[attr="class","threes"]number 25.

[attr="class",tox"]creation

[attr="class","merriwrites"]"Papa! Papa!" The young girl called to her father. Her long, silver hair had been braided with ribbons woven in and out of the strands.

"In here, dearest," her papa called from the backroom of the shop. Neyri swept past the instruments in the shop and through the open door. Her papa was hunched over on his stool, fingers working carefully at some wood. "How were your friends?" He asked, not looking up.

Neyri plopped down into the chair across from him. It had been there since she had been small. Her papa had said it'd been placed in the room and belonged to the shop longer than she'd been alive. Picking at the end of her braid, she momentarily thought about how her friends were.

Then, excitedly, she leaned forward. "They're doing great! I told them that you were making something new. They asked what, but I never remember what you're working on." Her papa stopped and set his knife on the table. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "So... what is this?"

He looked down at the large piece of wood. Neyri watched a small frown form and a faraway look on his face appear. "Papa?" The word broke him out of his trance. The frown vanished and was replaced with a smile.

"It is what we call a harp. I am making one." It was the first time he'd even thought to do so in decades. Neyri's head tilted. She'd heard the instrument's name before and was sure it'd been played around her before. "It is a lovely sounding instrument. You will like it."

Neyri grinned. "Of course, papa. I'm sure I will."

[attr="class","threes"]number 26.

[attr="class",tox"]judgement day

[attr="class","merriwrites"]"And where were you the day the Missus disappeared?" Philip asked, his eyes never leaving the housemaid whose hands trembled and eyes watered.

"I wasn't nowhere near here. Wednesdays be my day off. See," the nervous housemaid replied, pointing to a calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. Each Wednesday had been circled with a black marker. Philip looked away after precisely thirty seconds before scribbling something in his notebook.

The poor woman in front of him averted her gaze out of respect. "I didn't see no one. I go to town to see Gretchen." Philip tucked the pen into his notebook and closed it.

"Gretchen? Did she know your Missus?" He counted how long it took her to answer. Exactly fifteen seconds. "No, sir." He nodded approvingly. She was thus far the most innocent of the bunch. He would try to visit the banker next. He rose from the kitchen chair and fixed his suit jacket. The housemaid urgently stood up as well.

He made his way to the door. "One last question, if you permit me, Miss Shaw." The maid nodded. "Do you know a banker? A Mister Chevalier?" She shook her head.

Philip placed his hat on his head and tipped it. "You have been most helpful. Thank you."

Forty steps to the front door and twenty more down the walkway to the street. Philip pulled the pen out of his notebook and wrote a single note.

Attempt to hide surprise at name of banker. Pursue.

[attr="class","threes"]number 07.

[attr="class",tox"]dollhouse

[attr="class","merriwrites"]They were so perfect, lined up like a row of soldiers. Each one was a suspect of something incredibly terrible. How much longer could each one hide? The inspector did not fiddle. He stood unmoving. One let out a puff from their pipe. Another nervously clutched her handbag. The third let out a long sigh.

"How long you plannin' on keepin' us here?" The banker gruffly asked, his mustache perfectly trimmed and hair slicked back with so much grease it twinkled in the sunlight.

Philip looked up from his notebook. Everything was in shorthand so that no one except maybe the secretary dabbing at her red lips could make heads or tails of them. It contained all the notes he'd taken after casual conversations with the self-proclaimed victims. "You'll be dismissed soon enough." No shaking, no hesitancy, a level voice. He had no intent of causing distress, not when all the dolls were right there, worried about only themselves.

It wasn't your regular group of folks. Each one had different motives, even as they lied through their teeth about their whereabouts and connection to the victim. He searched each of their expressions again before turning to the police chief.

"All of ya are dismissed, but you should not leave the city. This is an ongoing investigation." The chief tugged at his bushy mustache. Philip nodded.

"If you need me, chief, you know where to find me." Philip tucked his notebook under his arm before taking fifteen steps toward the door. Then, a sharp left, hands on the doorknob, and out into the bustling streets. What a house. What a group. He would pick and scrape at each individual until he found the one.