I did not recognize the address that Wilde had given the cabbie, which was hardly surprising considering my limited knowledge of Zootopia's streets. Although Wilde had been rather tight-lipped about his past with Weaselton, my curiosity about the weasel and our peculiar errand was still inflamed, and I tried a different line of questioning as the hansom navigated its way through the crowded streets. "Why did Trunkaby not arrest Weaselton along with Waldheim?" I asked, "Surely he would be a mammal of interest, at the least."

Wilde paused a moment before responding, his fingers steepled. "It is a dangerous game, the one that Weaselton plays," he said at last, when I had begun to think that he would not answer at all, "He has the ears of constables and criminals alike, and either side thinks the balance of what he gains them outweighs that of which he costs them. It is a delicate spot, to be sure, and one of which Trunkaby is well aware."

"Delicate indeed," I murmured, "I cannot imagine that criminals are particularly inclined to forgive betrayal."

"Nor constables," Wilde added, smiling slightly, "There will come a day when Weaselton knows something of such value that any action, whether it is to reveal it or keep the secret, will end poorly for him if the other side finds him out."

From Wilde's earlier comments, I would guess that the day of which he spoke had yet to come, although certainly the theft of two tonnes of gold would fit the criteria he had described, had Weaselton possessed the appropriate knowledge. "I imagine Trunkaby did not mention the bank robbery to him, then," I said.

"I would imagine not," Wilde agreed, "Nor did I; though it is doubtlessly futile, I have kept it close to my chest."

I recalled that Wilde had mentioned, before I cajoled him into taking the case, his belief that the bank would want to keep the theft unknown, lest it cause a run on their deposits. "I am not sure I understand why it is futile," I said.

"Only because there is no keeping it a secret," he answered, "There are four wolves, at least, who have no reason to keep their muzzles shut; even if they did show greater loyalty than Mr. Lemming is owed, I cannot imagine all of his other employees who know of the theft would do the same. Some mammal among them would gratefully cut off their nose to spite their face, if ruining Lemming cost them nothing more than their job."

I wondered at Wilde's statement. Would Garou, Mr. Lemming's seemingly faithful servant, betray his boss? I could not imagine it was an easy or rewarding job, to work for the little tyrant. Wilde and I lapsed into silence as I pondered on what I knew of the case so far, and wondered more on what Wilde knew but had not yet told me. His nature had a touch of the theatrical, I was sure, and I would guess that his reluctance to lay out his theories in full was informed at least partially by his desire to be proven spectacularly correct when he could demonstrate how the theft was done, in every minute detail. I was thinking on it still when the hansom hit what must have been a particularly sizable pothole and we were jostled about the cab, my cane and Wilde's umbrella leaping from their position on the floor to strike the ceiling.

Even were I not a doctor, it would have been transparently obvious the pain it had caused Wilde. His ears had gone flat back against his skull and his eyes were tightly screwed shut. His muzzle was twisted into a grimace that exposed his glittering canines, and he gave a sharp little hiss before he opened his eyes. I had already begun to move from my seat opposite his towards him, but he gently intercepted my paw in his own much larger one before I could pull up his shirt to check on his wound. Even as he was, weakened by injury and using but a fraction of his strength, he had my paw held fast. "It has not started bleeding again," he said, before adding in a lighter tone, "Though it is well that you stitched me up; else I expect my insides would be on my outsides now."

The cabbie, a sour zebra, called back a rather insincere sounding apology, and Wilde let go of my paw and eased himself back into his seat. I followed suit and sat back down on my side of the cab, but I persisted with words rather than actions. "You are sure you are fine?" I asked, "It was beastly, what those wolves did to you."

"I have more important concerns at the moment," Wilde replied, and I supposed that it was about as close to a "No" as his stubborn pride would allow him to go.

When we arrived at our destination a few moments later, I was again given cause to wonder at the curious paths the fox's mind worked along, for we were in front of a fish and chip shop which Wilde entered as soon as he paid the zebra who had pulled the hansom. I followed after Wilde, and the stench of cooked meat, which had been strong enough outside the shop, became overpowering inside, sending my stomach roiling. I could not begrudge predators their need to eat meat, but I wondered at how they could manage to keep it down; I had stood on battlefields that smelled better. Doubtlessly it was the primeval part of their brains that made something so barbaric seem appetizing; Wilde for his part perked up his nose, seeming to enjoy the charnel miasma. Desperate to distract my mind, I looked around the shop, focusing on the details. It was plainly made, all of wood and plaster, but fastidiously neat. The shop was rather small, divided into an area for customers to queue and the kitchen, separated by a battered wooden counter polished to a high sheen. Behind the counter, a large cauldron of oil bubbled away atop a coal fire, and the draught of the chimney was not quite sufficient to prevent the shop from filling with a mild haze of smoke. Also behind the counter was a sea otter, perhaps forty or fifty years of age, wearing a dress with its sleeves rolled up to show her thick forearms, over which she wore an apron splattered here and there with grease. There were only a few mammals in the queue ahead of us, and none at all behind us, and in short order my companion was able to get the otter's attention.

Wilde sidled up to the counter, and leaned over to address the otter. "You must be Dorotka," he said, giving her what I imagined must be his most charming smile, "I can see why Captain Lutrinaski named the Darling Dorotka as he did."

"He name it long time ago," she replied with a thick accent that I could not place, "I old and fat now."

Wilde waved his arm dismissively. "Nonsense, my dear," he said, "I understand now why he speaks so fondly of you."

"He like boat better," Dorotka replied, but she was smiling now, "Go on, flatterer."

"The truth is never flattery," he said smoothly, "But I was hoping to find your husband. Not away at sea again already, is he?"

"Why you look for?" she asked, her expression becoming guarded.

"Oh!" my companion said, his eyes widening, and his ears dropping in apparent embarrassment, "I did not think of how this must look."

I strongly suspected that he was not being sincere, but I did not say anything; due to my height I did not believe that the otter had seen me, as the top of my head was several inches under the counter, and I did not want to interrupt my companion at his work. "It is nothing untoward, I assure you," he said, "I had a reminder, recently, of the debts I owe."

At this last, he gestured at his blackened eye. "Aleš no drink or gamble," Dorotka said, eyeing Wilde suspiciously.

"I will be well served to take after him," Wilde confessed, "Though I have won quite handsomely, it was nothing like a sure thing. I mean to repay those who helped me with my profits and lay down my dice and cards for good. Your husband did me a great favor once, hiring me on when no one else would, and I would very much like to see him rewarded."

I felt that my suspicion of Wilde favoring the otter with outright lies was all but confirmed, as I could scarcely imagine the fox working aboard a ship, although I could see him whiling away his time at gambling. "Aleš always have soft heart," the otter grumbled, but a certain fondness had come into her eyes, and I was sure that she loved her husband the sea captain dearly.

"Not so much aboard his ship," Wilde said, smiling.

"Ship like kitchen," Dorotka replied, "Must be run tight."

"Your shop looks as first rate as his ship," Wilde said, looking around approvingly, "Would you pass this along to the dear captain when next he arrives?"

He slid two crowns across the counter, and the otter hesitated, her fingers on the coins. "I give fish and chips. I insist."

"I do not mean to put you out," Wilde demurred.

"No trouble. I insist," she replied.

"A piece of cod, then, with chips," Wilde said, giving in with essentially no resistance, and she swept the coins into a pocket of her apron.

The otter set about her work, and I watched with a sort of morbid fascination as she first prepared and then fried the food, wrapping the greasy result in an old bit of newspaper before giving it over to my companion. She was taller than he was, and as she leaned over the counter to give him the bundle she caught sight of me for the first time. "Królik eat fish?" the otter asked me uncertainly, "Chips, maybe?"

I could not imagine that she saw very many bunnies, either in her shop or her day-to-day activities, and I could understand her confusion. Under other circumstances, fried chipped potatoes might have been appetizing indeed, but the shop had only the single cauldron in which everything was fried, fish and potato alike. My stomach churned again at the idea of eating anything impregnated with the awful smell (and doubtlessly the taste) of fish. "I have already eaten," I said delicately, trying to avoid offense.

Wilde paused from his task of liberally applying malted vinegar to his food. "You are rather missing out," he said, "Does a chip not tempt you?"

I did not want to stay in the shop a moment longer, and shook my head. Dorotka gave us a peculiar glance as we walked out, and I wondered at what she thought of the odd pair my companion and I formed, particularly in the light of the tale Wilde had spun for her. The street on which the fish and chip shop stood was a side street, not well traveled, and there were no cabbies plying their trade as we exited the shop. A soft rain had begun to fall while we were inside; though Wilde was gentlemammal enough to share his umbrella with me, the rain made my bad leg ache abominably, and it was an awkward first few paces as he adjusted his naturally longer strides to my shorter and somewhat hobbled ones as we headed to the main road. "I am afraid I did not see the point of this errand any more than I did our trip to Weaselton's," I said as we walked, "Except to fill your stomach."

"Were you not chiding me earlier to-day about not eating?" Wilde asked, as he popped a chip into his mouth and chewed it with obvious relish, "I thought you would be happy to see me following your esteemed advice."

I scowled up at him, not appreciating the light nature with which he was seeming to take the crime he was supposedly tasked with solving. "So you've come away with more than just luncheon, have you?" I asked.

Wilde used his sharp teeth to tear off a piece of his fried fish, which was vanishing into his gullet at a remarkable rate, and chewed it thoughtfully and swallowed before replying. "Indeed I have," he said, "Once we are back to our flat, I expect I shall have everything I need to demonstrate my solution to Trunkaby."

"I hope you don't mind if we walk to our flat," he added, "It's no more than half a mile, and I must be saving my funds."

He had indeed spent money with a remarkable profligacy over the course of the case, and I wondered if he would walk away with any profit once the business was concluded; I knew not the fee he charged for his services. "I suppose I can manage, although I thought our next stop was to the police station," I said, "But whatever are you saving your funds for, if you do not mind my asking? An expansion to your laboratory, perhaps?"

Over the short period of time that I had known Wilde, the little laboratory he had set up in a corner of the sitting room had continuously grown, and as I recalled from my days as a student such top-notch equipment came quite dearly. "I expect we shall be able to head to the station straightaway, after I have the chance to put my notes in order," he said, "And as for my funds, I suppose it only fair to forewarn you. I am afraid I am rather outgrowing our set of rooms, and I have begun to search for single lodgings that would prove more suitable. A basement that I could equip to my needs, perhaps."

I stopped suddenly, quite surprised that Wilde was planning on moving out so shortly after we had moved in together, and I was caught by the rain for a moment before he stepped backwards and covered me with his umbrella again. "Have I caused you offense?" I asked, "I beg your pardon, if there is something I have done to make you feel unwelcome, for it is as much your home as mine."

I saw something that I could not identify run across Wilde's face—surprise, perhaps—before his usual collected mask reasserted itself. "Perish the thought, Dr. Hopps," he said, "You have always been quite open with me, and I cannot fault you for your nature any more than I would wish to be faulted for mine."

I had the feeling that there was some greater meaning behind his words that I could not grasp, but he continued, "I shall, of course, not move out until you have found a suitable replacement; I expect you will find it simple enough."

"I appreciate the consideration," I said, though my thoughts were in turmoil, the case entirely forgotten.

I had moved to the city with the expectation of leading a quiet retirement from the service, applying my hard-won skills to teaching the next generation of doctors. Never in my wildest dreams would I have expected to undertake such an adventure as the one I was currently on, and before it started I would have surely said that it would be most unwelcome. Now that it seemed I would get that quiet life I had imagined, I found myself wondering if it was really what I wanted after all. So caught up in my thoughts was I that I scarcely realized we had arrived at 221B Barker Street before Wilde halted. "Something is wrong," he said with a frown.

The street looked much as it ever did, a bustling hive of activity from mammals of all sizes, and it took me a moment to spot what Wilde evidently considered out of place. In front of the building our flat was in there was an enormous carriage, drably painted black with "Zootopia Police Dept." in white letters on the side. Eight horses, evidently the mammals who were employed at pulling it, were huddled in a circle near the fence, engaged in low conversation and smoking cigarettes. From the ash and cigarette ends at their feet, they had evidently been at it for some time. Further proof of this was provided by the dry spots where their umbrellas must have provided shielding from the rain; the rain had started sometime before we left the fish and chip shop and stopped shortly before we reached 221B Barker Street, which meant that they must have been waiting for half an hour at least. The horses did not seem to pay us any mind, and I followed Wilde as he cautiously made his way up the stairs.

Our suite of rooms was conveniently set up such that it had an exterior entrance and we did not have to go traipsing through the landlady's dwelling each time we wished to come or go, and it made it quickly obvious what the trouble was. The door was off its hinges on the floor inside the sitting room, the frame splintered from what must have been a series of incredible blows. Inside the sitting room were our old landlady and two mammals I recognized immediately; Inspector Trunkaby barely fit and was making the whole building shake as she paced, and Clawhauser was uncomfortably perched on a sofa quite a bit too small for him holding a teacup that was similarly dwarfed within his paw. Trunkaby quit her pacing as we entered and turned her attention to Wilde, but I was so shocked by what I saw that I almost didn't catch her words.

Our suite had been torn apart; the bookcases filled with Wilde's eccentric collection of references were on the floor, the books and a number of pages that must have come loose were themselves scattered hither and yon. In far greater disarray were Wilde's philosophical instruments, much of the delicate glass shattered against the floor. There was a stain on the wallpaper, which had little bits of glass embedded in it where I guessed that the intruder had thrown a vial, although I could not guess if it were out of spite or frustration. The drawers of my dresser had been ripped from it, and my clothes were in a disorganized lump on my bed, which had a great gash where the stuffing had been pulled out. Wilde's bed-room looked to be in about the same state, and a terrible feeling came over me. I could not quite put it in words, but anyone who has had the sanctity of their home defiled would surely know it; I was filled with outrage that such a thing had happened. I could not say if Wilde felt the same set of emotions, particularly in light of his announcement that he intended to leave in short order, but Trunkaby had given him no chance to collect himself if he did. "You've made a fool of me in front of the chief inspector," she cried, approaching Wilde with a furious glare.

"I should think you hardly needed any help with that," he retorted, "I suppose Waldheim confessed?"

The furious elephant jabbed him in the chest with her trunk, and Wilde took an involuntary step backwards as he regained his balance. "To grave robbery, as I expect you well know," she said, punctuating her words with further jabs that quickly had Wilde backed against a wall.

"Trunkaby," Clawhauser began, but the elephant turned her massive head to him and gave him a glare only somewhat more mild than the one with which she had fixed Wilde.

"Not another word, constable," she said, and the cheetah fell silent as she turned back to face Wilde, still pinned against the wall.

"To say nothing of the stunt you pulled in the bank," she seethed, and I was unsure of what she meant.

While it was true that Wilde had been somewhat rude to Mr. Lemming, he had only done so in response to the little mammal's own unkind remarks, and it hardly seemed to merit the anger Trunkaby was displaying. "I suppose you had something to do with this, too," she said, brandishing a newspaper at Wilde.

I could not see the headline from where I stood, and cautiously made made my around until I could. The paper was the afternoon edition of the Times, and in lurid letters, the headline read, "Lemming Brothers Bank Robbed in Crime of the Century," under which it read in letters only somewhat smaller, "Two Tonnes of Gold Reported Missing."

On several occasions over the course of his investigation, Wilde had jumped to my defense, and it was only fitting that I returned the favor; I had ever despised bullies, no matter how large they were. "Wilde said nothing to any reporters," I said firmly, "And what stunt in the bank? What of our flat as well, was it you who tore it asunder?"

Trunkaby seemed to notice my presence for the first time, and pulled in her anger. "Hobbes, was it?" she asked, "This is no concern of yours; being dragged about crime scenes by a self-aggrandizing charlatan does not make you involved."

"Hopps, actually," Wilde said as he took advantage of Trunkaby's distraction to deftly slide past her and over to where I stood, "If you won't answer her, then answer her questions for me."

The two mammals stared each other down, their audience apparently completely ignored, and Trunkaby grudgingly answered. "This was not the work of the police," she said, gesturing around our ruined flat, "Constable Clawhauser answered a report from your landlady about a break in. While he was taking her statement, I arrived to take back possession of what you stole. Give up the key, Wilde."

At her words, I recalled that, after taking the key to the lock box from Garou, Wilde had not given it back, although since he had been hired to solve the case I thought it a bit much to call it theft. "We are sending the lock box to Goredian to determine how it was defeated, and they shall need the key to verify that they have it right after removing the lead from the lock," Trunkaby continued, somewhat more calmly.

Wilde had predicted that looking into the means by which the lock had been defeated would be Trunkaby's next move, and I saw that he was right. Wilde did not make any move to return the key, turning instead to Mrs. Armadillo. "Did a package arrive for me, while I was out?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, attempting to act as though she were not eagerly following every word of the little drama unfolding before her, "I hadn't dropped it off before all of this happened. I was out to market, you see, and that charming—"

"Enough," Trunkaby said, "Clawhauser, you can finish taking her statement somewhere else."

There was the full force of a command behind her words, and the cheetah and our landlady made their exit. "Give up the key, Wilde," Trunkaby repeated, "You're coming with me to apologize to Mr. Lemming and the chief inspector for delaying our investigation while you ran around with key evidence, or I swear we'll see if your attitude is improved any by four months of hard labor for interfering with police business."

In the course of the brief time I had known Wilde, his temperament had rarely deviated from cynical detachment and wry amusement at the goings-on around him, so I was not expecting what came next. "You're making a terrible mistake," he said.

His ears were flattened back and his eyes were narrowed, all traces of the delight that typically danced in his hooded look gone. His lip was curled back to reveal his teeth, and his hackles were raised with his tail rigidly back. Whether it was anger, frustration, or some combination of the two I could not say, but I had never seen his emotions laid so bare. "Is that a threat?" Trunkaby demanded, "I swear that I will fulfill mine if you don't give over the key."

She held out one massive paw, and Wilde pulled a chain from his neck and forcefully gave it over; I saw that he had been wearing the key in exactly the same fashion as Garou. "Will you listen to reason, now that you have it?" he asked, regaining some measure of his composure, "Time is of the very essence, and I shall have this solved forthwith if you will only allow me to inspect the package Mrs. Armadillo has for me."

"I doubt that very much," Trunkaby said firmly, "Only that you shall play me for a fool another time. Come along."

"Are you forgetting the business in Whitetailchapel already?" Wilde cried as she seized him by the arm and pulled him along, "Or Crowdon? I am attempting to help you!"

"You have a queer way of doing so," she said, dragging him out the door.

I hastened to follow, taking the stairs as quickly as I could, and caught up at the carriage only because Clawhauser had waylaid Trunkaby. Clawhauser had evidently heard his superior officer on her way down the stairs and rushed out with the package Mrs. Armadillo had held for Wilde, arguing in Wilde's favor to allow him to review its contents, and Wilde had joined him in begging. "Just give me the length of the carriage ride to review this material and demonstrate my solution to you," Wilde pleaded, "Dr. Hopps will be able to corroborate the details, and I shall willingly eat crow before the chief inspector and Mr. Lemming himself if I cannot convince you."

Trunkaby gave a great sigh, but her temper must have cooled somewhat, or perhaps she did not want to appear entirely unreasonable, for she acquiesced. "Get in," she called to me.

As I think back on the events as they happened, it occurred to me that they would have transpired quite differently had Wilde not been a gentlemammal and stayed outside the carriage until Clawhauser and Trunkaby were in. He gave me a boost to reach the first step into the carriage, which was a considerable height off the ground as it had been built to Trunkaby's scale, and waited until I was seated before leaping to the step himself. Wilde was about to enter the carriage himself when his eyes suddenly widened and he gave an undignified yowl of surprise as something seized him by the tail and pulled him bodily from the carriage's doorway. He desperately dug his claws into the thin fabric of the seats, but succeeded only in gouging a series of cuts through the cheap cloth and sending the stuffing flying through the cabin as he was pulled backwards. "Hopps!" he cried, even as I lunged after him, my finger tips barely missing his, "The gold was—"

He did not get to finish his sentence. A white handkerchief was clamped over his muzzle and cut off his words, and I caught a whiff of something sickly sweet before he was pulled entirely from the carriage. My first instinct had never been to shy away from danger, and I did not do so at that moment either. I leaped from the carriage to give pursuit, but without my cane made it only two-and-a-half steps before my bad leg gave way beneath me and I stumbled to the slick cobblestones on my knees. I caught a glimpse of Wilde's attacker as he fled, a massive moose who held the comparatively tiny fox in the crook of one enormous arm while keeping the handkerchief firmly held over Wilde's muzzle with the other. Although my companion lashed out wildly with all of his limbs, even his tail waving frenetically, it was of no avail; he could not connect with the moose and it likely would have done little enough if he could. The moose was putting distance between himself and the carriage at an incredible clip, sending the unfortunate mammals of the crowded street who did not move from his way scattering like skittles, the fox in his arms an apparently insignificant burden. Clawhauser, to his great credit, was only a moment behind me, and when I saw that he was moving to stop and check on me I waved him off. "Give pursuit!" I cried, pointing at the moose's receding back, "I shall be fine. Give pursuit!"

The cheetah obeyed my command, setting off after the moose, who had vanished from my sight as he turned a corner down a side street. Even as I watched the cheetah give chase, I had the sinking feeling in my chest that he would not succeed. While Clawhauser was likely faster than the moose who had kidnapped Wilde, or indeed any moose, his speed was greatest in a straight line. Since he did not have the sheer mass to part the crowded streets before him as his quarry had, his speed was reduced greatly as he wove through the throngs of mammals about their business and did not seem able to close the distance. Sure enough, after Trunkaby had pulled me back into the carriage and directed the team of horses that pulled it to follow after the moose, we entered the side street he had turned down to find it all but empty. Clawhauser was lying on the street, clutching at his wrist, and when Trunkaby and I alighted from the carriage to question him I could not tell if it was emotion or pain that made his eyes so wet. Seemingly automatically, perhaps just to give myself something to do, I pulled the small box of medical supplies from the carriage and tended to his arm in silence. My thoughts were a blur as he gave his report to Trunkaby. "I slipped as I turned the corner," he said, his ears drooping in shame, "I didn't see where they went."

It was hardly the cheetah's fault; the rain had made the cobblestones incredibly slick, and his blunt claws were surely unable to find any kind of purchase on stone. Still, in the moment, I could not keep my tongue in check. "You saw nothing?" I cried, manipulating his broken wrist more roughly than I ought to as I fashioned a sling, "Did he enter one of the buildings? Continue down the street?"

Clawhauser gave a low moan of pain and I let go as I realized what I was doing. "I can't say," he said miserably.

After I had finished my ministrations, Trunkaby pulled him to his feet with more care than I would have guessed the elephant to show. "Come along, constable. And you as well," she said, turning to me, her expression grave, "The chief inspector will want to hear of this at once."