//------------------------------//
// Fruits of Research 
// Story: The Clandestine Clydesdale Case Files: The Heist of Harmony 
// by The Glass 
//------------------------------//

 	We took Applejack straight to the palace doctor, Dr. Emdee Stitch. Thankfully, most of the blood wasn’t hers, and what was hers came from a large patch of scraped off skin and fur which suggested that she had dragged her legs over stone or brick for a long distance. Rarity brought some smelling salts out of one of her many bags and revived Applejack within minutes, none the worse for wear.  “Applejack, what happened to you?” asked Twilight, voice full of conflicting tones of concern and relief.
“Ah was searchin’ the third warehouse, the one on the co’ner o’ Peach and Pine. Ah opened up on a’ them boxes and found that it weren’t a real box at all, but a cover fer some sort o’ tunnel. It was a rounded square sort of a shape, large ‘nough fer two ponies to easily walk side-by-side, an’ it smelled like slop. Ah started to creep in when Ah heard voices behind me. Ah got a whiff of wet dog through the slop smell, and pulled the lid over the box before anyone saw me snoopin’ in the secret tunnel. Then I was jumped from behind while Ah waited with mah ear pressed to the lid. Next thing Ah knows Ah’m bein’ hauled in a burlap sack. Whate’er was haulin’ me dumped me out after about half an hour in a cramped sewer tunnel when Ah managed to hit ‘im in the teeth with mah strugglin. Ah had to drag mahself to a ladder an’ clamber outta there. Then Ah ran back here.”
“We are glad you are back safe and sound, Applejack,” said Princess Celestia. “Now,” she continued, turning to the rest of us, “let’s get back to work and let her rest. We have a good hour until sunset.” We trotted out and Twilight, Rainbow, and Fluttershy returned to their assignments. Since the shops were closed and it was late enough that it would be rude and alarming to barge into ponies’ homes, Pinkie and Rarity received new assignments. Rarity would search the palace (where Twilight left off) and Pinkie went out with sugary treats to take to the hard-working guards who had been tirelessly searching for so long. I went with Chief Cuffs to organize a redistribution of the force: we had an outside suspect, now we just needed to find the inside agent. On my way out I saw Custodian Deaf beginning to scrub at the drops of gunk that had dripped off of Applejack on the way to the infirmary.
******
Bangbangbang. “Inspector Clear!”
Twilight called from outside my room, knocking excitedly on other side of a large wooden door. It was late, about an hour after sundown, and I had retired to my generously appropriated private room in the palace. I was whittling a little model chariot to help me think. I always think better when my hooves are busy, and it would be a shame to wear out the plush grey carpeting of the guestroom by pacing. I deposited my self-sharpening Dragonfly knife on the mahogany writing desk along with the incomplete chariot and trotted to the door.  I opened it to find Twilight disheveled, shivering, and elated with what could only be the joy of success.
I invited her to sit in one of the two high-backed velvet-upholstered armchairs and warm herself by the fire; the drafty halls and libraries of the palace get quite cold in the crisp autumn evenings. She came in, and in the flickering firelight I saw that she had a few pages of quickly scribbled notes levitating after her. Once she was settled I asked her the question she obviously wanted to hear: “So, did you find anything of interest?”
With barely contained enthusiasm she began, “I found the perfect suspect. Hinge Shiner’s last living relative is his great-grandson, the earth pony Whistle Shiner, who has been kept in the Protected Community for his own safety and that of his knowledge of the key. He has lately published some papers under the pen name Sudo Nihm that point to him doing research with amulets, both on how to use them to emulate furniture form-fitting dusting spells for the less magically inclined breeds of pony and a memory-siphoning amulet that would allow a pony to store memories outside of his or her head, which would allow nearly sixty percent of the Protected to go free safely.”
“I hear an ‘unfortunately’ coming” I predicted when she paused her discourse to breathe.
“Yes, unfortunately he made a mistake in one of his experiments, as related by one of his colleagues in the Community, Dit Moris, the inventor of the Equestian Military Cipher. One day, Shiner mixed up the amulets for his two projects and accidentally gave himself a mental disorder. Basically, he became the ultimate clean freak, but with a mind operating otherwise on only cold, hard logic.”
“Amulets and the code. Almost seems too good to be true. Does he have any extraordinary physical characteristics?”
“None.” She said. “Good health, no impairments, average height, average build-“
“And fur could be dyed and cutie marks disguised, et cetera,” I finished. “Speaking of which, what is his mark?” I had a good idea of what it might be, but I asked just to be sure.
She didn’t have to glance at her papers. “A shining whistle, with a cleaning rag”
“Makes sense. Good work Twilight,” I congratulated her. “Now then, you had better catch some z’s, we have a busy morning tomorrow.” She yawned and agreed, then left. I went out as well, with a short message to be sent to the chief: ‘Spring Roll.’ Having given the code word, I arranged for two other guards to pick up our culprit, and then went to bed myself. It would be an early morning.