Miss Winchester had found herself in quite a conundrum. It appeared that she didn't have anything to wear, which was perhaps an ordinary problem for a young lady in the finer circles of Eisenkrone Academy; but in this particular instance, the conundrum pertained less to the shifting fancies of fashion, and more to the fact that her wardrobe appeared to have disappeared into thin air while she slept.
“Oh my,” was Miss Winchester's expert assessment of the situation, “Oh dear me, my wardrobe seems to have vanished.”
It was an astute observation, owing to the fact that she was a well educated lady with a keen eye for detail; it was also, fortunately, an observation she made to herself, being dressed only in her night-gown, beneath which she wore very little in the ways of modesty, and above which she was similarly undressed. This left her in the precarious state of having only a single layer of clothing between her and the world at large, which was, of course, a dreadful dilemma.
Had the matter vexing Miss Winchester been something other than a matter of acute embarrassment, she should of course have summoned her loyal butler Ralph; or failing that, her close friend Cecil. Alas, she knew they were both quite passionate young men, prone to shock and – in Cecil's case – behavior he might later regret. Given that the situation presented a mystery, her good friend Mr. “Sherlock” Lloyd Wilder might perhaps have suited the situation – but Miss Winchester wouldn't dream of calling on a friend whilst improperly dressed. Indeed, it seemed she must solve this situation by her own accord.
Miss Winchester leaned forwards, taking good care that her backside wasn't pointing toward a person, depiction of a person, or anything that might with a helping of imagination resemble a person. She knelt down towards the ground, narrowing her eyes, and nodded solemnly to herself.
“I say! A clue!” she said, to herself. For indeed, there where the wardrobe had been was instead positioned on the floor a small copper coin, valued at five Teutonian pfennigs. Miss Winchester stood up, straightening her back. It seemed perfectly clear to her that the culprit must have left the coin there as some kind of calling card; she imagined some manner of gentleman thief, calling himself Monsieur Five-Pfennig, who no doubt crept about at night like a dreadful rapscallion and made away with extremely heavy wardrobes. Presently her eyes swept over the floor to see if the thief had left some other manner of clue.
“I say!” said Alice, indeed saying it, as she spied something sticking out from underneath her door. It appeared to be one of her unmentionables, wedged between the door and the door-frame. “A trail!”
Regrettably, the trail led out into the corridor. Miss Winchester was getting quite excited about pursuing this dastardly thief, but not so excited that she would even in her wildest dreams burst out into the hallway whilst naked both beneath and above her clothes. That would be dreadfully rude to her fellow club members, who after all even now had nothing but a few dozen feet of solid stone between their virgin eyes and her own indecent state of dress. But! What if some of her unmentionables were likewise scattered in the corridor? Why, she should die of embarrassment!
“I daresay,” she said, indeed daring to say it, “I shall quickly have to formulate a plan!”
And so, grabbing needle and thread from her dresser, she began her work.