After alighting from [getting out of] the carriage, Mr. Alderton stood one minute or two in contemplation. To anyone looking at him, it must have seemed as if he was observing the luxuriously decorated front under the pale moonlight, aided by the elegant chandeliers peeping from the large windows panes. He wasn't: his gaze was lost in thought about how little he enjoyed being there. First and foremost, it was night and, although he was still awake when he received the sudden fretting visit, he didn't like to be disturbed in his most peaceful moments; second, he knew he was going to have to stay there for many hours, possibly until the break of dawn, since the crime he was to investigate had interrupted a party, and he would need to interrogate the hosts, the servants and the drunken (plus excited) guests one by one; third – worst of all - the clients were rich people, which meant dodging lots of lying and withholding in the name of propriety, and also exceptional impatience over the time logistics of his job. So much work, so much frustration, all to solve a boring case by barely using his brain! Being a detective was such a disparaged, misunderstood art.

Truth be told, he didn't know that it would be a boring case, he was only annoyed about being bound by the necessity of money, the real reason he had accepted to follow the young man after a moment of hard thinking. It is good and well that he wasn't being paid to be a diviner, for in that case he would have to change career soon.

The situation which had been described to him in summary was the following: during the ball, two men had taken a fight into a private room, it had devolved into physical violence, one of them dropped dead. Simple, straightforward: there was an obvious suspect. He couldn't understand why he had been called, instead of the police, aside from the fact that he was known in his field. Would you ask Sir John Everett Millais to teach a child basic shapes?

Before even starting to walk toward the door, it opened, and out came a man dressed in a simple yet elegant suit, with a neatness of presentation contrasted by the nervous manners of the hasty greeting. There wasn't a trace of haughtiness, or of cold, contemptuous disgust over the matter in question: must have been a valet, a servant of sorts.

"Oh, thank goodness..." he muttered right before being close enough to subtly but insistently guide the other inside. "You must be the Mr. Alderton the master spoke of. Bless you for coming at such an hour! I wish it needn't be done, sir. And you came so fast! Wouldn't have happened if we'd called the police, no it wouldn't."

"Yes, I'm detective Alderton. And you must be the father of the young man who came for me, he mentioned you briefly in his hurried account, Mr. ..."

"Hastings, sir. I'm family Beckwith's butler, sir. He insisted that no one leave the main drawing room [living room] we prepared for the party, including the servants... He made an exception for me so that I could be the guardian, and then for my boy to go call you... I'm more than glad to be of help, but I'm gladder for your arrival, mister."

"You're doing great, Mr. Hastings. Would it be wrong to assume that the police hasn't been called at all?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Beckwith does not trust the local authorities, with good reason. He was the one who insisted in contacting you, sir, he said that you're brilliant in your work, and efficient. I hope, with no malice whatsoever, that it is the truth, detective, as we are stuck in a tragic conundrum."

By that time the two had already gone inside, a maid had taken his coat and hat, they had traversed a vestibule, into a corridor that ran left and right, then up to a large wooden door with refined inlays. As much as he enjoyed listening to his new amiable acquaintance – especially during the complimentary part - more than he could ever enjoy doing so with anyone else beyond that entrance (or so he thought), he was forced to interrupt the conversation. The sooner he started the process, the sooner he would be able to go back home. "Your master has made wise choices tonight. I imagine this is the way to the drawing room?"

"Correct, sir..."

So in he went, cutting Hatings off before he could add more. Everyone in the room was discussing in a loud manner, and stopped to turn to him, quieting down. A man came up to him with a quick, confident pace. His furrowed brow over a cold countenance suggested an ulterior layer of gravitas to the situation, just looking at him would convince anyone of its utmost seriousness. The jacket of his suit was off, his tie was loose; his handshake proved unsurprisingly firm and strong. He glanced with unnoticed quickness at the quality seams of the waistcoat, and at the finely crafted watch guard.

"Mr. Alderton, it is a pleasure and relief to have you here with us. In any other circumstance I can assure you would have received the treatment of a most honorable guest; it is unfortunate to me as a man as much as a host to ask for your services, most of all at this time of night."

"It is indeed most unfortunate," was the polite enough answer to the man of the house. This niceness, he didn't care to guess whether it was veiled fakeness or not, annoyed him more for giving him less reason to be annoyed, than anything else. He slightly turned his head to face the multitudes and added, with a louder tone, after clearing his voice: "Greetings. I apologize in advance, for I intend to be as swift as the circumstances will allow me, therefore I'll have to be a bit insensitive, a bit insistent. I ask you now to please one by one announce your name and relation to the victim," and now he turned to Beckwith for confirmation. "Who I've been told is one Mr. James Camden. I also ask you to please refrain from stating any additional details, to save them for the later, mandatory, individual questioning."

His last recommendation, of course, didn't quite work for everyone, but he appreciated the overall and unusual smoothness of the operation.