Across town, Maxwell Best, straightened his tie and adjusted his waistcoat, before he knocked on the door to room 57. He hesitated slightly and wrung his hands together at the anticipation of seeing the woman inside, again. He wet his lips before he gently knocked on the door.

He looked up and down the hall of the hotel, and was satisfied that he was lone person there, and that no prying eyes were watched. He listened to the shuffling in the room, before the sound of the lock being unlocked at the door. Slowly the door opened and there stood Raquel Wilkins – a right femme fatale; Best swallowed deeply as she guided him into the room, closing the door behind them.

She was wearing a black corset, pantaloons and a sheer flowing dressing gown. Her hair was done up in quite the coiffure. And her waiting lips were painted ruby red. A remarkable sight, indeed. Wilkins helped Maxwell with his suit coat, before she offered him a glass of brandy. Having only met her once before, Best was still nervous, but looked forward to the attention she gave, which was lacking at home. It was like he was young again when he looked at her.

The room was a glow with the gas lamps, and the fact that it was nearing dusk out side, although there was still several hours of daylight left in the day. The room felt quite romantic, in fact. Best's hand shook slightly as he sipped from the crystal glass, while watching Raquel as she poured her own drink. She then moved across the room, and lowered herself onto the settee next to the councillor. "It's nice to see you again," she cooed.

Again Maxwell swallowed, "Likewise," he squeaked out. Wilkins' lips curved seductively as she sipped slowly on her drink.

"Did you bring it?" Wilkins then asked.

Best stopped drinking. Slowly he set his glass down, "I could only bring half of it," he nervously stated.

"I see," Wilkins said coldly. "Then you will only get half," she replied.

Best's shoulders sagged, "I was robbed before I could sell what I was going to sell," he tried to plea. "I'll sell something else and get the rest," he smiled, hoping to persuade the woman.

"How can I trust you?" Raquel asked over her glass.

"I'll double the amount," Best offered enthusiastically.

"Hummm," Wilkins pondered the idea, "It will have be delivered tomorrow then," she said with slight doubt that the councillor would come through on his deal.

"Tomorrow?" Best questioned. "I don't think I can turn it around that fast," he then stated.

Wilkins slowly stood up and walked across the room, moving in a very seductive manner. Best watched her every move. He stopped at the mantel, "The following day, and no more, or nothing tonight," she then said as she looked over her shoulder to the councillor. Best nodded in approval.

Wilkins then brought her hand up and motioned Best to follow her into the bedroom, using her index finger. It was like there was some magical power to the finger, as Best slowly rose from this seat and almost floated across the room, his eyes wide with wonder and excitement. They entered the room, and he used her toe to nudge the door closed behind them.

It was late in the day when Inspector Brackenreid finally got to sit down and read the newspaper, while he sipped on a glass of scotch. His eyes spotted an advertisement at the bottom right corner of the page, "Wanted, pioneer implements, old coins, china, natural history subjects, maps and documents. Will pay top dollar. See proprietor Robert Wilson, Jarvis Street," he read aloud. Slowly he removed his spectacles and stood up, still holding the newspaper in his hand. He set his glass down and walked through the bullpen and entered the Detective's office, "Murdoch, what were the initials in Best's agenda book?" he asked William.

"R.W. Why?" Murdoch looked up at this boss.

Brackenreid placed the newspaper down in front of the Detective and poked his left index finger at the ad he'd just read. Murdoch read it and looked up at his boss, "Very good Sir!" he exclaimed, with his eyebrows arching.

Brackenreid seemed quite pleased with the comment as he smiled from ear to ear, almost smug-like. "It appears we finally have a lead in our case," he added.

"Indeed Sir," Murdoch said as he stood up, and picked up the newspaper, reading it again. He then checked his breast pocket for the list that the dean had given him. "Let's pay Mister Wilson a visit, shall we?" he walked to the coat rack and gather his hat. Brackenreid scooted across the way to retrieve his hat, coat and walking stick. He quickly joined the Detective as they strolled out of Station House No. 4.

As the two policemen sat in the back of the handsome, Brackenreid pondered, "It would be just great is this was the missing piece of the puzzle," he commented aloud.

"Indeed it would be," Murdoch agreed as the coach rolled to a stop after a few minute ride. "There's the shop over there," he pointed through the window.

"Let's see what Mister Wilson has to say for himself," Brackenreid growled as he opened the carriage door and stepped down to the sidewalk. Murdoch was right behind him, and paid the driver. The two policemen adjusted their coats before they strolled over to Wilson's pawn shop. They stood looking through the large shop window, "Looks to me like he'd collect anything," Brackenreid snorted, "including shrunken heads," he added.

"Indeed it does, but we can't jump to conclusions," Murdoch warned to Brackenreid's slight displeasure – he just wanted the case to be finished.

Both men entered the little shop and a little bell above the door announced their arrival. The shop was crowded with just about everything one could think of under the sun. The room held a heady funk smell from the old paper and wooden objects. There was likely a good dose of mould in the room too. Brackenreid held back a sneeze as long as he could, but out it came, "Bloody hell," he muttered as he quickly wiped his nose with his handkerchief. The noise brought shopkeeper, Robert Wilson, out of the back room; apparently he hadn't heard the little bell. "Can I help you find something, gentlemen?" the old man spoke.

"We're very much hoping so, Mr. Wilson?," Murdoch approached showing his badge. Brackenreid did the same. "I'm Detective Murdoch and this is Inspector Brackenreid from Station House No. 4."

Wilson nodded at the names, but then quickly asked, "I'm in no trouble, am I?" the old man's voice quivered.

"That all depends if you have ever bought any of these antiquities from Councillor Maxwell Best lately," William stated as he handed the list to Wilson. Brackenreid watched the man with deep interest. He just wanted to go home and put his feet up.

Wilson took the list and scanned down the page of missing university artifacts, "I can't say I have seen any of these, nor have I seen Councillor Best in here. You're free to look around. Maybe someone else brought them in," he shrugged. Murdoch and Brackenreid exchanged glances of disappointment. "If you think any of these antiquities are brought in to your shop, please call me," Murdoch requested. Wilson nodded and scribbled the Detective's name down on a piece of paper.

"Thank you for your time," Murdoch spoke and turned to the door. The Inspector was right on his heels, "Bloody hell," he growled. "I thought for sure R.W. Was him," he then sighed.

"Me too, Sir. Me too," Murdoch drew a deep breath through his nose as he stepped out on to the sidewalk. They both knew they were no further ahead in the case. It make matters worse for the two men, the skies opened up and it began to pour rain. "Bullocks!" Brackenreid shouted as they scrambled to a dry place.