Bainbridge

Bainbridge stands stiffly at attention outside the barracks, his gloved hands gripping his rifle, though his eyes aren't fixed on the horizon as they should be. He winces slightly, shifting his weight as the stitching in his side tugs painfully against his scarlet tunic. He spots you approaching and, seeing no officers nearby, he allows his shoulders to drop just a fraction of an inch.

Begging your pardon... you aren't with the press, are you? They've been hovering like vultures since the incident in the showers. He swallows hard, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper. I still can't explain it. The door was bolted. I was alone. And then... the cold steel. Do you believe in ghosts, or do you think Mr. Holmes was right about the 'invisible' man?