The following day Striker awoke to the sound of the door bell ringing. Giving Edgar a short glance to make sure he was sound asleep, he looked at wall clock to check the time. It was four thirty-five in the morning. He came to the door to see Archie Graham standing by his threshold with an apologetic face.

"Hullo Docter. Sorry to bother ye this early mornin', but trus' me, I know yer don't approve a me for my intrusion, but I found a body tha' might get yer interest." Striker groaned inwardly. Did Graham wake him up simply to sell him yet another body? It should have waited until later! How many times must he remind him to at least wait until after the hour of seven to conduct business?

Archie Graham worked as an undertaker officially, but he would easily sell cadavers that lie unclaimed or unwanted by any living relative to anyone willing to pay him for it. Tenebrous work as this may sound, Striker would still at times buy from him a good intact corpse for dissection and scientific study but had austerely warned Graham that he would never part with his money for a body that someone might miss. But Graham did his job well and never did the doctor chance upon a corpse that was identified by anyone.

When Graham was feeling generous, he sometimes even cleaned the bodies of any grime found caked upon their skin and delivered them unspoiled and unclothed to the waiting scientists. He would then keep any valuables that he salvaged from the dead for himself and sell the articles of clothes in the open market if they were any good.

Striker turned quickly as his son began to cry. "Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Graham, but I really have no need for another cadaver for the present time. If you please, I am still working on a few other projects right now and I'm exceedingly busy at the moment." He made a move to close the door and attend to Edgar, but Graham called out to him:

"But there're two bodies sir! Both wit' what look like very strange deaths."

With this Striker remained, suddenly interested. "What do you mean by 'strange' Mr. Graham? Are you saying the corpses display identical characteristics in terms of the cause of death and yet both cases strike you as uncommon?"

"Why o' course Dr. Striker sir! Very uncommon! Them bodies downright caused shivers down m'spine! I say yer better take a look!" Graham gestured for Striker to follow but the doctor remained, too reluctant to leave his crying baby. "Wha's the matter doctor? They're jus' 'round my house, all snug an' still in fairly good condition."

Striker gave him a tiresome smile and shrugged apologetically. "I believe I cannot go anywhere with my son all alone in his cradle! It seems to be a fascinating find, but my child is more important to me! I don't think my wife returned from her nightly escapades last evening." Feeling weary and slumberous, he sighed loudly, thinking that perhaps Emily wasn't being as honest as he would have hoped. Why did she not return during the time she promised to be home?

But then another thought came to mind: what if she had been victimized by some unscrupulous fellow while walking home last evening? His imagination whirled madly with terror for his beloved wife, his mind's eye showing him images of Emily sprawled on the ground, her fair skin and scarlet curls caked with blood and filth, eyes wide open, her skirts slashed and torn where she was violated.

But these thoughts were quickly forced from his mind as he glimpsed Emily emerge from the street, stumbling sideways and then being violently ill in one of the little canals by the side of road. After retching a few more times until her stomach was completely devoid of any meal she might have had last night, she slowly worked herself up towards the doctor's threshold, elbowing aside Graham in a very unladylike fashion. " 'Scuse me ma'am." He said in a slightly irritated manner, but he remained polite in Striker's presence.

Emily stumbled and fell into her husbands arms, giggling madly like an excited hyena. Striker smelled the unmistakable scent of liquor clinging to her hair. "Why Emily!" He exclaimed. "You're drunk!" Emily untangled herself from him and crossed her arms, trying to look insulted. "Why Frederic! How could you accuse me for being drunk?! I just had a little spot of wine last evening and... was delayed." She was regaining her composure quickly but she still looked rather giddy. Striker looked at her suspiciously. He knew that she was still drunk, but where had she been all night drinking alcohol? Before he could question her, she then spun around and looked at Graham as though she had seen him for the first time that morning. "Ah, Mr. Graham! What brings you here?"

"Jus' some business with Dr. Striker ma'am."

Emily looked at him and then back to her husband. "Well then," She said. "off you must go to your little science experiments!" She sloppily ushered Striker outside and entered their house. "But Emily!" He protested. "You're still ill! I'll take care of the house while you rest!"

"Oh please!" She scoffed. "It was just a little wine! I just... have a bit of a headache today, that's all." With that she closed the door and made her way to the nursery, where she simply slumped down on a chair and almost immediately fell asleep while Edgar cried until he too became tired and slept.

Exasperated and rather worried to leave his son to his drunken wife, Striker gave up and followed Graham down the road. "I think yer better star' taking in some household help doctor, to help ye when yer wife's not home. Such a big house needs some o' them maids to clean up." But the doctor shook his head in reply. "No, no, I'd prefer that it is only me and my family that resides in my house. More people would give way to a larger margin for error, and some of my works are simply too delicate to have accidents happening around them. And what's more, I rather enjoy a healthy amount of privacy, and I would like that it remains that way."

"If yer don' mind me sayin' sir, perhaps ye shouldn' have married. Yer job would be easier if yer don' have a wife and a child to take care of."