."

I pulled out my notepad – despite my waterproof pockets, the corners were soaked and wilting – and began scribbling notes. Hot Air put a hoof on my foreleg to stop me. "Please, this is no place for a conversation. Come, we'll speak inside."