[hr][hr][h3][b][i][color=bc8dbf][center]Jeremiah Dupree[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3]
[center][img]https://fyeahhistory.files.wordpress.com/2019/03/img_4800-e1559725943971.jpg[/img][hr][hr]
[b][color=bc8dbf]Location:[/color][/b] TIME Agency office - Downtown Arkham
[b][color=bc8dbf]Hit Points: 12 Sanity Points: 70 Luck: 40[/color][/b]
[b][color=bc8dbf]Mental State: [/color][/b] Sane
[b][color=bc8dbf]Skill:[/color][/b] (Edu/Know roll for Cornthwaite: [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/24952]56[/url] Regular success)
[/center][hr][hr]

The day started as any other day for Professor Jeremiah Dupree would have. He woke up a few minutes before the knocker-upper arrived, in a cold sweat with the dredges of some unremembered nightmare sauntering off. Next was feeding Autumn, for otherwise she would cry at his door as he got ready, and she knew how to cry in the most heartbreaking manner that made her difficult to ignore. Today’s breakfast was mutton for her. Then it was time for his own breakfast, a fried egg and toast, and the two ate in companionable silence, only interrupted by chewing noises.  As he cleaned up after the meal, he could hear the mail being delivered and vowed to get it after he cleaned up for the day and got dressed. As he did so, the mail delivery completely slipped his mind as he focused on what he had to do today instead. Today, he had no classes and was between research projects; he’d need to pick his next anthropology topic soon, so why not make that his focus today? Maybe he could do a synthesis of the political ruling styles of the various tribes he’d observed in Africa. Surely he could see if he had enough material for that and have some grad students confirm that his old notes reflected the reality of these tribes currently. That actually didn’t sound like a bad idea. He’d have to go into the university today, something he was otherwise loath to do in this chilly weather, but if it meant being ahead of things, it would be worth it. 

Jeremiah nearly tripped over Autumn as he left his room, dressed for the day. Autumn, as any cat would, took offense and practically flew down the stairs away from him. He sighed as he regained his balance, letting go of his door frame. He would scold her, but he didn’t think she understood. She’d just tilt her head and mew quizzically, and he’d give up and offer pets. It was just best to let it go and move on. In fact, as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Autumn looked up at him and meowed, flopping down. He knelt and rubbed her back, listening to her purr. Cats. What else was there to say?

He headed to the door and only then, seeing envelopes in his mail basket, did he remember the mail had been delivered. Right. He picked up the mail and shuffled through it. There wasn’t much: a paycheck from the university, a letter from his Cornell roommate Adrien, and - hello, what was this? The final letter had no postmark, possibly hand-delivered while he had been getting dressed. What was far more interesting was the sender, Harry Peacock. TIME had a case for him and his other recruited agents (none of whom he knew especially well, mostly just that they existed), it seemed. The university would have to wait, he supposed as he grabbed his coat and hat. At least until he determined why this case was worthy of TIME.
[hr]
The drive over had been peaceful, allowing Jeremiah time to get his thoughts in order. He knew of Arthur Cornthwaite, but the details were proving maddeningly elusive. The man studied the cultures of - he wasn’t sure. But surely he could recall his archaeological work in... He wasn’t sure. To be fair to himself, he was usually too caught up in his work to do his civic duty of keeping up with the rich and famous. But he knew Cornthwaite was an anthropologist as well, so why couldn’t he remember his work? By the time he’d parked his car and made the walk to the detective agency, he’d begun chewing away at the nail on his ring finger on his right hand.

The warmth of the office knocked him out of his head a little, and he shrugged off the coat, sticking his right hand into his jacket pocket as soon as he was able. His left hand fumbled with his hat a little, but he managed to hang it on a hook. Miss Henrietta spoke, but the words escaped Jeremiah’s notice and he just said, [color=bc8dbf]“Good morning”[/color], hoping she had not asked a question.

He entered Harry’s office, giving the man an acknowledging nod and seating himself, tapping the fingers of his left hand against his leg in rhythm with the music playing. It was preferable to the smell of smoke that pervaded the office, something which he knew complaining about would be pointless. Jeremiah tried to avoid pointless chatter as a matter of principle. The door opened and closed a few more times, fellow agents (he was sure) entering and seating themselves. He was almost disappointed when the man turned the music down, but it meant it was time for business.

[i][color=598527]"Let's play 20 questions, gumshoes. What do you know of a certain Mr. Arthur Cornthwaite, you Snoops-in-making? Ready to figure out if he's really missing, or just acting like millionaires do?"[/color][/i]

Well, he could partially answer that. He cleared his throat. [color=bc8dbf]“Mr. Arthur Cornthwaite is well-known for his work in anthropology, archaeology, and philanthropy.”[/color] But if only he could remember what [i]kind[/i] of work...