Night of the twenty-second, going into the twenty-third, of the first month, 215.
An unexpected visitor appears at the hospital tonight: Aloisius Treadwell, sporting a dreadful bit of bruising and redness about the neck behind that floofy beard of his.
"Someone tried to choke me!" he squeaks painfully out to whoever's on duty.
And so it is that Treadwell finds himself in a room at the hospital overnight, someone being sent to tell his butler to spend the night in Treadwell's room at the inn and to wait 'til morning to pick him up. Soon enough, there's some salve on his neck applied by a servant and a bit of his own warm, Tubbian magic applied by himself when alone, both working to ease the pain a bit so he can try to sleep.