[ While Gina gets to work, Sholmes half-sits on the edge of the nearest table and begins packing tobacco into his pipe. ]

The pooch hasn't followed you here? [ He asks this idly, wondering if the various animals he's spied have a physical analogue somewhere. Do animals have a subconscious to split? Do they even dream? Then again, he's watched Wagahai's tongue lap at something in her sleep: food, milk, or maybe her own furry self. So it can't be out of the question. ]

A shame. I would have liked to put his remarkable nose to work here. All manner of mysteries to sniff out! [ He strikes a match, the pipe contents flare briefly, then reduce to a smokey smolder with a few practiced puffs. ]