It had been many long days before I had fully grasped the gravity of what had happened that night. And many longer weeks before I had even thought of cashing in the sum of money given unto me.

I regretted the idiotic questions I asked that day, and the important ones I never uttered.

I had been given the money by a banker, whom was just as (possibly more so) flabbergasted as I was that , with his talent for noticing the minute monstrosities of mortal nature, Sylvester had already become more than curious of my mannerisms. Thankfully, with a little of my own astute observation, I'd been able to conceal my true traits and thoughts enough for him not to know something was amiss.

That is, until he broke it to me that I have worse acting ability than Gregson had detection skills.

"What? No, of course I'm not hiding anything! Why on earth would I be?"

He, with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, responded. "Ben, I'm no idiot. As of late, your head's either been in the clouds, or not even attached to your neck!"

I scoffed, trying to keep in-character. "I'm shocked, Sherlock, that you even can think I"m hiding secrets. Shocked, I tell you!" Immediately I cursed myself for over-acting. But I hid that thought from his faux mind-reading abilities. "And wouldn't my head not be on my neck, if it was in the clouds in the first place?"

The sideways look on his face wasn't a pleased one. "That's besides the point. It doesn't matter; what matters, my secretive friend, is that I'm glad you didn't become an actor."

"Show me one shred of proof, Raccoon. One shred!"

"Alight then!" He said with a sigh, pushing up from his red chair. "For one, you always end your sentences with a repetition of your first mutterings. And for two, It's very simple to see the change in your funds. Which, if I'm correct, and I'm always correct, has increased exponentially."

"I kept telling you; never doubt my gambling abilities. Lady Luck was looking in my direction!"

My ruse, of course, didn't work. "Benjamin, you have no luck. Nobody does! It is unthinkable to believe that our world is ruled by chance. And, if it was, then your share of the pot would be less than the vilest Black Cats in existence."

I blinked. "Your trust in me is extremely comforting, thank you."

"Sorry to interrupt you two and your discussions..."

We both jumped, and turned out heads to the shouting on the city street. It was none other than the embodiment of idiocy himself, Tobias Gregson!

"...but I need to speak with you! Both of you!"

Sylvester glanced at me with thin eyes, as I looked down at the bear. He tapped his claws upon the cobblestone pathway, impatiently. I got off of my seat and plodded down the stairs to let the bear into our abode... begrudgingly, yes, but he came in nonetheless.

I knew why he had come here; the mysterious death, and burglary, at the apartment of the compulsive man. The very same crimes that Irene had come to me to aid her in solving... I felt guilty for not addressing as much concern as I probably should have to her case. But sneaking around Sly's eye is much more difficult than people would believe.

"What do you want, Tobias? As you can see, we're busy-"

"Busy bickering? Yes, I can see that clearly. But, I'd ask you to put your petty squabbles aside, and listen to me."

Sylvester shifted in his seat. "Have you finally gotten off of your high-horse and decided to enlighten us about that 'little tip' you left out a couple months ago?"

Tobias gave a sideways glare to the raccoon. "Be wise, Cooper. Anyway... Yes, I have some information."

...We awaited him to continue with his monologue, but he merely clasped his hands behind his back, and rocked on his heels slightly. It was simple for us to understand what he was doing.

"... You can't be serious, Inspector."

"Serious about what? I merely have information. And it would be quite beneficial to you, I believe."

I'll be honest in saying I was surprised by the bear. Yes, claiming our own discoveries as his own was one thing. But trying to get a profit out of us? Shameful. With a sharp glare, Sylvester walked over to his desk. The Idiot Inspector's eyes followed him, mildly interested in why he was moving. As was I.

Filled with the doodads and mechanical creations of his intricate mind, my friend's desk, which I coined 'The Bottomless Catch-All', was organized. If not commonly, then in his own snatched up a small device, resembling a miniature phonograph in some ways, and tossed it up into the air for himself to catch. Sylvester pointed it at the bear nonchalantly, "Do you know what this is?"

"No..." He said curiously. "Your key to world domination, perhaps?"

"Ha! Ha, your very funny, Tobias. No, that's on the roof. But anyway. This little doodad, which I've called 'The Recorder', does exactly what it sounds like it does; records. But, unlike conventional phonographic recorders, it operates on a small, cylindrical glass disk instead of a record. And it records everything. Including your little extortion attempt there. So, please. Be a lamb and be square with us."

The look of sheer terror on Tobias's face was priceless! His cheeks blushed to a shade of red I never even knew existed!

"Fine." He finally said. He had gained back some perspective, and dipped into his breast pocket. He fished out a small, plain tin case; one could say it resembled a snuff case. Empty, I could see, when he shook it around. "This was found in the brambles of the apartment's foliage. I'm surprised we had even found the acursed thing."

Sylvester went into detail mode instantly. He snatched the thing form Gregson's paws, ripped off the lid, and started to investigate its previous contents. "Did you open it prior?"

"No."

"Thank you for finally doing something correctly, Inspector." Sly said, ignoring the bear's growling. The raccoon wafted his fingers to the tin, like a chemist to a vile of chemicals. After moments of wafting the unseen aroma, I'd moved a little closer to the tin just before Sly brought it to his Chemistry Station; I detected no odor, but I noticed slight wear spots in the metal, in circular shapes.

"What you're not detecting," Said my friend as he dumped whatever contents had been left in the container into a beaker, "Is a powdered form of the Dart Frog's poison. Not like I need to explain this to you, Watson," He said, shifting gaze to Gregson, "but the poison was turned into a capsule, which was ground. And, either, the killer did a fantastic job of sweeping up shards from a fallen drinking glass, he was very close to the deceased when he died. Yes, I know that's 'obvious'," the raccoon said without turning from his table, "Gregson, but I must tie up loose ends. I'm using the granules left-over from the capsules that were once inside to try and detect their origin, before you ask."

Gregson's eyebrow rose. "How will you manage to do that?"

Sly rolled his eyes, "I can't quite explain it to you right now, Gregson. I'll be brief, though; some of the particles that could have been in the killer's environment, when he or she was crafting the pills, could have made their way into the case. If I can find them, I may be able to find where they were made, which will get this case solved quickly. Isn't that what you want?"

Ignoring the Inspector's chance to make a rebuttal, Sly continued. "You know, I must admit; this case reminds me of a previous one. Very much, in fact, if you look away from the fact of theft. But I doubt they could be in any way related. If you wanted, you could ask Lestrade about it one time, if you two don't try to kill each other in the process."

His eyes followed the granules swirl in the vial, and rocket up into a glass coil. Pushed by a clear liquid, it spun and spiraled into a filtered pipe, with two ends, and divided. One end led to liquid. Another, solid particles. Lo and behold, my friend was correct.

"Aha!" he shouted, proving my statement. "Sediment. Fine, yet coarse enough to get pulled through the filter... Sand. And a fresh-water solution... the Thames."

Gregson scoffed. "What, he was killed at the beach?"

"Nice try, Gregson, but no. There would have been sand on the body itself if that was true."

Let it be know that, on occasions, Sarcasm passes through one of my friends ears and out the other.

"But it does tell me where the fiend lies... Gentlemen? We're going to the Docks!"

...Okay, let me tell you a story. Picture this: It's late June. I'm working on a TON of stuff, like a one-shot that never really saw the light of day (you should be glad about that, trust me), a chapter for To Be a Thievius Raccoonus, and other assorted gobblety goop. I'm working on it, doing great... and get side-tracked. I forget about it.

Okay, now fast forward a couple of weeks. I've got it finished, I like it, everything's going great again. Then, somehow, by the mysterious wonders of Internet Connection, I lose everything on it. Now fast-forward a couple more weeks, and you've got a near-finished chapter... that just sat there. And, of course, I forgot about it again. I'll be honest, I was almost done with this chapter for about... I dunno, 3, 4 weeks now? And I didn't even know about it until about, what, six hours ago? Yup. Funny, huh? *Face-desk.*

Bear in mind, this chapter's got parts from weeks ago, and now, so if it feels a little mismatched, I apologize. But I hope you enjoyed it! And yet again, so sorry for the long wait. If you notice anything that's got to be fixed, please, tell me. Till next time!