Wait, wait! Stop the interferon! House is on his cell phone, barking to Cameron that Mrs. Bob had a family history of arthritis, right? When Cameron confirms that this is so, he tells her to stop the current treatment and to do one more heavy metal test, this time for gold. Oh, and Cameron shouldn't let Mrs. Bob go to the bathroom.
House peels down the road on his motorcycle, pulling up to his house with great purpose. But when he enters, he opens up his normally disarrayed closet to find all of his personal effects hanging in perfect order. A small woman holding a dust rag rounds the corner and introduces herself as "Lady." House dispenses with the pleasantries, asking just what the hell she did to his closet. He tells her that he needs to find a wood box, asking her what she did with it. Because a maid isn't a maid in this country until being accused by the white man of stealing something. Not that I feel that way. I'm liberated. I saw Crash. Anyway, House accuses Lady againof moving his box, at which point she remembers, "Ah, you mean the chest? The one that's under the bed?" She cleans under the bed? Lady? Call me.