“Mr. Glass! A pleasure to see you again! Please, come in. Jeeves, could you get our guest a drink?”

I was standing in the parlor of Hot Air, owner and executive officer of various flight-based ventures. His mansion wasn't too far from Silver Coin's, just a half mile or so north on High Canter Boulevard. Compared to his neighbors, his home was quaint and subdued; most of his property was instead given over to a massive hangar/workshop/laboratory surrounded by prototype flying machines of more shapes and designs than I'd thought could exist. Hot Air himself was clad in greasy overalls and a healthy layer of grime, half his mustache stained black. My opinion of him went up; this pony didn't make his fortune by balancing books, he made it through hard work, creativity, and a love of his craft.

“Of course, sir,” the butler said, inclining his head slightly. “Mr. Glass?”

“Whatever Mr. Air's having is fine, thanks.”

He nodded and departed with that faint, put-upon air that only the best butlers can achieve.

“So, Mr. Glass, what brings you here?” Hot Air asked, wiping grease from his hooves with a white rag.

“I need to speak to Crown Jewel.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Er, why?”

“It's... a long story,” I said with a sigh. “But I've got a few leads that suggest he might know something that will help me find Silver.”

“Yes, well,” he coughed. “Did you try meeting with him at his bank?”

I grimaced. “Yeah. I was told I'd need an appointment, and that he was booked for the next three months.”

“Surely an investigator of your skill could find another means?”

“Oh, sure. And then they confiscated my grappling hook and told me that if I didn't leave immediately, they'd call the police.”

He barked out a laugh. “And so your third option, following a failure to break into and enter the most fortified financial institution in Equestria in broad daylight, was to speak to me.”

I shrugged.

“I'm flattered,” he said with a chuckle. “Well, Mr. Glass, I'm afraid I don't know how much help I'll be. I haven't spoken to Crown in some time.”

“I know, but, come on... surely he owes you some old favor that you could call in?”

It was his turn to shrug. “Perhaps. But why, exactly, is it so important that you speak to him, specifically?”

I was spared an immediate response as Jeeves returned with our drinks and then departed again. Apparently, Hot Air's brunchtime brew was lemonade spiked with just a hint of vodka. I sipped it silently as I turned things over in my mind. Hot Air was a likeable enough pony, and last night he'd seemed pretty genuinely on Silver's side. But the more ponies who knew what I'd learned from Calla, the more likely word would get back to Crown and things would likely start getting bad for me. Well, worse.

Still, Air was probably my only real shot at getting a face-to-face meeting with the prime suspect. More importantly, he was my only shot at getting into the prime suspect's property and hopefully finding something solid and incriminating enough to put him away for Silver's–hopefully attempted–murder.

I sighed. I didn't really have any choice.

“I think Crown Jewel may have arranged Silver's disappearance.”

Hot Air gasped. “Truly?”

I nodded. “Silver suspected that Crown had murdered his father. He started putting plans in place to take the old stallion down, including forming alliances with you all. The night he disappeared, he was on his way to meet with your group and put all his cards on the table.”

“You're certain?”

“Yeah.” I produced the silver cufflink from my shirt pocket and presented it to him. “I found this, and evidence of foul play, in an alley outside the Horn and Feather shortly after we met. And on my way home, I was jumped by pegasi goons, probably from the Weather Union. I don't know for sure yet, but I suspect the Union and Crown Jewel are chummier than anypony thought. They were probably the ones who disappeared Silver, and when I started putting pieces together, they tried to do the same to me.”

“I see,” Hot Air said thoughtfully. He paced about the room, eyes distant as he processed what I'd told him. “Er, how did you find out about Silver's plans?”

I couldn't hide a wince. I didn't want to mention Calla Lily, but Hot Air would likely put two and two together without my help. “You remember I mentioned his fiance?”

“Ah, of course,” he said with a nod. “Yes, I think your suspicions may well be correct, Mr. Glass. Very well, I shall do what I can to help you. Jeeves?”

The butler appeared like some kind of tuxedo-clad ninja. “Yes, sir?”

“Please bring me a quill, ink, and parchment. I've a letter to write. Mr. Glass, I shall arrange a meeting with Crown Jewel for you. Where should I contact you?”

I frowned. Good question. “My office, I guess. Just leave a note under the door if I'm not there. And if there's still a door.”

He nodded, smiling slightly. “Your humor does you credit, Mr. Glass. Not many ponies could retain it, facing what you do in your line of work.”

“You either laugh or you go crazy,” I said with a shrug, pulling my coat back on. “Or you could do both, I guess. Thanks for the help, Mr. Air. I'll try to repay the favor someday.”

“Take care of yourself, Mr. Glass. Finding Silver alive and well will be repayment enough.”

I left Hot Air's estate in high spirits. My brain still felt tender, my throat was raspy, and my shoulder ached abominably, but things were coming together. I had my in with Crown Jewel; now all I had to do was find somewhere to hide until I heard from Air, evade any Union goons that were still looking for me, and infiltrate the home of the wealthiest, most influential, and most famously paranoid pony in Fillydelphia.

Hm.

Well, first thing first. It was a risk, but I needed to check my office. I kept backups of all my case notes there, just in case something happened to me; only Cammy knew where, and only she had the key... hopefully. I'd sneak in, swipe some writing materials, and copy down everything I'd learned so far. If things went south, the F.P.D would be able to pick up from where I'd left off. Despite our mutual antagonism, my old pals wouldn't question my evidence if my corpse was there to verify it.

So, I made my way back across town, keeping my head down and taking side streets the whole way. I got back to my office building a little after noon, and was relieved to see the place hadn't been burned down or smashed by a wrecking crew or anything. My key opened a side stairwell that I took up to the fifth floor, and only then did I start seeing evidence of damage.

A few papers and the shattered remains of my old guest chair lay outside my door, which hung crookedly on a single hinge. The smoked glass on it that once read “Looking Glass, Private Eye” was broken and scattered over the floor. Inside, my desk was overturned, every one of my file cabinets had been opened, emptied, and thrown over, and the bastards had even broken the last two blades off my ceiling fan.

As my hoof creaked on the floorboards just outside, I heard a muffled intake of breath. My eyes narrowed as I cast around the room for its source. I reached for the heavy old horseshoe in my coat and inched forward, ready to spring. My tuned senses could hear more breathing now, coming from behind my fallen desk.

I leapt around it with a shout, horseshoe brandished on my front right hoof, ready for a fight.

Calla Lily, one blackened eye swollen shut and her face crusted in blood, looked up at me in shock.