Lord Dennyson's estate was located well beyond the outskirts of the city and it took the better part of an hour for the trio to walk there. When they reached the great gates that marked the beginning of the estate’s driveway Aggy drew Flem aside.

"Ok lad, here's the plan. Terri and I will wait here while you go up to the house and find out if he will see you. He's probably got some kind of snooty butler who will try to chase you off so you'll have to be persistent. Just do your best to gather whatever information you can and if there's any danger, yell and run like hell. We’ll be up this driveway quicker than a greased snake down a dwarven mine shaft if we hear you calling."

Flem nodded and began the long walk from the gates to the imposing manor house. The driveway was made of crushed stone and flanked on each side by an avenue of stately trees. Beyond the avenue was a magnificent white marble fountain surrounded by lawn that was surprisingly shaggy and overgrown. As he walked the young elf reflected on how strange it was that his father and a rich lord had hit it off so well. He couldn’t imagine what they had in common to talk about. Nonetheless, they had become as close as the class distinctions in Valleros had allowed them to be, and Flem remembered many nights when his father and Lord Dennyson got happily drunk together under the guise of yet another fitting. It was as if visiting the tailor shop gave the lord a chance to relax and be himself rather than conforming to what society expected of him.

Flem took a deep breath as he mounted the ornate marble steps that led to the front door. He rapped the knocker sharply and mentally rehearsed his speech for the butler. Nothing happened. After a couple of minutes he rapped the knocker again, harder this time. Still nothing. After another five minutes of waiting the young elf was considering whether he should turn around and go back to the others when the door was suddenly pulled open in front of him. Standing in the doorway, looking somewhat dishevelled, was Lord Dennyson himself.

The Lord seemed very surprised to find someone standing on his doorstep, as if he had been about to leave the house and was not responding to the knocking at all. Desperate to make a good impression, Flem bowed and said, "Good afternoon my Lord, I apologise for arriving unannounced but I expected to be greeted by a servant and not your lordship. I hope I haven’t caught you at an inopportune time?"

Lord Dennyson took a moment to register this and then composed himself before responding. "Yes, well, it is no business of yours what my servants are doing or not doing. Now, who are you and what is your purpose here?"

Flem was somewhat taken aback by this frosty response as he remembered Lord Dennyson being a kindly, if somewhat aloof, old man rather than a grumpy curmudgeon. Nevertheless he pressed on. "My Lord, perhaps you do not recognise me as it has been several years since we last conversed. My name is Flemming DeLyse and when I was younger you kindly tutored me in politics and economics."

The lord leaned forward and peered into Flem's face. "Never heard of you," he replied and began to shut the door.

Despite the shock of Lord Dennyson’s response, Flem managed to quickly move his foot and stop the door from closing. "I am sorry my lord but perhaps you remember my father, Davoro DeLyse the tailor?"

A flicker of recognition crossed the old man's face but his answer did not reflect this. "Never heard of him either, now get off my property." He then pushed the door closed with a strength that belied his gentile appearance and knocked Flem backwards onto the marble floor of the porch. Picking himself up, the perplexed elf rapidly descended the stairs and hurried back along the driveway to find his friends and recount his confusing experience. They were waiting where he'd left them by the estate gates and listened with increasing confusion as Flem related what had happened.

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"So he claimed to not know you or your father," Aggy queried. "That is strange indeed."

"That's what he said," Flem replied, "but I could swear I saw a moment of recognition on his face when I mentioned my father's name."

Terri's face had been clouded as she pondered Flem's story and when the young cleric spoke her voice was somber. "I don't want to jump to any conclusions and it may not be relevant," she said slowly, "but the professor told me that one of the staff at Gravenhall had failed to recognise him when he returned after being away for six months, despite the fact that they knew each other quite well. He also believed that your father's death could be related to the infiltration at Gravenhall."

"Aye," Aggy responded, "and when you throw the idea of doppelgangers into the mix it makes it very easy to jump to conclusions. Too damn easy. It makes me feel like we're being manipulated."

Flem looked uncertain. "Either way, I don't think there's much point standing around here any longer. Let's go back to the Sleeping Dog where we can talk it over in comfort."

“Aye, the comfort of a few large mugs of ale,” Aggy replied.

Everyone agreed this was a good idea and the trio were soon trudging their way back to the centre of Valleros.

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The three companions were parched and ravenous when they reached their lodgings so they enjoyed a meal of cold pies and ale before making their way upstairs to the room Terri and Flem shared. Once inside Terri and Flem collapsed on their beds while Aggy sat down in a chair in the corner of the room. After moodily staring out the tall window between the two beds she looked back into the room and began to speak.

"Let's assume for a moment, just a moment, that the professor isn't crazy or a liar, and that Gravenhall is in fact being infiltrated by shapeshifters. If that’s the case, then why is one of them impersonating Lord Dennyson and why would he have killed Flem’s father?"

Silence followed Aggy's statement as the three companions searched their minds for answers. Eventually it was Flem that spoke. "I can't get it to make any sense unless this is bigger than just Gravenhall," he said. “If the infiltration is happening in more places than just Providence then it could make sense that Lord Dennyson was chosen as a target. He's rich and powerful which makes him a useful person to impersonate. What I can't get my head around is why the imposter would kill my father. He wasn't some rogues' guild agent trying to uncover a secret plot, he was just a tailor."

"Not quite lad," Aggy answered. "He wasn't just a tailor, he was a tailor with a long standing, close friendship with Lord Dennyson. All we need to do is figure out a way for your father to have accidentally found out about the imposter and our elaborate plot will be complete. Did he have any business or social meetings with the lord in the weeks before the fire?"

"Nothing that I can remember," Flem said. "As I said, they’d had a falling out and hadn't spoken for a while. However I think my father still hoped that one day the lord would walk back into the shop and everything would be back the way it was. I think that’s why he kept the lord’s unfinished clothes hanging around the shop even after he’d been told to destroy them."

Terri sat up from where she'd been laying on the bed. "Even if they had met up again before the fire it wouldn’t really explain anything. The lord could easily have just blown your father off like he did to you today. The doppelganger wouldn’t need to kill him."

"No he wouldn’t," Aggy replied thoughtfully. "The only reason I can think of for the doppelganger to kill your father is if they found out that Davoro had some sort of evidence to prove that the imposter wasn't Lord Dennyson. Something conclusive, something that could be used to expose him."

Terri and Flem consideration of Aggy’s statement was interrupted when a new voice broke confidently into the silence, "I think I can guess what that evidence might have been."

The three companions spun around to look at the room's open window, following the sound of a voice that seemed to have come out of nowhere. Standing on the small balcony just outside the window was the figure of a man, cloaked in black.