Doctor Hugo sits at a table, sipping his FDA-approved 1920's anesthetic. (Uh, he's drinking a gin & tonic.) When a fellow party-goer passes by, the good doctor clears his throat and nods in their direction. "Hey stranger," his Southern drawl is decent, if a little inconsistent. "You know, those who've recently committed murder will often show physiological signs." He puts down his drink and uncoils the stethoscope from around his neck. "Mind if I run some tests? That is, assuming you have nothing to hide."