Bryson Mitchell waited for several hours before Detective Murdoch found time to interview him. Two thin, fresh cuts ran across his temple, and blood had spilled down along the side of his face into his uniform collar. It had dried, sticky and dark in the time he’d been left waiting. He did not avail himself…

The manager at the Spadina branch of the Bank of Toronto seemed confused by our visit. “We don’t plan the routes of transfers from another branch into this one. Why on earth would we do that? You should talk to the branch head who initiated the transfer.”

“What’s your name?” Brackenreid demanded. While Murdoch sat at the table opposite Sherlock, he stood, using his full height to tower over the man. “Sherlock Holmes.” “Your real name!” “That is my real name,” Sherlock insisted calmly. Shouting and fists might have been Brackenreid’s tools of the trade, but Murdoch preferred science and rational interrogation….

Sherlock sat on one of the benches and chewed on the end of his pipe, his legs crossed as he observed the room. In the corner, Murdoch and Brackenreid watched him. “What is it?” Brackenreid asked. He had noticed the strange look on Murdoch’s face following the interrogation. “Sir, the man who claims he is…

The interrogation rooms were small, wood-panelled, and featured a door with a large glass pane for other members of the constabulary to observe from. Murdoch leaned forward at the table and examined the face of their suspect. “When you were detained, you were in possession of a bank safe deposit box and a mask –…

Inspector Brackenreid did a double-take upon entering Murdoch’s office, stepping back from the human skeleton displayed prominently in the corner. “Bloody hell! Where did he come from?” The Detective looks pleased with himself. “Dr. Grace has acquired a new skeleton. She gave that one to me.” “No doubt a day of great joy and celebration,”…