Murdoch knocked on Señor Pellegrino's changing room door. He was part owner of the Opera Company and also starred in his own productions.

"Come in," said a full bodied voice. A wig was being fitted to his head as another woman applied his makeup. He took one look at them through the mirror and said, "How can I be of service, officers?"

"We're sorry to intrude like this, señor," said Brackenreid, removing his hat as if in reverence, "but there's been allegations made against you."

The man scoffed. "What about this time? It seems every week another rumour is worming its way out of the ground."

"It's in relation to Le Théâtre Mystique," said Murdoch.

"Ah, yes, I heard, such a tragic lose."

"Tell me, señor, do you own a cloak?"

He made a face. "That is like asking if a man needs air to live." Murdoch continued to look at him in a pointed manner. "Yes, detective, I have a cloak, several in fact. I am in opera after all!"

"And were you wearing one of these cloaks last night at around eleven o'clock?"

Pellegrino narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "If that's your way of asking if I burned the place down, the answer is no."

"Do you deny disliking the Vaudeville circuit?"

"No, I do not. I find the whole thing to be in utterly poor taste. And don't even get me started about those flickers."

"I couldn't agree more," muttered Brackenreid. "Waste of space."

"But that's not to say that I'm about to go burning buildings down, and certainly not while Mr. Prenfrew was sleeping!"

"And how did you come to know that, señor?" enquired Murdoch, sharply. "It's hardly common knowledge."

He shrugged, "What can I say? Word travels fast around these parts."

"So this contempt is not a product of fear?"

"I'm sorry, detective but I don't have the pleasure of understanding you."

"You didn't consider vaudeville a threat to your livelihood?"

"Certainly not! Vaudeville is a passing fad, just like those flickers. Mark my words. In a few years, it will be as if they never existed."

"And you didn't feel the need to help this process along?"

"I grow weary of these repetitive questions, detective. Have you nothing of relevance?"

"How tall are you, señor?"

"See for yourself, detective," he said standing up.

The man was well over six feet tall, it was unlikely he was the hooded figure but not impossible given how unsure Mr. Jackson had been.

"There, did I pass your little test?"

"Possibly."

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a show to give!"

"Before you go, señor, may I borrow your cloaks?"

He sighed. "If you must. They're over there on the rack."

"All of them?"

"Yes, detective, as far as I know. And do try not to ruin them with your scientific exploits." Murdoch raised his eyebrows at that. "I've read all about you in the paper. I know your reputation."

"I'll do my best, señor."

Sighing again, "I guess that will have to do. Good evening."

"Before you go," said Brackenreid, whipping out a pad of paper. "Do you mind if-"

Pellegrino smiled and signed the autograph book.

"It's always nice to meet a fan. I hope we don't meet again under less favourable circumstances."

"As do I, señor."

On their way back to the station house and as they were sharing a carriage, they discussed their findings so far. Not surprisingly, Brackenreid's money was on Mr. Finkley. After that comment, Murdoch couldn't help but make a certain observation.

"Forgive me, sir, but it seems to me that you could very well be the killer."

Brackenreid looked taken aback. "How do you mean, Murdoch?"

"As far as I can tell, you share a lot of the same mentality as someone who would want the theatre burned down."

Begrudgingly he conceded the point. "Yes, I suppose I do. Are you trying to get at something, Murdoch?"

"Just this, sir. We still don't know nearly enough about this case. Anyone could be guilty. It's far too early to be jumping to conclusions yet."

"Do you always have to be such a smartass?"

Smiling, "Yes, sir, I believe I do."

Murdoch was busy examining the cloaks under the magnifying glass, looking for anything out of the ordinary but specifically trace elements caused by a fire. He didn't have high hopes of finding anything though as the fire had been started outside of the building (by tossing the molotov through a side window) and because of this, the bomber likely wouldn't have had a chance to get his cloak singed or covered in soot. And all of that was assuming Pellegrino or someone who had access to the cloaks was even the culprit. But none of this was going to stop Murdoch from looking.

"Sir," said George knocking for once on his office door.

"Yes, George?"

"We've finished going through the Prenfrew's finances like you asked and discovered that Mrs. Prenfrew was telling the truth. They were mostly bankrupt."

This was at odds to what Mr. Finkley had said about the Vaudeville business booming.

"So his business was going under then?"

"No, sir, it was thriving actually." Murdoch looked at him confusedly. "In speaking with his friends, I've determined that Mr. Prenfrew had a bad habit."

"What, George? Gambling?"

George smirked, "No, sir, nothing like that. He was a rather charitable man and was always giving away far more than he had any right to. Mostly to other poor souls that survived the wars. They all either had an ailment or injury that prevented them from going back to work."

Even more puzzled. "Who would want him dead then, George?"

"I believe I might also have the answer to that. Mr. Prenfrew had substantial life insurance, something he felt necessary to get after coming back from the war. At least, that's what his broker said."

Raising his eyebrows. "Hmm, I thought his wife was sincere."

George smiled, "Well, she did throw a hissy fit when you first spoke to her. She's a fickle one, to say the least."

"Yes, that she is."

"Should I bring her in?"

"No, George, not tonight, it's late. Why don't you go on home to your family?"

"I wish you would take your own advice, Will."

Not long after, Murdoch's wife made an appearance.

"I'm almost done here, Julia," he said before she could say anything.

"Have you discovered anything of value today?"

He looked up. "Yes, but not in relation to these cloaks."

After he quickly filled her in she said, "If Mrs. Prenfrew is responsible, it could explain something else I discovered on the body."

"Oh?"

"After I boiled the charred flesh away, I found a slight fracture to his skull indicating that Mr. Prenfrew had been knocked unconscious prior to his death."

"Then why not finish him off right then and there? Why burn him alive?"

Julia shrugged. "I suppose she didn't have the heart to do it in person. Or she was simply covering her tracks to make sure she would be guaranteed the life insurance."

"I suppose," said Murdoch, not at all sounding convinced.

"Well, in any case, you will find out tomorrow. Right now you are coming home to see your children. There will be no excuses from you tonight, detective."

"Mother! Father!" exclaimed Ben running over to give them a both a hug. Jonny, their Jack Russell Terrier puppy followed, barking and sprinting madly and Murdoch patted him on the head making him wag his tail even more vigorously.

"Good boy."

"You'll never guess what Jonny did!"

"What would that be, son?" asked Murdoch.

"I'll show you!"

He jumped a few paces back from them and called the dog to his side. Connie their maid, cook and babysitter, watched in the corner at the goings on, a faint smile across her face.

"Sit!" he commanded.

Jonny was panting and still wagging his tail.

Frowning, "I said sit!"

Then the pooch cocked his head to the side which made his tongue loll out comically.

Ben stomped his foot in frustration. "Sit, Jonny, sit!"

Instead of listening he started jumping at Ben's legs. The poor boy turned to face them and in a defeated voice said, "He did it before."

"Yes," said Connie, "he's quite right. I witnessed it myself."

Murdoch muttered to his wife, "If this is the rate at which he learns, it will years before he's house broken."

Julia smiled at that and out of the corner of her mouth said, "I'd be more concerned with your daughter." What she said aloud was, "Do not fret Ben. I'm sure he will get the hang of it sooner or later."

Grumbling, "I wanted to impress you. Stupid Jonny."

He trudged out of the room, Jonny following close behind, barking happily.

Connie got their attention again and said, "I've fed Ben and Olivia their dinner a few hours ago so the food needs to be warmed up. Would you like me to do that for you?"

"That's fine Connie," said Julia. "You can go home now."

"Thank you ma'am."

Within another minute she was out the door and while Julia tended to the roast, Murdoch went to go check on Olivia. She was now over sixteen months old and was still the prettiest, most precious thing he had ever laid eyes on. He doubted that would ever change, though he often wondered if there was another child in his future.

When he pushed open the door, it squeaked and she immediately opened her eyes. He made a mental note to grease the hinges.

"I'm sorry, Olivia."

"Dada," she murmured sleepily, stretching out her limbs.

"How are you tonight, Olivia?"

She stared at him wide-eyed, not fully comprehending the question.

He smiled and pointing to his mouth said, "Are you happy?"

"Yup."

"Well, I'll let you get back to sleep."

But she held out her chubby arms to him and he picked her up, letting the warm sheets fall back into the crib. He called for Ben and his son came running, Jonny forever at his heels. Then they sat down and had a nice family dinner together like they did most nights. Murdoch insisted on his son being there even if he had already eaten. This was about the only time that he had a chance to catch up with the events of his sons day. For in a short while, Ben would be put to bed and then it would be morning and it was off to school.

After supper was over, Murdoch helped Julia with the dishes, wishing there was some sort of contraption that would do this for you. He knew there were some impractical hand powered devices but he wanted something you could stick it in and let the machine do all the work. He resolved to look into this matter if time ever allowed.

Once that was done and both Ben and Olivia had been put sleep, Julia ran a hot bath and doused the water with lavender smelling bath soaps. A small amount of foam formed as a result but it was still pretty pathetic considering the amount she had used. Murdoch watched as she undressed and then slipped into the water, sighing with contentment as it embraced her up to her neck.

Eyes closed she said, "Well, detective, care to join me?"