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The commons room had never been so empty while occupied. The furniture's veneer had lost some of its luster as had the brick-a-brack adorning the walls was found lacking in its previous novelty.
When the last of the bedraggled and exhausted party had filed in and situated themselves, Mr. Agale slid off his chair silently, stood and straightened his suit jacket. His address was grim and businesslike.
"Gentlemen and ladies, we are now at an impasse and certain considerations should be resolved with all due haste. This very night and without delay.
For reasons we share, and some we do not, I think each and every one of us is motivated to stop whatever was set in motion on the 11th of March. What began, in my opinion as an entertaining diversion has escalated into something more serious. Tonight's escapade illuminates a simple truth. If we hope to succeed, nay, if we hope to survive, our purpose must be singular and our methods coordinated.
To that end, I strongly suggest we begin by going over everything we know about this affair, starting from the beginning. Once we are all on the same page, we can determine our next step. I shall begin. On the 9th of March, A force, still undetermined, infiltrated the Guignol Museum with the assistance of a rare alchemical acid."
Agale sat down in an unoccupied square and produced a small notebook. With precision borne of experience, he began to take minutes as though this were a shareholder meeting amongst merchants. He awaited whoever wished to continue the narrative of clues.
