His general rule was to keep everything relating work out of his personal life, which meant not seeing anyone involved in a case outside of the crime scene or court. As it turned out, Mr. Alderton wasn't too good at upholding it, and was often inclined to bend it as his own desire: how could such a cordial dinner invite by Mr. Beckwith be refused? It was meant to function as a sort of apology for having been kept up at night, such a bother. Of course, as a detective he was always ready to fulfill his duty of helping people in need; he would still accept the offer, as he wasn't too busy the day of.

The guest list was smaller now: the future Mrs. Beckwith, Mr. Davenport, and Miss Camden – her parents had been invited too, but they were not feeling well enough to participate in social gatherings just yet. No fretting, six people was more than enough.

He wasn't sure how the conversation had gotten to touch that point – not that it was especially strange, it was more than expected: people tended to linger on painful subjects when they felt that the conclusion of them wasn't satisfying, or was too shocking to be accepted at face value.

"More incriminating evidence was found."

"Oh my, what kind of evidence?" asked Mr. Beckwith.

The detective looked around the table, as if to confirm it was alright to speak – he was more finding an excuse to rest his eyes of her, although for a mere moment. Not much had changed, there was still an air of gravity, not at all the same kind as that night, more peaceful perhaps.

"You need not worry, detective, none of the women in these families are too sensitive for the truth."

He turned back to the man. "Very well, then. It was found that he had a room entirely dedicated to recreating your study. There were also multiple records of the people he had payed to carry out his scheme, a few to spread falsehoods among acquaintances, and your disappeared gardener to arrange the scene of the murder and intoxicate the guests with the faux wine, in hope to raise a concealing mist of chaos, I suppose. His real name was not Graham J., he went by many different fake ones, the police still doesn't know his true identity."

"Oh, you think you know someone," cried Mrs. Beckwith. "I would have let him marry my daughter, if I had one! Oh, why would he do so much to kill poor James? He was such a precious soul."

The men nervously glanced at Alice; she, in turn, was not phased in the slightest. She tenderly took the woman's hand in hers. "He was an arrogant man who pursued violent passions. It is of no use trying to explain it further." The contrast between the kind manners and harsh words worked as a miraculous medicine to the lady's excitement.

"You're right, dear. We shouldn't waste our breath on one who doesn't deserve a single word."

After the meal, they all moved to the small drawing room. The gloomy theater of that night's interrogations had turned into a charming, well decorated, yet not opulent, refuge, kissed by a warm sun shining through the windows. Mr. Beckwith, Miss G. and Miss Camden were trying to convince the missus to go upstairs to rest. The detective was silently observing the scene in Mr. Davenport's company.

"I feel compelled to thank you, Mr. Alderton," said he, still facing the scene. "Your persistence and deductive skills have saved my reputation, my relationships, perhaps even my own life."

"No need to thank me, it's my job."

"Plenty of men take advantage of the fact that only they know what they should do, to cut corners when it's convenient. I suppose it might be the reason why Felix convinced himself to call you before anyone else."

"He made the right choice. Those you speak of are quite common, it is most unfortunate."

"Indeed. You employ peculiar methods, I must say, but they are effective nonetheless."

Alderton turned to him, now piqued by a question he had had in his mind for some time. "Mr. Davenport, why did you exchange the watch, throwing Mr. Camden's out of the window? It was you, wasn't it?"

He sighed bitterly. "I guess... my intoxicated mind thought it was a good idea to do that to throw off suspicions, along with messing up the table. I was not reasoning, that's sure."

The other chuckled. "Oh, how lucky you are that Miss Camden covered for you since the beginning. Everyone's backlash would have been much worse, they would not have been easily convinced of your innocence."

"She did?"

"She put all the papers back where they belonged, and when I questioned her she hid seeing you come out of the study. I had to assure that I didn't deem you a suspect before she agreed to say anything."

"That's strange... She's the last person I would expect to do so much for me, least of all after losing her brother."

"What makes you think so? It seems to me in perfectly in character, considering what I was able to see of her."

"She is a kind soul, despite the stern surface," he agreed, nodding along with his own words. "I guess I thought she would not want much to do with me after rejecting my offer with such vehemence."

So he had asked her hand in marriage, like Eaton's testimony had anticipated - there was a little bit of truth to it in the end.

"Pardon my intrusive curiosity. Did it happen that same day?"

He sighed once more, this time with a slight smirk on his face. "Yes, and before you ask: it was, more or less, the reason I had come so late to the party. Needed some alcohol to withstand seeing her, plus her angry brother, plus the cold, distant Beckwith."

Before the detective could respond with anything to the revelation, the man of the house walked up. "I apologize for the interruption. Mr. Alderton, I've been meaning to ask you, do you work alone? I imagine one would need some help, at least with appointments, or with documents. I know I do! I had to replace Eaton right away."

"Oh, well... I do work alone, at the moment. You're too right about the necessity, though, Mr. Beckwith. For taking notes during questioning, too. Having to write down can be a bit distracting during delicate situations..."

"I can only imagine. Especially when there are many people to speak to, keeping track has to be tremendous!"

"It is, really. I have been trying to find a suitable assistant, but nobody seems to be congenial to my quirks of character," he said, losing his gaze in sad memories of failed partnerships.

"You know, Miss Camden is looking for a job, isn't it right?" She was right then joining the group, while Mrs. Beckwith was being taken to her room. "I've been helping her looking for positions suitable to her talents."

"She is very well educated, both in literature and in sciences," added Mr. Davenport. "And she is fluent in French. Her parents are excellent teachers."

"She also has great strength of character. She is more reliable in difficult situations than any man I know, including myself."

The woman, who had kept her gaze down as a sign of humbleness, finally interjected: "It is not fair to make one out to be a greater person than they are to a potential employer."

"Nonsense! She's got the brains and the practical skills to make your investigations smoother, I solemnly swear to be speaking the utmost truth. My dear friend James always complained that her talents were wasted in a dusty, old bookshop."

"Well, if she is willing," said the detective, angling his head to meet her eyes. To think he might have not come to the dinner; what a wasted opportunity it would've been. "I would gladly welcome her for a trial at my office."

"She'll come, we'll make sure of it," responded Davenport, with a joking tone.

"Gentlemen, I have to ask you to please refrain from taking decisions on my behalf," she asserted, her countenance most relaxed. "That said, I will take this into consideration. You may expect a visit soon."