Next in line was Miss Alice Camden, the dead man's sister, as well as point of contention with the already infamous Mr. Davenport. He wondered what type of person she was. He'd gotten a little taste at the beginning; here she was again, sitting down in Beckwith's place. She fixed her eyes on him: the penetrating look had no arrogance in it, it was appropriate for the regal countenance of her being; the face's features where perfectly still, frozen in place; the bold brow somehow managed to express profound gravity without being furrowed; no part of her was tense, no clenching of the jaw, no tightened fist, but that gaze seemed to hide some kind of mighty, repressed force. Or maybe he was overanalyzing a common woman's appearance changed by most uncommon circumstances. Whatever it was, he liked having the chance to look at her.

Without breaking eye contact, he spoke at last: "I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Camden."

"Thank you."

Silence.

"Can you give me a recounting from the moment you came here, until the accident was discovered?"

"I arrived at the house with my brother at around half past five. I stayed with Mrs. Beckwith, while he had a chat with Mr. Beckwith in the garden. I helped her set up some last minute details. At six came Mr. Eaton. He mentioned he was to speak with Felix about some kind of business, I could not say what exactly. Soon after the two came back in. James stayed with us, while the other went in his study with his work-mate. The guests slowly came in over the course of the following hour, I helped the missus greet them, since she is in poor health. Nothing of interest happened, that I know of, until I went out for a short stroll to sober up after drinking some wine. I came back inside because I heard a lot of noise being made, and I was told the news of the discovery."

He might have confused her for a statue possessed by a ghost, if he hadn't seen her lips move ever so slightly at the rhythm of the sound they produced, so unmoved her whole being was, and she even had the pasty color of one. Was she even breathing? Her eyes were now watery, but not one tear escaped from them; her voice never cracked.

"Why did you mention the wine? Was there something strange about it?"

"Indeed there was. It was the strongest one I've ever had, although I should add that I'm not that much of an expert. Still, I believed it might have been mixed with some other alcoholic beverage, which would explain the peculiar smell. I asked Mr. Hastings, who assured me that no such drink had been prepared. Take this as you wish, detective."

"Miss, I don't mean to sound impertinent, but you don't have the typical looks of one who's grieving," he remarked, taking the conversation on an unexpected turn on purpose, hoping for an interesting reaction.

Something did chage for a moment - the brows raised, her lips quivered - before going back to the neutral state. "I suppose you might have been expecting uncontrolled sobbing from a woman." It wasn't sadness, it was pride.

"I wouldn't have blamed you for it."

There was another bout of silence. "The realization hasn't fully set in, I believe. And I'm thinking of our parents, who are yet to know what has happened. They'll need all the comfort and help I can give them."

"I see..."

"Any other questions?"

"Yes, actually. Were you and your brother wearing your masks when you came to the house?"

"No. James had his stored here, as he thought it would get ruined if he kept it at our house. It was the most and only expensive object he possessed. It had something to do with some opera piece, I don't remember the details right now. As for me, Mrs. Beckwith had mine."

"Do you know why?"

She hesitated, sighed. "It seems that some secret admirer has sent a gift box for me here, with a custom made mask inside."

"Uh, a secret admirer. Any idea who that could be?"

"Not quite."

"Maybe Mr. Beckwith himself?"

"He is engaged. She didn't come because she is sick."

"How about Mr. Davenport?"

Finally, she started to show visible displeasure. "What did he tell you about him?"

"Tch, tch, tch, I'm the one who asks the questions here, miss," he replied, wagging his index finger. "Why don't you tell me a bit about your relationship with the man?"

She looked away, to the side, for the first time since she had come in the room. He was getting somewhere, after all.

Miss Camden turned back to him. "He has been showing an interest in me for a while now. Courting me. He tends to be... very open about it. He wouldn't send a gift pretending to be a secret admirer, it's not his style. He would show up at my house asking to see me, which he has already done more than once."

"Sounds invasive."

"I appreciate the honesty of it, at the very least. Social norms that require dancing around an obvious truth are irritating to me."

"You must not like this secret admirer that much, then."

"No, I don't."

"How about your brother? How did he feel about Mr. Davenport?"

"He didn't like him. It was something about a quarrel he was having with Felix. Again, I don't know the details, all I can say is that it seemed to me a bit too inflated."

"In what sense?"

"Well, James... He..." Her voice trembled when she spoke again. "He tended to get angrier than a situation required. He was very passionate, and very protective of the people he cared about. I'm sorry," she added, shedding a tear.

"It's all right," said Alderton, now feeling a pang of shame in his chest for pushing her. "We can continue later on."

"I think there were some terrible rumors being spread, like he mentioned, but I also think that Mr. Davenport had no reason to spread them. He and Beckwith weren't close friends, however, they were on amiable terms, and he had much respect for all that his father has done for him. I just needed to say this." When finished, she started up, bowed gracefully, and went for the door.

"Wait, sorry, one last little thing." She turned around. "You said you went out for a stroll. Wasn't it too dark for you to be out alone?"

"I was only in the garden."

"Ah, of course. Thank you Miss Camden, you can go now."