With a bittersweet mix of regret and curiosity, he went on with Oscar Eaton, Beckwith's work acquaintance. The detective was starting to think that this case might be hiding an interesting core behind the 'boring' surface appearance; or was it mere wishful thinking?

"I was told that you came before the party to discuss business."

"That would be correct, Mr. Alderton. There have been talks of a strike lately, so we have to make sure that all necessary arrangements are made in time to protect our interests."

There was a stark difference in this man's manners compared to the previous conversations, which in one way or another were a reflection of the current tragedy: this one was relaxed, had a tinge of euphoria perceivable in the excited inflection of his voice, coming through the drunken drowsyness, like a general coming back triumphant from a difficult battle. They were, the manners, also unlike the impatiently restless ones the detective had observed earlier in the drawing room. What had happened to provoke such a radical change?

"So, you came into the house and went to the study..."

"No," interrupted he. "Not quite. When I arrived the man of the house was away, so I chatted with the honored mistress and the victim's poor sister, Miss Camden. Then Mr. Beckwith came in and we moved to the study."

"Ah, I see. Did you already know the two women?"

"I was acquainted with them, yes. Through Mr. Beckwith's dinners."

"Of course..." he said, and paused, pretending to be writing something down, looking at the man out the corner of his eye. It seemed that the gay demeanor had melted a little into anxiety, as he tried to peep over the barrier of the notebook. "What happened after the two of you finished discussing?"

"We got back to the drawing room, where the party was starting..."

"Did something of interest occur in the duration of it?"

The impatient foot movement started making its way back. "Yes. An ugly argument erupted in the middle of it." He waited, as if expecting another question. When nothing arrived, he added: "Between the victim and Mr. Davenport. They were both intoxicated, I think, so it was hard discerning what it was supposed to be about. I suggested they take it somewhere else as to not disrupt the party too much."

"That was a good call."

"I'm afraid I regret it, sir."

"Why?"

"Well, you must have an idea of what happened. The victim was found dead in the study. If he had stayed in the drawing room, perhaps, the tragic accident would not have taken place."

"Do you believe it was an accident?"

"No one really knows how it went." He waited again, expecting a question. "But in my personal opinion, whatever happened, he wasn't alone in it. Mr. Camden, I mean."

"You suspect someone?"

"I don't think anyone could want such a distinguished gentleman dead, even in rivalry."

Eaton was clearly pretending to not want to talk; he had something to give up, yet he didn't want the detective to know he wanted to do so. Now, as soon as he would allow the mystery to be known, his motivations would be revealed, although not necessarily the plot they moved. One step at a time.

Alderton sighed dramatically and said to himself, loud enough to be heard: "I feel as if all fingers are pointing to one direction, and nowhere at the same time. This is proving more complicated than expected." He then looked up at the man, as if noticing him for the first time. "Oh, but you needn't worry about my ramblings. You can go, for now... unless you have some detail you wish to share."

The man hesitated, stood up, turned around, waited. He turned back with a sudden motion. "I believe it is my duty as a respectable man to not keep this to myself. I suggest you look in to Mr. Davenport with a critical eye. He behaves in certain ways that, quite frankly, I find dubious at the very least, deplorable at most."

"Which ways do you mean, if I may?"

"It seems as if he entertains himself by speaking of people in a disrespectful careless tone. I have personally witnessed him doing so in regards to a lady, and in conversing with other trustworthy fellows I have been told she is not the only victim, there are many more, female and male alike."

"Oh my, this is news. Do you know her? Or the others stricken by his words?"

He looked around, as if to ascertain that there was no one else around; he got closer and whispered: "Mr. Davenport has been impertinent toward Miss Camden for some time now. And, I've heard, toward Mr. Beckwith too, in a different way, of course. I can attest to former claim, not to the latter, though."

"Yeah, now that I think about it, it has been mention that he's been forward with her."

Eaton chuckled mockingly, with unexpected passion. "That is one way of saying it. He gives her brazen compliments and gifts in front of everyone, the more showy and public the better."

"Yes, of course! He even sent her an expensive hand-crafted mask for this party, right?"

The fire that had animated dear Oscar one second earlier had now fizzled out. He got quiet. "I'm not sure," he muttered. "I know nothing of that."

"Thank you Mr. Eaton. Your insights have been precious. I believe they will help the investigation run quicker."