<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic">Alcohol? Huh.</span> A raised eyebrow accompanied a sly grin as Jonathan pushed the small slips of paper to the side for later investigation. <span style="font-style: italic">Who knew there was a speakeasy there? I s'pose only the well off can go there.</span> Her innocence was touching, really. Prohibition had had the exact opposite effect that the government had hoped for. Less crimes were committed while intoxicated, yes, but people had also begun drinking at a much younger age and had invented very creative methods for smuggling alcohol. Jonathan had had his share of Long Island Iced Teas, but he was surprised that Miss Allen had not touched a drop of the stuff until now. Truly a nice girl.<br/><br/>"Jonathan Anderson, pleased to meet you. And I'm not gonna set the coppers on you, no," he assured her. They would not believe her, anyway. He had yet to see the victim, but she would most certainly be in trouble as the only other person who had been present at the crime scene. His brow creased as she spoke. How did she get the gun and how did she fire it if she did not have one? Would someone just have left it lying around? Either she was playing some sort of game with him, or she genuinely had no clue what was going on. It was becoming harder to decide which.<br/><br/>In the meantime, what was he supposed to do with her? He felt bad sending her out in the street looking like that, but he could not have her loitering about here while he tried to figure out what was going on.<br/><br/>"I'll help you," Jonathan said as he stood up and went to retrieve his jacket from the clothes tree. "But I think I'll follow you home first, if you don't mind. Ain't got money to spare for a cab, and you're not going back into the street like that. Here," he continued as he held out the jacket for her to take while slipping his fedora on with his other hand. "Now, are you sure you can't remember who the man was? C'mon, think."</div>