Our caller was a woman, little more than a teen and no more substance than breath. Her eyes were blue and as cold as the ground in Antarctica. Her deep purple waistcoat topped off a brown, tri-tiered skirt. On her head, she wore a pair of brass goggles in front of a small top hat. I bid her into the room, covertly pointing to the purse she was holding in her right hand. After handshakes and introductions, Holmes motioned for Miss Genevieve Harker to take the chair closest to the hearth. "Watson will make us some tea." "Thank you, ma'am. I don't mean to be a bother. I am here to hire you." Sherlock nodded. "I assumed as much. Why else would a young lady from—Alabama, no, Georgia, fly a shuttle here to see me?" "How did you know?” "I should tell you, Miss Harker, I only take cases that pique my curiosity. Do you have such a case?" "I do." "As does everyone else who—" "Dancing cadavers, Miss Ho