“I don’t think that either of them were lying,” you tell the incredulous Sheriff. “There’s just an honest mistake here.” You turn and call over to the waitress. “Honey Roll?”

The mare looks up. “Yes?”

“Could you come here for a moment, please?” you beckon her over. “We just want to clarify something.”

Honey hesitates for a moment, looking nervous, then walks up to your table. “You said that you saw Idea Spark leaving the diner at 11:25 two days ago?”

“Yeah,” Honey nods.

“Well, when you checked the time, did you look at the clock on the wall, or did you look at the mirror next to the door?”

Honey ponders the question for a moment, then her eyes widen and she cringes. “Ugh, I’m so stupid! Yes, I saw the reflection of the clock in the mirror, and I got the time wrong.”

“It’s all right,” you reassure her. “An honest mistake.” You turn back to Sheriff Hawkdive. “So, Idea actually left here around 12:35 PM.”

“And there’s something else,” Honey Roll cuts in. “I didn’t remember it earlier, but I do know. Idea left with somepony in a hurry: I remember now because he left his meal half-eaten.”

“Who did he leave with?” you ask, leaning forward.

Honey Roll stares at you for several seconds, blinking rapidly. Her mouth spasms repeatedly, as if she is trying to force something out of her mouth, but cannot articulate whatever she wishes to say. You are reminded of Sunrise Glow’s expression as he struggled to tell you the location of the Diner.

“I don’t know,” Honey Roll bursts out suddenly. “I don’t know who they were.” And with that, she turns on her tail and walks quickly away. You start to call after her, but in your bewilderment at her abrupt departure, you cannot form the words that could be used to summon her back to answer further questions.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Hawkdive tells you, noting the evident confusion splayed across your features. “Honey’s always been a bit of a shy one. Took me quite a while to get anything out of her.” He examines your face. “You sure you don’t want any of this?”

Your stomach growls in response and Hawkdive smirks. “Tell you what, how about I have them put this in a doggie bag and you take it to the Sparrow’s Nest?”

“The Sparrow’s Nest?” you ask.

“That’s the inn,” Hawkdive explains. “The only local inn. You’ll find it not far down the road from here,” he points. “You can take a rest there, then tomorrow, we’ll get a fresh start on this case.”

You ponder the offer for a moment, suddenly acutely aware of how hungry and tired you are after your long journey. “Sounds like a good idea,” you nod.

Hawkdive grins and signals another waiter over. “Always good to get a night’s rest before thinking too hard,” he advises as the waiter places the leftover shepherd’s pie in a disposable holder. He places the tray into your hoof, then holds out his own hoof. “I’ll see you in the morning, detective. Looking forward to working with you.”

“Me too,” you agree, bumping your hoof against his. Taking the warm leftovers in your hoof, you exit the diner and out to your bike. The sun has already fallen below the horizon, and the stars are dancing across the night sky, far above your head. Their light is contrasted by the light of the oil streetlamps that stand at every other street corner, and the few lights from windows muffled by drawn curtains. Dropping your dinner into the saddlebags, you clip your helmet back onto your head and kick the engine back to life. With a grumbling that fills the chilly, windswept streets, you travel up the road.

The Sparrow’s Nest is not hard to find: a two-story cottage with rounded curves, light blue paint on the walls with light brown trim on the windows and around the large front door. Hanging over the door is a sign with a painting of a nest with four turquoise speckled eggs laying in it. Parking your bike next to the curb, you sling your saddlebags off the bike and over your shoulders, climb the short set of steps and through the front door.

You find yourself in a cozy lobby. A long, low counter sits to your right, with a silver bell and an open guest log sitting atop it. A dozen cubby holes with room keys sit on the wall behind it. To your left, a fire blazes merrily in a brick fireplace in the corner, filling the room with warmth. Several squashy looking couches form a sitting area, and a well-stocked bookshelf sits in the corner, waiting to be perused. The room is painted in vibrant, soothing shades of blue and green, and a number of paintings and photographs are hung up upon the walls.

Your eyes are drawn to a particularly old-looking photograph. The framed picture depicts a grand, three-story mansion, composed of gray cinderblocks and topped with three pyramidal peaks. A set of great doors with a painting of a raven spreading its wings in preparation for flight stand at the center of the edifice, and you count more than a dozen windows per floor. The mansion sits in the middle of a large clearing in a mountainous forest: the setting makes the stone architecture seem as unnatural as though it had been dropped out of the sky.

“That’s Blackfeather Quill’s mansion,” a voice calls behind you. You turn and see a short, slightly dumpy unicorn mare walking out of an office and taking her place behind the counter. She has a pale ivory coat, hair the color of pine needles in spring, and a round, smiling face graced with a small nose, bright green eyes, and thick, round glasses. Her cutie mark is a turtledove taking flight from a branch.

“Blackfeather Quill?” you ask, remembering the name from Open Case’s newspaper.

“He founded this little village,” the mare explains. “He was the one who created the sirenium mines. He made a fortune, built that old mansion of his to overlook the town.” She pauses, then claps a hoof to her forehead and giggles. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Turtledove, the head of this hotel. Are you here for a room?”

“Yes,” you reply, approaching. “I’m a private detective. I’m here to investigate Idea Spark’s disappearance. I understand that he stayed here?”

Turtledove frowns slightly. “Oh, yes. I understand he hasn’t been seen in two days.”

“You were one of the last ponies to see him,” you state. “Was he acting unusual?”

Turtledove shakes her head. “No more than usual. He was a quiet one, kept mostly to himself. If he wasn’t at the factory or here, he was usually at the library.” She sighs. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, detective, but I didn’t know him well.”

“That’s all right,” you say. “If you think of anything, please let me know.”

“I’ll be sure to do so,” Turtledove nods. “Now, would you like a room?”

“Yes, please,” you ask, signing your name into the guest book.

Turtledove lifts a key from one of the cubbyholes and floats it over to you. Room number 7. “That’s Idea Spark’s room,” she explains as you take the key in your hoof.

“Thank you,” you reply.

“I will see you in the morning, detective,” Turtledove smiles as you start to ascend the stairs.

“You too, Turtledove,” you nod to her. “Good night.”

You climb up to the second floor and trot down the hallway. The wall to your side is decorated with a row of colored tiles, some of them decorated with outlines of animals: turtles, eagles, frogs, bears, snakes, and so on. Everyone one of the animal silhouettes is a different color.

You find room number 7 behind a simple white door with a golden “7” affixed over the peephole. Unlocking the room, you enter to behold a simple, two room place. Your hooves sink into the carpeting, which is the color of an old, slightly faded lawn. A simple, but comfortable-looking bed takes up most of the room, accompanied by a desk and chair, two standing lamps, and a dresser. A painting of a dove taking flight from a weeping willow is hanging on the wall over the head of the bed. Attached to the bedroom is a bathroom with a toilet, sink, mirror, and combined tub-shower. A large window opposite the door gives you a view of the rest of the village, with its dark cottages and cobbled streets lit by the waxing moon and the flickering streetlamps.

Dropping your saddlebags onto the floor, you flop down onto the bed. The mattress creaks as it struggles to hold your weight. Rolling over onto your back, you stare up at the tiled ceiling, turning over the events of the day in your mind.

However, your reflections are interrupted when you spot something odd. Stuck into the crack between two tiles over your head is a small slip of paper, intentionally placed so that it would not be visible unless somepony were to lie on the bed and look up. You reach up and take the folded sheet, opening it up to reveal its contents. You immediately recognize the desperate scrawling hoofwriting.

Green snake=1, advancing to the left.

Mr. Clockwork got on the trolley to come home from work at 4:00 PM. Unfortunately, all of the seats were full, so he had to remain standing.
However, his luck changed when 60% of his journey was complete: a seat opened up, and he was able to take a load off his weary hooves. Unfortunately, after a while, an elderly mare staggered onto the trolley, and he graciously gave up his seat. When he stood up, he still had one third of the way to go as he had spent sitting.
When he finally arrived home, he noted that if he had arrived 10 minutes earlier, the time would be as far in advance of 3:15 PM as it was behind 7:45 PM.
How many minutes did Mr. Clockwork spend sitting?

You sit up on the mattress, studying the riddle in the light of the moon filtering in through your window. It’s another message from Idea Spark, of this you are certain. But what is he trying to tell you?

Solve the riddle and determine what to do next.

Author's Note

I almost thought I wasn't going to get this chapter out in time, but I made it!

The plot thickens as more and more suspects are added to the list. What secrets are waiting in Raven Hollow?

Clue: there are two parts to this riddle. Solving one half will help you figure out the other.

Congratulations to Magic Step, The Villain in Glasses, and Everfree Pony for solving last week's puzzle! Good luck with today's clue!