I stopped my young companion once Goredian's company was in sight. As before, the complete lack of vegetation covering the front wall of Goredian's company made it stand out from its neighbors, and I was glad of the distinction. Many of the other storefronts were so overgrown that they were difficult to pick out, and there were some preparations to be made before I entered. I was, in truth, also glad of the opportunity to rest my leg. Though the route was entirely downhill, we had set as quick a pace as I could manage, and the abominable orange dress was absolutely stifling. I pulled at the collar in a futile attempt to get some sort of circulation going, then turned to Molly. "Could you fetch a cab and have it wait for us?" I asked, fumbling in my satchel for coins.

The ferret nodded and took off as though she was not in an oppressively hot and humid simulacrum of a rain forest. I expected that we would need a cab again, and did not want to have to wait for it, but I confess that I had an ulterior motive in setting Molly to the task. I knew that Goredian took a dim view indeed of predators, and even should I try to play her off as a servant I doubted she would be welcome. It was better, I thought, to keep her away from the bull. With that thought, I entered the shop.

It felt as though it had been far longer since I had been inside, although it was only a matter of hours. Although I had somehow expected it to be different, it looked much the same as before. The same doe was behind the main desk, and her surly expression told me she well remembered our previous encounter. Before I could even open my mouth, she had a question for me. "Are you here to see Mr. Goredian, ma'am?" she said, her tone quite respectful even though I could see the dislike she bore me in her eyes.

I fell back into my role as an impatient and imperious rabbit of means easily enough. "At once," I said, my head tilted back.

In a trice, the deer had returned with her employer. "It is good to see you again, Mrs. Cotton," Goredian said warmly, as he ushered me back into his showroom, "Have you and your husband made a decision?"

Before I could speak, Goredian continued. "Either way, I must be honest with you," Goredian said, fidgeting with his hooves, "You have seen the afternoon papers to-day?"

"I have," I said, and then did my best to appear to be coming to a realization, "Do you mean about the bank robbery? Did that have something to do with your locks?"

Goredian briefly looked at the floor before returning his attention to me. "The papers have not published it yet, but the gold that was stolen was in one of my lock boxes," he admitted, and I saw the shame that it caused him, "But it is only a matter of time, I am sure, before it is reported."

"You told me only this morning that your safes were impregnable," I said, puffing myself up to appear affronted, "What sort of fraud are you?"

"No fraud at all, Mrs. Cotton," he replied hastily, waving his hooves, "I am sure that it was no fault of my lock that the gold was stolen; likely the key was stolen or it was an inside job."

The defensiveness that had been writ across his face gave way to something far darker. "Mr. Lemming entrusts the key to that wolf of his," he said, practically spitting the name of Garou's species, "Whether it was careless or wicked, I would not be surprised; you cannot trust a predator."

I nodded as though I was agreeing with Goredian and his loathsome views. I had seen my fair share of carelessness and wickedness among both predator and prey, and while the former may be more inclined towards a tendency to have those faults than the latter, I would ascribe most of the difference to upbringing with biology contributing a smaller portion. Still, I had myself wondered if Garou could be responsible for the theft. It was quite true that the wolf had held the key, and it would have been trivial for him to give it to the thieves for the theft and then taken it back afterwards. Indeed, had the wolf masterminded the entire affair it would make perfect sense; as Mr. Lemming's servant he likely had complete knowledge of all of the vital details of the bank and how they could be defeated. On the other paw, I had seen the photographic evidence that Garou had served Mr. Lemming for well over a decade, and considering the dismissal of the bank's guards I did not believe the lemming to be a particularly forgiving boss. Clearly, whether it was deserved or not, the wolf had his implicit trust. Considering that Garou had been sent to deliver Trunkaby's note and collect Wilde, the wolf obviously knew where Wilde lived and would have been able to dispatch a co-conspirator to abduct the fox. Further, while any of the mammals present could have spread the knowledge further, only those of us who had been in the vault had initially known that Wilde possessed the key, and Garou was in that group. My visit to Weaselton's had made me absolutely certain that Wilde's kidnapping was associated with the theft of the gold, and specifically with getting that key. All in all, Garou seemed the most likely suspect, though if he was guilty his continued presence around his employer gave him an excellent alibi.

"Be that as it may," I said, realizing that I had been silent in thought slightly too long and had to continue the conversation, "You understand that I find it difficult to take this matter solely on your word. Surely you understand my valuables are of the utmost importance. I must have absolute trust in the means by which they are secured."

"I understand completely, madame. Were I in your position I would do the same," he said, "Once the lock box is returned to my care I shall be able to definitively state how it was opened."

I frowned, and it was not a bit of acting. When I had first met Chief Inspector Bogo, the buffalo had said that the lock box had been sent back to Goredian. That had been nearly an hour-and-a-half previously, and even if I supposed that the lock box had been sent out only moments before I spoke to the officer rather than earlier in the day, it seemed entirely enough time for the lock box to have arrived. I supposed it was possible that Goredian was lying to me, but I did not think it likely. After all, he had been the one to bring the conversation in the direction of the bank robbery; while he could have been hedging his bets against a customer finding out after their purchase was made, I thought it more likely that he really was an honest businessmammal. "Is it not a top priority?" I asked, doing my best to sound haughty, "It was last night, was it not, that the gold was stolen?"

Goredian had a ready answer. "It shall be my very highest priority, once the lock box is back in my possession. It was the courier company that's to blame," he said, "They left a note saying that there was no one to receive the shipment, and they would re-attempt to-morrow."

He gave a humorless chuckle. "A lie, I am sure. My shipping and receiving area is always staffed, and they swear that no attempt was made. Doubtlessly they were simply too lazy to make the delivery."

I recalled that Wilde had recorded the names and addresses of several couriers in his journal entry for the case, and realized what the scheme had been. The thieves must have defeated the lock box in a way that Goredian would have been able to identify, and were thereafter attempting to destroy the evidence. Wilde must have known that the thieves would prevent the lock box from being returned to Goredian, and somehow deduced the possible options. I thought quickly before I responded. "Do you know which courier?" I asked, "My husband and I are in the courier business ourselves. Hermes Deliveries. You have heard of us, I'm sure?"

I was grateful that, when first I spoke with Goredian, I had not spoken of the line of work that Mr. and Mrs. Cotton were supposedly in, and I was almost surprised at how easily the lie came off my tongue. "I have not," Goredian replied, "Though we may speak business later."

"With my husband, perhaps," I said dismissively, "Should it have been one of our couriers, I shall see to it that they are sharply rebuked, and should it be one of our competitors I should like to know which of them has failed so thoroughly."

I was continuing to lie through my teeth, but Goredian did not seem to notice. "Let me fetch the note," he said, "I'm afraid I don't recall the name."

He left me in the showroom, and as I looked around at the cases I was struck by a thought. If the courier who had failed to deliver the lock box to Goredian was also on Wilde's list, I had little doubt that they must be associated with the thieves in some way. It also followed, I thought, that the thieves were in the process of destroying the evidence, which made the key to the lock box the last item they required. While I supposed it was safe enough with the police, there was no telling what might be happening to Wilde in the meantime.

As these dismal thoughts occupied my mind, my eyes had fallen on the contents of one of the display cases, which showed a variety of keys that Goredian's company made, including one that looked quite similar to the one that Wilde had taken from Garou. I realized what I could do with that key, and I took an action that was, I assure the reader, entirely outside of my normal character: I stole the key.

I have always considered myself an honest mammal, and I could not recall having ever stolen anything before, not so much as an apple. I had always held my duties to crown and country with the highest degree of professionalism possible, but it seemed to me that desperate times called for desperate measures. I thought that, if I should be able to find the thieves, I might be able to trade the key for Wilde; as the key did not go to the proper lock box, it would do them no good, and as the lock was filled with lead they would have no means of realizing my trickery.

Goredian returned holding a somewhat crumpled piece of paper. "Alces and Sons," he said, "I'll never use them for my business, you can be sure of that."

I did my best to conceal my excitement, for Alces and Sons had been one of the couriers in Wilde's journal. "I'll come calling again the day after to-morrow, then," I said, "Should you be certain that your lock had no fault, we can finalize my purchase."

"That's most fair of you," he said, showing me out.

"I appreciate a mammal who deals with me honestly," I said, "I only hope that you are correct and it was an inside job at the bank."

I left the shop as quickly as I could, and was pleased to see that Molly had managed to find a cab. I flipped through Wilde's journal and found his neatly written entry for Alces and Sons. "Warehouse 47 on Pier 12," I said, "How quickly can you get there?"

The horse pulling the cab was a young mare, and she looked me up and down before turning to my young companion, apparently puzzled that we should be traveling together. "How quickly?" I repeated, allowing urgency to creep into my voice.

The mare's attention turned back to me. "No more than half-an-hour, ma'am," she said, "It's just further down the canyon, where the river meets the bay."

That was a better answer than I could have hoped for, but that was still too long. "Make it a quarter hour and there's a guinea in it for you," I offered.

The mare frowned. "Why—"

"No questions," I said firmly, but I pulled out the appropriate coinage to show her that I could pay.

The cab ride to the warehouse was rapid indeed, and I spent it refining my rough plan. It was, as Wilde might have said, simplicity itself. If I was correct, and the moose who had abducted Wilde was holding his prisoner in the warehouse, I would offer the key I had stolen in exchange for Wilde. They would have no means of knowing that it was not the correct key, and once the trade was made I was sure that Wilde could demonstrate his conclusion and ensure that the mammals responsible were brought to justice. I tried to avoid allowing my thoughts to dwell on all the ways in which even so simple a plan could go awry; I had my service revolver in case more civilized negotiating did not work, but I hoped it would not come to that.

The Ratenbach Falls, which cascaded down one wall of the canyon in which the Rain-Forest District had been built, fed the waters of the River Hammes, which flowed into the ocean. The ride to the bay along the floor of the canyon was a pretty one, but I had been too focused on planning to pay any attention to the spectacular parks and mansions of the ground level of the district. The canyon in which the Rain-Forest District had been built was an enormous box canyon, and there was a great wall of glass and iron where the open side of the canyon had been mostly closed off when the district was turned into a greenhouse. That wall, which afforded incredible views of the ocean on the path down the canyon, ended about fifty feet above the water level of the River Hammes. In sharp contrast with the parts of the ground level of the district closest to the Falls, which were all public spaces or luxurious housing, the parts closest to the bay were all piers, docks, and warehouses.

In short order, the mare dropped Molly and I off, but I was somewhat disappointed when she refused to stay and wait at the warehouse. She apparently considered it wise to stay untangled from my activities, and I could not fault her for that. It was, therefore, just Molly and myself who crept to the warehouse, which was utterly unremarkable. It was modestly sized, the wood of the exterior somewhat green with lichen and moss from the climate, but it seemed solid enough. There was a simple sign above the door that read "Alces and Sons Couriers."

The door to the warehouse was massive and sturdily built of wooden planks. It looked as though it would slide quite readily on its metal rail, but it was completely unnecessary for me to open it further, as it had been left ajar by a foot or so. A padlock nearly the size of my paw with my fingers spread wide hung open on its shackle from an equally solid hasp of steel screwed into the outside wall of the warehouse, which I took to mean that it was occupied. I kept low to the ground and peered in through the gap, but I needn't have bothered; a tall crate positioned near the entrance prevented me from seeing into the interior space, and I supposed that the same would be true for someone on the inside so long as I kept my ears down. The hat that was paired with my dress was good for that, at least, and I held cautiously by the doorway, straining to hear anything. I thought it the wisest course of action to assess the situation as best as I could before entering; I could have no assurances that the thief or thieves would wish to deal fairly with me. I heard the gentle murmur of voices and laughter, although I could neither tell how many mammals were present nor make out any words.

I was about to consider that I had been entirely wrong in my course of action and that the warehouse was simply occupied by careless couriers, when I heard a male voice, distinctly though somewhat faintly, and supposed that the mammal speaking must have been near to the center of the warehouse. "Is Wilde still breathing?" the mammal asked, sounding worried.

My heart leaped up in my chest and my own breath stopped for a moment. There could be no doubt that I had found Wilde, but my triumph was made bitter with the knowledge that I might be too late. I could not say with certainty what agent had been used to subdue Wilde, but I was well aware of the dangers that anesthetics could pose. In response to the question, I heard a dull thud, as though something had been struck heavily. I heard a sharp intake of breath, and then another voice spoke. "What's he that wishes so?"the mammal said, and it took me a moment to recognize the voice as Wilde's.

It scarcely sounded like him at all; his words were slurred and his voice had an uneven, ethereal quality that made me think that the fox was disoriented from whatever had been used to render him unconscious. A mammal spoke a reply, but the voice was so low and so deep that even my superlative hearing could not make out words; it was nothing but a faint rumble although the tone sounded angry. It was followed by the sound of another blow being struck, and Wilde spoke again, his voice just as unsteady and the words making just as little sense as the previous time. "How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!" he said, and while the words sounded vaguely familiar to my ear I could not place them.

I supposed that one of the mammals in the warehouse was about to strike Wilde again, for I heard the first mammal cry out, "Stop! What did you dose him with, Alces?"

A new voice spoke. "The bottle said, 'Ace,'" a voice said sullenly, "It's not my fault he's gone off in the head."

I had a moment of confusion before I realized what the speaker—Alces, who I assumed to be the bull moose who had abducted Wilde—meant. ACE mixture was a potent combination of alcohol, chloroform, and ether, and if it had been used to render Wilde unconscious it was little wonder that he was experiencing mental confusion as he came out of an anesthetic haze. I had ever viewed ACE mixture with suspicion, considering the alcohol to be an addition of dubious value and no small harm due to the longer recovery it caused. I had been given another reason to mistrust it now that it seemed Wilde would be seriously injured by the thieves because he was unable to provide a sensible answer. "Ace," the first voice repeated, and I head a note of skepticism in it, "Alces, we cannot afford any more delays."

"It's not my fault," Alces whined.

The mammal with the deep and low voice spoke again, and while again I could only hear the tone and note the words, I thought it was something to cool the tempers of the other mammals, and they fell into silence. The entire time I had been sitting by the doorway, Molly had been at my side outside the warehouse, and I supposed that she must have heard nearly as much as I had, for her eyes were wide as saucers when I looked over at her. I pulled out Wilde's journal and tore a blank page from it as quietly as I could, scribbling a note with the stub of a pencil that had been tucked into the spine. As best as I can recall, for I have not seen the note since writing it, my note read as follows:

Found Wilde and the gold thieves. They are holding him at Warehouse 47 on Pier 12 in the Rain-Forest District. Come at once.

-Dr. J.L. Hopps

I gave it over to Molly along with a pawful of coins. "Find a constable or get to the nearest station," I said, as low as I could speak and still be audible, "Constable Clawhauser in precinct one will know what to make of this."

I did not know if Molly would be able to find a constable, considering the riot at the bank was likely sapping officers away from other districts. I knew that Clawhauser, at least, would be at the precinct one station and knew that the station had a telephone, for Mr. Lemming had stated that the night guards at his bank had summoned the very same mammal I wished my note to get to by means of a telephone. I did not know if the station in the Rain-Forest District would have a telephone, but I hoped that it did, for time was of the essence. "Do you understand?" I asked, "Quick as you can."

The little ferret nodded and then was off running. I had not heard anything further from inside the warehouse while I had written the note and relayed my instructions, and I hoped desperately that nothing further would happen until the police arrived. Considering the violent nature of the mammals inside, I did not think negotiating, whether with my words or my revolver, would be fruitful, and I racked my brains for another solution. My thoughts were interrupted when the first voice spoke again, and I heard a warning note to it. "Where's the key, Wilde?"

I felt a moment of vindication when the thief all but confirmed my theory even as I realized that events were taking a dangerous turn. There was no telling what would be done to Wilde if his answers continued to be nonsensical, and as I had feared, the fox's next words meant little enough. "All things are ready, if our minds be so," he said deliriously, and from the sound of another blow I doubted his captors appreciated his statement.

His words were doubtlessly the babbling of a mammal without full control of their faculties, but they were true enough, or at least I hoped that they were. I could not, in good conscience, wait for the police while events continued to escalate within the warehouse. I would have to take direct action, lest there be no further action possible to save Wilde. If I should fail, it would be better than to sit idly by. I had the key that I had stolen from Goredian, which I had done in the hopes that I might be able to make some use of it, should I only be able to find his kidnappers. I had found them, and I would not accept cowardice on my part as an excuse. I had hoped to be able to face the moose alone, with full knowledge of the situation I was walking into rather than jumping into the unknown, but I had no choice.

There could have been only three thieves in the warehouse. There could have been dozens, and I was but a single crippled bunny; if I walked in it would take them no time at all to incapacitate me. I would have to outwit them, and when inspiration struck I took a moment to take further preparations before I crossed the threshold.

It was only once I was inside the warehouse that I realized the enormity of the error I had committed.