It was dark inside, and dusty. He hadn’t considered what dust might do to some of his instruments—the last time he’d been inside he’d been more interested in the house’s owner than its condition. Still, once he brought some lanterns in and took down the rest of the boards over the windows, the place would be perfectly comfortable. He crossed to the nearest window, intending to pull the boards down immediately, and paused.

“I hope you won’t mind if I take this down, so I can see better. Although,” he added hopefully, “if you do mind, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

As he pulled the boards away from the window he tensed in anticipation, waiting for a ghostly hand to reach out and stop him, but all he saw was a window with a broken pane and a rather extravagant cobweb.

“Thank you,” he said, politely concealing his disappointment. “My name’s Samuel Moore, by the way. I’m going to be here for a little while, and I’d very much like to meet you.”

Still nothing. He shrugged and headed outside to find his lanterns.

And there, bending over enchantingly to examine his new sound-detection prototype, was Alva Webster.

“You’re here!” he exclaimed, and immediately kicked himself mentally. Of course she knew she was here. It seemed even looking at her made his brain act strangely. Benedict would probably know why, not that he planned on asking him. He would never let Sam forget it. “I mean, good morning.”

“Good morning,” she said, straightening and turning. “I had planned to meet you, but I see you’ve already been here a while.”

“Henry dropped me off,” he said, wondering even as he said it why he thought it was an interesting thing to say. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Mmm,” Alva said, walking around his equipment pile. “I suppose I wanted to keep an eye on you.”

“We scientists are pretty suspicious characters,” he said. “You should probably use both eyes.”

“Don’t flirt with me, Professor Moore,” she said, frowning at him. He loved when she frowned at him. “Now, this stuff needs to go inside?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m putting it in the large front room, if that’s all right.”

“There’s nothing else happening in it,” she said, and picked up an electrometer. “Lead the way.”

“Alv—look here, what should I call you? Because you seem to be back to ‘Professor Moore,’ which would indicate I should call you Mrs. Webster instead of Alva, but earlier you specifically requested I not call you that—”

“‘Mrs. Webster’ is fine,” Alva said quickly.

“Right. Mrs. Webster, please put down the electrometer.”

“You can’t very well carry this all in yourself,” she said, “and there’s no one else around. I’m perfectly capable of helping you. Why do men always assume women are so weak?”