Gibbous House 100

Turner looked expectantly at myself. Being at a loss as to what expectation lay behind this regard, I offered to summon Mrs Gonderthwaite:

'I presume you have not dined, Constable? You are come too late to share our meal, but if you require some sustenance I will ring for the cook.'

He replied curtly; 'Bread and cheese, sir.'

I made my way to a fabric bell pull beside the large hearth, only to be intercepted by the Professor carrying the hand bell from the dining table.

'This one Moffat, the other is unfunctioning.'

His eyes darted at my hand hovering beside the brocaded fabric of the bell pull. The Professor ran a familiar finger around his oversized collar. I took the hand bell from him and shook it violently. It made its customary unmusical sound. I bade the Constable take his ease at table.

In deference to my position, Maccabi restrained himself and offered no contribution at this point. He appeared uncomfortable with this even so, and once more was to be observed from the corner of the eye, continuously squirming under the obsidian gaze of the Policeman. Even the Professor seemed inclined to keep his counsel, apparently relieved at ensuring my use of the correct bell. Perhaps inevitably, Miss Pardoner did not remain silent. She turned in her chair to examine the Constable the better, pushing aside the remains of her repast to lean both elbows on the wood in a most forward manner. Her eyelids made rapid and contrived motion and she breathed a question in one word at the constable:

'Murder?'

If the investigator's visage showed any reaction to that of Miss Pardoner, it were only that of Theseus regarding Medusa's head dangling from his grip, as fashioned by Canova. I gave my ward a stern look:

'That is quite enough, Miss Pardoner. This is a serious matter. Frivolity will not aid us in the capture of the villain.'

'Murder is serious, Mr Moffat.' Turner agreed, then nodded sagely at Miss Pardoner, but said no more, seemingly content to await his loaf and cheddar.

Once more I was struck by the remarkable passivity required in this new science of detection. By the same token, I was beginning to feel as uncomfortable around the policeman as Maccabi so evidently was. Still I resolved to engage with Turner, for as Catastrophus said, in his last speech before the Emperor Caligula had him removed from the Senate to a vat of boiling horse fat:

'Doubt not yourself lest others may be encouraged to do so!'

'So, Turner, an itinerant rogue. A vagabond footpad, do you think such a thing likely?'

He gave me the benefit of his most stony regard and said:

'I surely would, but for the lack of motive, Mr Moffat.'

'Robbery, perhaps?'

He shook his head, slowly.

'Hardly that. The corpse had a golden guinea in his waistcoat pocket.'

Maccabi's eyes started from his head, my ward gave a gasp; my face remained composed, but I was filled with rage that I had not searched the body - since the man appeared to have been in possession of more pecuniary assets than myself at the time.