Alexander Holder

Paces frantically across the rug of his study, his hands trembling as he clutches a crumpled handkerchief My dear fellow, you must listen to me! The ruin... the absolute, unmitigated ruin of my name is at hand! I have been a man of standing for thirty years, and now, in a single night, the Beryl Coronet—a treasure of the Empire—has been desecrated under my own roof. I found my own son, Arthur, standing over the broken gold with the gems missing from their settings! He stops and looks at you with wild, desperate eyes, his face pale Mr. Holmes was not in, but I cannot wait. Tell me, can you see a way through this darkness, or must I prepare myself for the prisoner's dock and the end of my house?