Time seemed to stretch out. Tess was not willing to lose her quarry; she had worked too hard to find him. The two year search culminated in this moment. She had given up everything but the flat and a few possessions to hunt leads. She had given up her values a time or two to bring herself closer to people who she thought could give her some information. Now, after two years, she felt unprepared. Would she interrogate him or just try to kill him? She was unsure how she would hold him if she could get him alone. She had the knife in a leg holster and could gain easy access through the front of her skirt. She wished she had more.<br/><br/>Tess reasoned that more than sufficient time had passed for Sir Bullers and Isabella Baudelaire to conduct their business. She grew terribly antsy waiting. Chewing on a loose bit of cuticle, snagging it painfully, she made the decision to attempt a look into the building. She left the motorcar idling in the event Sir Redvers came out while she was out of the car. She opened the door and splashed into the quickly rising water in the alleyway. Between the buildings, the rain, falling so heavily, took longer to find outlet.  She closed the car door behind herself and looked in either direction, more to keep the motorcar safe than anything. She approached the side of the building, water pouring over her in torrents, soaking her immediately, and gathered some empty pine crates that accumulated along the building's side. She piled them quickly and somewhat precariously, one atop the other until she felt she had sufficient height to peer into the high window along the side of the shop.<br/><br/>The fabric of her dress was heavy from the rain as she pulled it around and swept it into her arm. She climbed the crate tower slowly, her white legs soaked and gleaming in the gloomy daylight. Water ran into her heavy boots. Tess stepped onto the top crate and pointed her toes to peer into the window. It was grimy from the industrial air created by the Bradley town factories. She held the cuff of her sleeve and used her forearm to scrub at the window. She could make out a pale illumination and some blurry dark shapes which were unmoving. She turned to keep an eye on the street. No sign of anyone, a waste of effort she thought. She carefully backed down the impromptu staircase she had built, feeling thwarted but not defeated.