We were ensconced in a hansom on our way to the precinct one police station when I turned to my companion to speak. I was, to tell the truth, scouring my brains to attempt to piece together whatever Wilde had seen in the crime scene, but I could not. "What do you make of the crime scene, then, if you do not mind my asking?"

"It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment," he said.

I could respect his dedication to his chosen craft, but there was another matter that I believed deserved discussion. "Mr. Lemming was unfathomably rude to you," I remarked, "You have done nothing to deserve such shabby treatment."

"It is kind of you to think so," my companion said, "But I would not qualify Mr. Lemming's remarks as unfathomable."

"I cannot say that I wish you to fail, but I would not be in the least put out should his gold never be recovered," I said, "The little beast quite deserves to be ruined, should his attitude towards you be any indication of his character."

I thought that Wilde would appreciate my show of support, but his reaction indicated quite the opposite. "It is of the first importance," Wilde cried, "Not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit, a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning mammal I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little cubs for their insurance-money, and the most repellent mammal of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the Zootopian poor."

"In this case, however—"

"I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule," he said firmly, the matter apparently quite settled in his mind.

"Does your philosophy extend across all aspects of your being?" I asked, somewhat shocked by the misanthropy evidenced by his remarks.

"It does not do to become entangled in the affairs of other mammals; to allow emotion to color judgment is the single greatest mistake that can be made."

That seemed, to me, a dreadfully pessimistic attitude with which to go through life, and I again found myself wondering if Wilde had any friends or loved ones. Was it some singular event that had sent him down this path, or was it simply in a fox's nature to push aside bonds and live in solitude?

"I see the skepticism across your face," Wilde remarked, "Perhaps an object lesson shall be appropriate. I would beg your favor to perform a task for me to-morrow which may determine how the thieves managed to open the lock box."

"What sort of favor?" I asked cautiously.

I was eager to see through to the end the mystery of the stolen gold, but I still did not believe I had the full measure of my companion.

"Mr. Alexander Goredian is, by many accounts, the finest locksmith and safe-maker in all of Zootopia. In my line of work, I have had many occasions on which to see the product of his factory, the Goredian Lock and Safe Company." Wilde began.

I recalled at once that the lock box had borne the mark of that company, and thought again on the strange means by which it had been opened. I could not pretend to be any sort of expert on safe-cracking, but I could not recall having ever heard of a lock being defeated by means of filling it with molten lead. Yet, by the solid mass of metal which had filled the keyhole, there could be little doubt that the thieves had somehow managed to do so.

"I should like you to visit his factory to-morrow, as soon as it opens, and inquire about purchasing a lock box. Time shall be of the essence if we are to engage Mr. Goredian's attention before Mr. Lemming can do so with his complaint."

"Is that all?" I asked, somewhat puzzled, "I will do so happily, if it would be an aid in your investigation, but why should you not do so yourself?"

A thin smile crossed my companion's muzzle. "I did say that it would be an object lesson, did I not? Mr. Goredian takes great pains to ensure the happiness and welfare of his workers. The wages he pays are well in excess of the norm, and he stays involved in the day-to-day lives of his employees. He is himself a staunch teetotaler and expects that those under his employ will abide by the principles of temperance. By all accounts he is the model factory owner, the very opposite of a robber baron."

"Do you mean to tell me that is all a facade, hiding a monstrous nature?"

My companion shrugged. "He refuses to either employ or do business with predators, so I cannot say, having never met the mammal myself. I would ask only that you keep in mind that mammals have many facets, and the face you see may not be that which others do. On this occasion, I mean to take advantage of Goredian's nature."

I opened my mouth to remark on the cynical cunning that Wilde had expressed, but before I could speak the hansom came to a stop and he clapped his paws together.

"Here we are!" he said cheerfully, as we stepped out of the cab, "Precinct one's police station."

The station was a magnificent building that stood out dramatically from those that surrounded it. Where the other buildings on the block were all rectangular, the station was circular, three stories tall and surrounded by manicured lawns. The drab gray exterior was broken by large windows and the overall effect that it gave was that of a panopticon, maintaining a vigilant watch of the surrounding city in all directions. When we made our way to the reception desk, it was evident that Inspector Trunkaby had been true to her word and called ahead, for the receptionist had barely caught site of my companion before she told us that Constable Clawhauser was awaiting us in one of the interrogation rooms.

Constable Clawhauser was a cheetah with the tall and slim build typical of his species, which was a curious contrast to his round, open face. He exuded simple, honest cheer, though he seemed quite nervous at the moment. I could scarcely blame him, for the interrogation room seemed designed to put mammals on edge. It was small and smelled of damp, and the gas mantles behind sturdy wire cages on the walls made the room almost uncomfortably bright. When my companion and I entered the room he gave a little jump of surprise before recovering and taking us in.

"Why, you're Nicholas Wilde, are you not?" the cheetah asked, his eyes wide.

"I am," my companion replied, "Now, it is a matter—"

"The one and same that caught Springbok Jack?" Clawhauser interrupted.

"I—"

"Oh, this is extraordinary!" the cheetah cried happily, throwing his paws to his cheeks in a gesture of pure excitement that made him look rather younger, "I must have a photograph, I simply must!"

With that, he dashed out of the room with all the speed for which cheetahs are known. My companion turned to me, apparently bemused. "Perhaps this is another task I should have begged your favor for," he remarked, "It seems that I have a devotee."

"I would have guessed you to enjoy the appreciation," I replied, "Should I have deprived you of such?"

Before Wilde could reply, as I am sure that he would have, the cheetah had returned at full tilt, carrying within his paws a box camera which I recognized as being one of the Kodiak models which had taken the country quite by storm. One of my younger sisters, for whom the old family daguerreotypes had always held an immense fascination, had become quite devoted to her Kodiak camera during the few months I spent on the family farm before moving to Zootopia, taking countless pictures of the farm and its inhabitants. I suspected that the camera which the cheetah held was intended for less artistic purposes, for it had, neatly stenciled across the front, the words, "Property of ZPD."

"The lighting here will be quite ideal," the cheetah mused to himself, before suddenly thrusting the camera into my paws.

"Have you ever used a camera before?" he asked.

"I have, but—"

"Wonderful!" he cried, then knelt down to bring himself to the same general height as Wilde, throwing an arm across his shoulder.

"Take it quickly, Dr. Hopps," Wilde muttered, appearing less than pleased with the invasion of his personal space by the excitable cheetah.

Recalling what my sister had shown me, I carefully and slowly sighted the two mammals and pressed the button for the shutter. "Thank you very much," the cheetah said, taking the camera back from me and winding a small wheel to advance the roll within the camera to prepare it for its next photograph, "I can hardly wait to get this developed!"

His little work with the camera done, Clawhauser looked up at me. "I am afraid my excitement has made me forget my manners," he said, "I am Constable Benajmin Clawhauser, and you are?"

"This is my flatmate, Dr. Judith Hopps, who has been so kind as to agree to help my investigation," Wilde broke in, with a patience that I found remarkable, "You already know who I am, of course."

"You share a flat with him?" Clawhauser asked, looking first at me and then at Wilde, "The pair of you are rather darling, if you do not mind my saying so. And quite brave!"

I very much did mind, having been referred to with grating diminutives by many a larger mammal, but Wilde spoke before I could comment. "Her more so than I," Wilde said dryly, "Would you mind describing, in your own words, what transpired at Lemming Brothers Bank last night?"

Clawhauser's testimony as to the events of the previous night matched up precisely with what Mr. Lemming had said. "How was the window broken?" Wilde asked, once the cheetah had described the scene as he encountered it.

"It was a cobblestone, I think, pried up from the street," Clawhauser said, "There was no mistaking that it was a rock of some sort; I saw it myself mixed in with the broken glass."

Wilde nodded thoughtfully. "You are quite sure that the vaults and gates were locked when you examined them?"

"I would swear it was, before a judge if you should like," the cheetah said, "I thought it must have been some mammal up to a bit of mischief, not a true attempt on the bank's vault."

"Thank you, constable, you have been most helpful," Wilde said, and got up to leave.

"Mr. Wilde," Clawhauser called out, "Did I make some error? Was the robbery my fault?"

The cheetah's ears and tail were drooping in abject misery. "I would not suspect so," Wilde replied kindly, "Do keep your chin up; I suspect that you will be the desk sergeant before too long."

Clawhauser's eyes widened in surprise, and I saw that Wilde had, once more, seen in a mammal that which was invisible to others. It struck me that, when Wilde had said that each mammal had many facets and revealed but one to each mammal they encountered, he was also describing himself.

Upon leaving the police station, we made no further stops that night and instead returned to our suite. Our landlady had kept the fire stoked in our absence, and Wilde sank into the chair closest to it, his paws held towards the flames with an expression of simple pleasure on his face. "I must thank you for it all," he said, turning towards me, "I might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came across: a study in gold, eh? There's the golden thread of greed running through the colorless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it. And now, dear doctor, I suggest that you rest. I have one or two more errands to-night, but it must be an early morning for you if we are to succeed."

I was reluctant to give up the mystery that had enticed me so in favor of sleep, but the exertions of the evening had been too much for my still weak health. Though excitement coursed through my veins like a kit awaiting the arrival of Father Christmas, I was soon off in a dreamless sleep, my last thoughts of the task that awaited me.

Author's Notes: Before I get onto any notes for the story itself, I want to give a big thanks to DrummerMax64, who had both of my stories featured on the Zootopia News Network. I highly recommend that you check out the site; it's got a great mix of featured content of all types, from stories to art to material about the film itself.

DrummerMax64, your support means a lot to me, and I cannot thank you enough! I'd also like to thank SR again for providing the cover images that I'm using, which also appear in the write ups of my stories on ZNN.

If you're reading this story after being linked from ZNN, I'm glad that you've come and I hope that you enjoy it!

For this particular chapter, I do have a few comments. Since this story is based heavily off of the original Sherlock Holmes stories, I've been doing a lot of research into the Victorian era and the early 1900s. Although Prohibition was a US phenomenon, temperance movements were fairly common across the English-speaking world in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and there were a number based in the UK, such as the Independent Order of Rechabites. It also wasn't unheard of for employers to attempt to control the lives of their workers. In the US, for example, Henry Ford created the Sociological Department, which employed investigators to look into the lives of the Ford Motor Company's employees, who could have their wages reduced or even be fired if they didn't meet the moral standards the company expected. I played a little fast and loose with a couple of inventions; the first Kodak camera wasn't released until 1888, and gas mantle lamps weren't common commercially until about 1885. It is pretty interesting, though, that even as electric lighting (which began spreading as a utility in 1882) was making rapid advancements that there were still a number of major advancements in gas lighting being made. Springbok Jack is a reference to Spring-Heeled Jack, a Victorian boogeyman sighted from the 1830s to the 1870s.

In terms of character work, I imagine that in the continuity of the movie itself Clawhauser was probably physically fit when he first became an officer. Since this version of Clawhauser is a beat cop, I thought it made sense that he would stay in shape. In the continuity of the story, I thought that it would also make sense for him to idolize Nick a bit; I imagine that predator cops are relatively uncommon and find it difficult to advance in the ranks in such a prejudiced society, so a brilliant predator detective would be something of a role model. Of course, I imagine Clawhauser's true love to still be Gazelle. Judy's time to shine will be next chapter, which should be pretty fun, but in this chapter I tried delving a little deeper into what makes this version of Nick tick. Like the original Sherlock, he's being more than a little dishonest when he talks about emotions; he was clearly annoyed at the treatment he got in the last chapter and was retaliating to Trunkaby and Mr. Lemming with sarcasm.

Also, since the news came through as I was going to post this, a big congratulations to everyone who worked on Zootopia for the movie winning an Oscar! It's great to see their hard work rewarded; this movie has meant a lot to me and many other people, so hopefully the win tonight will push some more people into giving the movie a chance and convince Disney to give it a sequel.