By the time I returned to my apartment, the morning had turned into the middle of the afternoon. I had not wished to stay so long, especially not in a dockside tavern, but Campbell and his friends had been most insistent on my continued attendance. It had taken the most strenuous of protests to win my freedom, and even then the lingering consequences of my visit continued to assail me. The pub had left its impression on me; though I had not drunk a single pint, I smelled of cheap beer and cigar smoke. Hours of tavern songs and shouted conversations had left my hearing somewhat worse for wear, and for the first few miles, I had been forced to squint at the reintroduction of natural light to my senses.
Fortunately, the information I had garnered from Campbell and his associates had been more than worth the cost. Though the lightermen had no access to the ship’s manifests nor their destinations, they were aware of which shipments from American merchant ships had been unloaded near the rail line that led to the suspected factories. They also knew which shipments contained more troublesome merchandise such as machinery lubricants, based on the size and type of the barrels they helped move. Several were able to describe the smell of the oil itself, as well as the markings on the rail cars that had taken the oil away.
Using that information, I was able to trace the shipments to a particular transportation company. A visit to the station near the factories gave me the opportunity to discuss what factory owners had collected such shipments. The station manager for the company was extremely helpful; the fact that I had given him the impression that I was investigating certain complaints about the safety of such shipments might have had something to do with his attitude.
As a result, when I finally staggered home, I had in my possession a list of the factories in the area around the academy which used the same oil involved in the attacks to protect their machinery from friction. The list was not long; apparently, the oil was only used in particular processes by specialized machinery, and not every factory was even capable of housing such equipment. The difficulty would be in narrowing the field of my speculations further. With their hostility toward the school, the workmen and their supervisors would not be likely to allow me to inspect their oil stores for evidence of siphoning. Their reluctance could only increase if they had heard of the difficulties suffered by the academy, even if they were not actively aiding and abetting the criminals. No one wanted to be involved in an investigation such as this one unless they had no way to avoid it.
Of course I was not above investigating the factories without the permission of the owners, but such efforts required a dedicated level of planning and a certain amount of preparation. Taking the time to investigate matters so thoroughly in all the factories would take months, and each unwarranted intrusion carried a great risk of both alerting the perpetrators of their impending capture and landing my person in the gaol at the hands of the local constabulary. Such risks I was unwilling to take. I needed another way to narrow the number of possible locations before I would resort to such tactics.
I was still searching my mind for a way to accomplish that task when I heard a person clear their voice behind me. I turned to find the impassive Mr. Muire standing nearby, impatience and relief warring briefly upon his features. “Mr. Kingsley. Lord Pevensley has requested a meeting with you at your earliest convenience.”
His neutral tone was unsurprising; it was simply another facet of his character that I recognized. What did surprise me was that Lord Pevensley had sent his bodyguard to collect me personally. I tried to discern whether it was a good omen or a bad tiding, but the visit to the pub was still clouding my mind. With a quiet sigh, I nodded to Muire. “Very well, I will go to see him directly. Give His Lordship my regards.”
Muire hesitated. “Your pardon, Mr. Kingsley. He has sent a carriage to convey you more quickly upon your return.” He motioned to the vehicle, which crouched nearby like some abominable beetle. “When you are ready, Mr. Kingsley.”
Clearly, this summons was not a good sign, then. I paused for a moment, considering the fumes still drifting from my clothes. To my careful eyes, it was just as obvious that any delay would likely damage my employment with Lord Pevensley. It would not do to keep a member of the peerage waiting when such courtesy had been supplied. Another quiet sigh escaped me, and then I spoke to the bodyguard again. “My thanks to you and to Lord Pevensley. I will join you now, then.”
Muire’s nose wrinkled as I passed him, but I ignored the small gesture and climbed into the carriage. He joined me in the enclosure, and the driver started the mechanisms moving. Soon the quiet sanctuary of my apartment was left behind, and I rolled toward another unseen difficulty with gathering speed.
When I arrived at the Pevensley mansion, I found the master of the house in fine form. Lord Pevensley seemed to have recovered some part of the vigor which must normally have filled his stocky frame, for he was overseeing the running of his household from a desk in one of his offices. Lady Pevensley sat at his side, occasionally speaking with a maid here, directing a butler there, and generally continuing to manage the household as her husband attended to his affairs.
His expression brightened as I walked in, escorted as always by the careful Mr. Muire, and he quickly motioned to a nearby seat before he turned to continue his interview with one of the guards. From what I could hear of the conversation, the encounter was not a pleasant one for the man before Lord Pevensley. Apparently, my client had decided to let go a good portion of his previous complement of guards for incompetence, a move of which I fully approved, given my assessment of their capabilities. He also quite obviously intended to hire new personnel to replace them, and given the serious-looking fellows waiting in the chamber amongst the nervous former guards, he looked to improve his security immensely.
My broodings were interrupted when Lord Pevensley dismissed the guard—or more properly, the former guard—who stormed out with a pale complexion. I caught a flash of satisfaction from Mr. Muire as the man left, and then Lord Pevensley motioned for me to approach him at last. He smiled broadly at me. “Mr. Kingsley! It does me good to see you once again upon my doorstep. It does indeed. May I assume there has been some progress in the case?”
Surprised, I looked around the room at the servants and the other appointments waiting to speak with him. Given his previous habit of speaking with me in private, I wondered at his desire to discuss my progress in so public a forum. “Are you sure you wish to speak of this matter in such an open area, sir? I would not want to reveal details of the situation and fuel harmful rumors.”
My client gave a magnanimous shrug. “Then I suppose you should consider your words very carefully, Mr. Kingsley. I fear I find myself too occupied to hold a private conference for the moment. Yes, too occupied indeed.” The indulgent, half-amused expression fell away from his face, and a stern frown took its place. “What have you found thus far?”
Glancing again at the others in the room, I began uncomfortably. “So far, there are at least two possible culprits, both of whom have the means, motive, and opportunity to plant the bomb. In the absence of further proof, I have considered them the primary targets for further investigation until the evidence eliminates them or provides an alternative possible suspect.” I paused, and my eyes flicked to Lady Pevensley. Her expression darkened. “For the sake of discretion, I will retain the names of the individuals until I can fully explore the matter.”
Lord Pevensley nodded slowly. “Very well. I would not have spurious accusations tainting our progress. I approve whole-heartedly your decision in this matter.” He tilted his head to one side. “Though I must ask, are the two culprits so exclusive? I might have thought they could have worked in concert toward my undoing, and perhaps now are merely at one another’s throats.”
I blinked in surprise. My eyes slid toward Mr. Muire, who now stood at his master’s side. It occurred to me that Lord Pevensley could very well have sent his bodyguard to check up on me, or at least to report on my activities. I thought I detected a self-assured smile from Muire’s stony face, but it could easily have been a simple trick of the light. “A very good question, sir. At the present time, I believe the animosity between the two parties to be genuine, however, a fact bolstered by their contradictory motives. Though either may have wished you harm and made the attempt on your life, I sincerely doubt they would have worked together for that goal.”
A flicker of displeasure ran across Muire’s face, and I cataloged the fact that the bodyguard had no love for either the mistress of the house nor the lord’s brother and heir to the estate. It was a minor detail, but if he had been able to glean the details of my investigation thus far, Mr. Muire had proved himself clever enough to merit further scrutiny as well. Of course, Lady Pevensley’s face could easily have belonged to one of the Furies now, so twisted it was with rage. It was rather obvious she now realized I suspected her of the crime, and she just as clearly intended to take revenge for it.
Lord Pevensley, on the other part, seemed satisfied with the response. He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together upon his broad chest. “May I ask, then, how you are currently going about the investigation? With two suspects to track, it must be hard to effectively divide your attentions.”
I shook my head. “I have found it best to focus on one suspect at a time and either eliminate or strengthen my suspicions against them based on the evidence and testimony which I find. I have already met with one of the suspects, and plan on meeting with a second just as soon as I finish collecting some small indications regarding his whereabouts. These interviews should provide me with enough information to draw closer to the true culprit.”
The lord nodded encouragingly. “Exactly the kind of progress I needed to hear. It appears you have indeed been hard at work, then, in spite of the difficulties of the case. If there are any complications or obstacles you feel I might be able to reduce or clear away, please do not hesitate to inform me directly.”
Again I nodded in acknowledgement. “Of course, my good sir. I will let you know immediately as well once the would-be assassin is found.” I placed my hands on the arms of my chair as if to stand, but Lady Pevensley held up a palm to give me pause. The vicious smile which accompanied the gesture did not allow me the illusion that her contributions would be pleasant.
“One final matter, Mr. Kingsley. I do not mean to delay you, but it is a small trifle I feel should not occupy too much of your time.” I nodded amiably, though I felt a thread of uncertainty mix with my emotions. She gestured to a servant as I sat back in my seat.
“I hoped you might be able to clarify a small mystery for me. You see, one of our gardeners had been making his appointed rounds when he saw something amiss along one of the outer walls.” I felt a chill run through me, but I forced myself to remain still as Lady Pevensley continued. “He summoned a few of the guards, including Mr. Muire here, who then scaled the wall and brought back a most interesting device. Aha! Here it is.”
With that statement, the servant entered with the object I had been dreading. It was Daniel’s automatic camera, with the primary device broken and the containment of the decision engine compromised. My heart sank as I saw the damage, and sank further as I realized that even if the device had served its purpose, any picture it might have captured was likely ruined along with the rest. The servant set it on the table and Lady Pevensley leaned forward. She laid a careful hand on the broken camera, as if to keep it from scuttling away. “A most curious device indeed. Would you not say so, Mr. Kingsley?”
Numb with foreboding, I nodded agreement. I opened my mouth to explain, but she continued without waiting for a response. “What I find most intriguing is the purpose of the device, however. It seems to be some form of camera, and was likely meant to capture some detail of the daily life of my household without my knowledge.”
Lord Pevensley’s eyes grew dark with anger, and his hands on the desktop curled slowly into fists. His wife, on the other hand, almost glowed with triumph. She nodded to him as he turned to me, his face red with anger. “Mr. Kingsley, while the reasoning behind this attempt to photograph us remains unknown to me, I must let you know that it will not be tolerated twice. The private life of my house, of my family, is something I hold dear. Any effort to rob us of that privacy, for any reason, is inexcusable. I repeat, it will not be borne.”
That statement fell with the weight and authority of an executioner’s axe, and I lowered my eyes for a moment. Lord Pevensley remained where he was for a time, and then he abruptly leaned back in his seat again. Lady Pevensley, still smiling at his side, now turned to me and spoke. “I will entrust this mechanism to you, Mr. Kingsley, in the hope that you can act to prevent such invasions of our privacy in the future. May I count on you for that defense against unwarranted intrusion?”
Though the words might have implied an ignorance of where the device had originated, both Pevensleys obviously knew I had placed it on the wall. I nodded for a third time, and sighed. “I believe I might be able to help you with this issue, Lord Pevensley, and now that I know your feelings and desires on this matter, I can make sure that such things do not intrude on your happiness again.” Still, I did not reach for the broken device on the table, and in its shattered frame, I could see the ruin of my carefully laid plans and hopes for a swift resolution to the case. Without the camera, there would be much greater difficulty in locating Howard Pevensley’s informant, and without that informant the likelihood of reaching Howard was small.
Lord Pevensley gestured to Mr. Muire, and the bodyguard picked up the broken camera. “Thank you very much, Mr. Kingsley. Now, may I hope that you will continue to work diligently on the case at hand? Good. Very good then. I hope I may hear from you again soon.” He rose partway out of his seat, and I stood in automatic response. Mr. Muire then proceeded to escort me out the door of the office, as lord and lady returned to the business of the household and estate.
As Mr. Muire led me through the labyrinthine corridors of the manor, I felt the numbness begin to fade. Though the advantage of Daniel’s camera was lost to me, I was far from failure in the investigation. I still knew where the informant would meet the lord’s brother, and all I lacked was a method of discovering when the next meeting would occur. The camera would have made it much easier to catch the clandestine goings-on, but I could always do things the hard way. A smile worked its way across my lips, and I turned to Mr. Muire as we moved toward the exit.
“Mr. Muire, might I impose upon you for a moment? There is a task I must do which may lead to the chance to track down a possible culprit.”
The bodyguard turned toward me in surprise, his impassivity slipping slightly as he raised an eyebrow. “If it would help in your investigation, I am sure Lord Pevensley would be more than glad to grant the request. Would you like to return to his office, sir?”
I shook my head. It had been clear that the Pevensleys had said all they intended to for the day, and after the disaster with the camera, I was not sure they would consent to my continued investigation of the house. Besides, there was a sliver of doubt working its way through my mind which suggested that the discovery of the camera had not been an accident. It was entirely possible that Lady Pevensley, having proven herself more clever than I previously thought, might already have been aware of Howard’s informant, and for reasons of her own was concealing the fact from me. “Mr. Muire, I was assured that whatever assistance the lord could provide would be available when I asked. When I interviewed with Lord Pevensley, the situation was far too public to discuss the favor I have in mind. As he expressed a desire to maintain the privacy of his family, I would not wish to intrude upon him.”
Then I gave the bodyguard a calculating look. “Perhaps if you accompanied me, you would be able to monitor my behavior and prevent any unwanted prying?” I let my gaze fall on the contraption in his hand, and he glanced down as well. When his eyes met mine again, he nodded solemnly.
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“If you insist, I will escort you, but I must remind you that I will stop you if I believe your actions to be against Lord Pevensley’s wishes.” Muire drew close, his free hand resting upon a pistol at his hip. “I will also remind you that every detail shall be reported to him the very instant he has time and opportunity to hear it. Do you understand me clearly, Mr. Kingsley?”
“I do, Mr. Muire.” I fought hard to contain my smile. “The favor I must ask involves little that you could find objectionable, however. I merely wish to examine a particular room.”
A short walk to the servants’ quarters later, Mr. Muire and I arrived at the small room which I had previously viewed from the outside. The door had been locked tight, but Muire produced an impressively large key ring which contained the means to unlock it. I swung open the door and walked in, half-heartedly hoping the lord’s brother and his accomplice would be present. To the satisfaction of my more cynical side, we found the room unoccupied, save for the chairs I had noted before.
More details which had escaped my notice now impressed themselves on my perception. The chairs were not the only furniture present. Against one wall was located a crude cot. On the side of that bed was a small wardrobe, with a pile of papers stacked atop it. The room was kept very clean, with a minimum of dirt or grime accumulating in the corners or under the heavier items of furniture. Such care suggested that Howard’s informant visited regularly enough to maintain the place. In contrast, however, a thin layer of dust over the contents of the room suggested that they had not been used in some time or at least that a short delay separated each visit to the place.
I immediately went to the wardrobe. With careful, yet eager hands I began to sift through the correspondence which I found there, hoping to find a clue to either Howard’s location or the identity of his companion. I found little to guide me; there was a half-started letter from Howard to his brother Lord Pevensley, apparently continuing some political discussion. I also found several receipts, though these simply seemed to be for some jewelry the man had purchased.
The great bulk of the papers seemed to be successive copies of Gearshift Daily, a small-circulation paper that covered various technical developments in the field of gearbike enthusiasts. The copies were from a variety of dates reaching back nearly half a year. Apart from being located in a secret room, little else seemed remarkable about them; there was not even a similar theme among the articles presented within each paper.
As I sifted, Muire had been examining the rest of the room with something approaching amazement. “What is this place, Mr. Kingsley? It hasn’t been on any of the security briefings. Where did this furniture come from?”
I ignored the baffled guard’s questions and concentrated on the papers. It did not make sense that Howard or his informant would simply keep old editions of common news scrip, not in a place that was meant for their private communications. They had to have some hidden purpose, and all that remained was to discover precisely where they had concealed it in plain sight.
Then the answer hit me, and I leafed through the first of the papers. I quickly found the grief columns. Meant to aid those in search of communications from lost loved ones, or to allow announcements to reach groups of friends familiar with the same column, all that was required was a small donation to the paper and a strict adherence to the word limit.
Unfortunately, the columns were often used by criminals or other undesirables who prized the anonymity they provided. I had often stumbled across coded messages in the columns, and the discovery of the messages, often as not, led to the participants in whatever devious criminal enterprise I was seeking to disrupt. So it was not with much surprise that I found a message that had been circled in a pencil mark, now faded. It read ‘R, Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud. None suspect our balcony. J.’
Setting the paper aside, I quickly found another such message within a copy of the paper a mere handful of days later. It read ‘J, Remembering how I love thy company. Balcony remains safe. R.’ This message had been circled multiple times, with notes written in a somewhat delicate hand in the margin. Try as I might, however, the scrawl was too faded to make out what the writer had recorded there.
Still, in any case, the discovery lent new life to my attempts to locate Howard Pevensley. Once I had cracked the code of the messages contained therein, these papers could easily provide an opportunity to meet the brother of Lord Pevensley, and that event would bring me that much closer to the truth of the whole matter. I felt a satisfied smile light up my face, and as I turned to Mr. Muire, I opened my mouth to make some confident remark to the bodyguard on my continued progress.
My mouth dropped open in horror and surprise at the sight I found waiting for me. Nestled at the very edge of the opened doorway was a small, ratlike automaton. It had obviously begun its existence as a mere cat’s toy, meant to provide a small training opportunity for future ratters and the amusement of false hunts to pampered feline pets. Two small, beady eyes regarded the intruders in its domain with intelligence that could only be provided by a decision engine within its housing. Supporting my supposition, the edge of a Lovelace programming card could be seen jutting out of its back. It had no legs, though floppy appendages simulated the scrabbling claws and paws of a true rodent. Instead, it sat squarely on a pair of gear-spun wheels, which provided both locomotion and steering. Artificial fur stuck out in patches, and a long, whip-like tail provided balance to the whole mechanism.
All on its own, the little automaton was no real threat, and more of a passing curiosity than a concern. Unfortunately, the hard-earned experience of my time as an investigator had proved that even such small, harmless things could turn disastrous in the hands of a determined opponent. My mind flashed back to the crude, yet effective design for the bomb meant to catch Lord Pevensley, and I wondered for a moment if I was bearing witness to a refinement of the assassin’s previous work.
As if to confirm my dreadful predictions as to its purpose, the eyes of the automaton lit up with malicious fire, and the wheels beneath it spun to life with a whine. Muire whirled around, his hand reaching for his pistol. I brought my cane around, ready to trigger the mechanism within it. Time seemed to slow as the little rat began to move. Each heartbeat was agonizingly long.
Then the little automaton skittered in a quick turn and vanished through the open doorway and down the hall.
For a long moment, Muire and I watched it go with the stunned relief of men who thought themselves under attack by a predator, only to find themselves staring at prey instead. I shook myself from the fear-induced paralysis. “I wonder where it is going.”
Muire gave me a curious look. “Why would that matter?”
A creeping sense of urgency stole over me. “Because it could warn someone involved in the bombing that we’ve discovered this place.” We exchanged a look as the implications of the little toy impressed themselves on our minds. Then Muire swore roughly, and the two of us leaped into a chase to follow the little rat back to its scheming master.
Servants scattered with distraught yelps as we chased the rat through the hallway. Our prey went scrabbling between feet, slid past table legs, and shot through doorways. I had thought the automaton would have come to a halt somewhere within the servant’s quarters, but the rat skittered past the final room without a hint of hesitation. Clearly on the edge of cursing again, Muire continued the chase.
As I followed in his wake, placing my feet with care among the debris, confused servants, and overturned furniture strewn in the headlong pursuit, I frantically tried to predict what possible purpose the informant could have planned for his mechanical pet. Surely had it triggered some kind of trap or bomb, it would have occurred instantly within the confines of the remote room. The time for a more decisive solution to our meddling had long since passed. More likely our elusive contact was attempting to either distract us or give himself a warning of our interference. With the chaos caused by our chase, it was increasingly likely that the warning would be delivered, if it had not been already, simply by cause of the mess Muire and I were making of the matter.
Such a warning would prove disastrous for my attempts to locate the fellow, however, and the thought of some servant standing by and smirking as we chased his toy through the halls set my teeth on edge. At the very least, I became determined to capture the small messenger. An examination of the mechanisms within might yield the information which would lead me to the informant, and from there, it would be a mere trifle to arrange for a meeting with the elusive Mr. Howard Pevensley.
Ahead of me, Muire had vaulted yet another small table as the rat continued its frantic, determined flight. Glancing up ahead, I realized that the direction the automaton had chosen could only lead to the main corridor on the eastern side of the building. From what I had seen of the mansion thus far, the rat would either turn left, leaving it no recourse but to head for the kitchens, or right, which would leave its destination a small number of rooms or a dead end.
Knowing I could double back and trap the mechanical rat if I was in error, I veered off the direct path into a new hallway, nearly colliding with an unfortunate servant with a mop. Dodging around the panicked maid, I sprinted for the next corner, turning to find the hallway empty of all but a few end tables. I was relieved that I would no longer have to maneuver my way down a cluttered passageway, and the calm that filled me as a result lent a certain amount of speed to my legs.
Just as I reached the corner I heard Muire’s voice raised in another curse, followed by an unfortunate-sounding crash and the sharp music of breaking glassware. Just beneath that commotion, I heard the whirring of the little mechanical rat growing louder as it approached my position. With a victorious laugh, I sprang around the corner to confront the mechanism, cane at the ready to impede its progress.
I regretted that broad stance a moment later as the horrid little thing zipped between my feet and continued on, whirring merrily all the while.
Muire was further down the hallway, still struggling with the remnants of the table into which he had crashed. His face was red with fury, and I fully understood his outrage at the situation. I spun about and once again gave chase, brandishing my cane in a manner that helped to clear my path. I knew from my brief study of the floor plans of the house that the kitchens only extended so far, and that it was the habit of the housemaids and cooks to keep the doors to those rooms closed, lest their tools and ingredients become contaminated by unwanted visitors. If I could only reach the rat before one of those doors opened and allowed it to escape once more, there was still a chance to salvage the situation.
Ahead of me, the rat whirred through the door and into the kitchen. As I reached that doorway myself, I heard a terrible shriek, followed by an enormous cracking sound. The whirring stopped with sickening abruptness, and dread congealed within the center of my frame. I turned the corner and groaned at the scene which then met my eye.
The once finely tuned device lay in a shambles at the feet of a maid. Its spinning gears were still struggling to propel it forward, but it was obviously beyond any hope of salvage. It remained in place as the mechanisms made a real effort to continue, then began to shudder to a sullen, regretful halt. I stared at the twitching tangle of wires, gears, fur, and grease for a moment, seeing in that small pile the utter defeat of my hopes for a quick and simple solution.
Then the maid gathered herself up again, raising the pan she clutched in her grasp as if she held a sledgehammer, and prepared to drive home a railroad spike. Before I could call out, the pan struck home again with another crash. The fragile mechanisms within the tiny automaton further disintegrated. She reared back a third time, a wordless, panicked shout forming on her lips, but my desperate voice finally reached her. “Stop! Stop! You’ll ruin it further!”
She halted her swing abruptly and stared at me in pale, horrified fascination, then looked back at the mess before her. “I thought it was a rat! Where…where did it come from? Who sent it?” Her words came stuttered and halting, and she was breathing as hard as if she had run a mile. Her auburn hair had come out of place with her efforts, and she had to swipe at it awkwardly to keep it from falling into her face.
“I shall investigate that directly, ma’am. If you would be so kind?” I stepped forward and bent low over the remnants of the device. The damage only appeared worse when I examined it more closely. What was left of the decision engine which had led it to the kitchens was now naught but a shapeless ruin. Its gears and any other alterations were likewise reduced to wreckage. It was unlikely that I would be able to retrieve any information about the person who had tinkered with the toy, and thus it would have even less information to offer me about the informant who had relied upon it.
What was worse, I had no idea if the warning had already been delivered. Any one of the servants we had passed in the halls of Pevensley’s mansion could have been Howard’s spy, and they could easily have already been given ample reason never to visit the room again. Even if that were the only result, it would seriously hamper my efforts to find Lord Pevensley’s brother. It could even inspire the confederate to warn Howard Pevensley and send him deeper into hiding. The situation looked dark indeed.
When I looked up, I found the maid still pale and trembling. Her anxious eyes searched my face, and she held the pan close to her as if she was ready to battle demons with it. “Is it done? Can you still use it to find who sent it?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m afraid I can’t.” The maid leaned back against the nearest cabinet and took a deep breath as if to steady her emotions. I found myself curious at her suddenly relaxed expression. It almost seemed to be one of relief. Just as I opened my mouth to interrogate her more closely, Muire burst in, still panting hard. His already abused uniform had suffered further indignities at the hands of the table and its load of dishes and desserts. Still, he managed to collect himself, and in spite of smears of pudding, stains from drinks, and tears caused by broken glassware, he managed to present a preternatural calm as he surveyed the situation.
When his steely gaze met mine, I detected a hint of disappointment in his study of me. He spoke after a short gesture to the destroyed device. “You weren’t able to capture the toy intact, Mr. Kingsley?”
The accusatory tone rankled quite a bit more than I would have cared to admit. “You are correct, Mr. Muire, but may I reassure you that your…considerable….contribution to the cause will not soon be forgotten. Especially not by those who shared in it.” I nodded to the corridor, where the astonished and horrified exclamations of servants over the destroyed table were clear to our ears. His already red complexion grew even more crimson, and I allowed myself a short-lived smile at his discomfort. I turned back to the maid.
“If I could trouble you a moment more, Ms…” I let the sentence trail off invitingly.
Pale-faced, the maid responded cautiously. “You may call me Ms. Buxley.” Her eyes shifted to Mr. Muire before returning to me. “I’m afraid I will need to answer your questions another time. My duties will occupy me until much later in the day. Might I ask where I could find you then?”
I shook my head in regret, though in all honesty I had not expected any other response. “I may be otherwise occupied when you are available. Perhaps I should arrange a time when Lord Pevensley would be willing to allow you the opportunity to discuss my investigation.” I deliberately left both the purpose of my questions and the connection to Lord Pevensley vague, hoping to draw out some sort of reaction. In response, the maid grew paler still.
It was obvious that whoever she believed me to be, she had little interest in discussing anything beyond whatever excuses would allow her to escape. I began to wonder whether she simply wanted to avoid a troubling amount of fuss over a toy she had destroyed, or if the rat had led me to the informant after all. The only conundrum which prevented me from making the accusation outright was the lack of access this particular servant would have to Lord and Lady Pevensley. When I had pictured the kind of confidant Howard had cultivated in his brother’s household, I had assumed it would be one of the chambermaids or a high-ranking steward of some kind. What possible value could a young heir to a noble house see in some low-ranking scullery maid?
She obviously merited a more thorough scrutiny, whatever the case. Given the informality of the situation, I allowed myself a frank study of her as she hesitated between flight and the need to tend to the mess she had created. Her hair, while unremarkable to my eyes, was rather well cared for. Though her hands had obviously seen work, I noted that her fingers were delicate and slender, and her eyes were a startling shade of blue that most men would have found appealing. The thought struck me that Howard’s friend in the estate might not be an informant exactly, and with that thought came a possible solution to the code the two people had been utilizing. I had to fight to keep a smile off my face when I spoke again. “Might I return at a later time, when you are at liberty, then?”
Ms. Buxley hesitated, as if wondering what possible excuse she might make to avoid speaking with me again. Then, without a word, she nodded and turned towards the broom in the corner. She obviously meant to sweep her handiwork away and continue with her tasks. Having thus trapped her somewhat, I considered the rubbish that remained twitching on the floor. I felt a tiny stir of unmannerly mischief come over me as I remembered the destroyed camera which had led to this series of events, and I held out a hand to stop her. “Wait, Ms. Buxley. Your efforts are not necessary here.”
Confused, the servant paused. I turned to where Muire was waiting for me, his arms crossed and face impassive. “Mr. Muire has an interest in the occasional broken-down machinery. He would be glad to take this small trinket off your hands.”
Muire was quite unable to conceal the shattered camera he still carried at his side, and his face reddened even further as the maid looked back and forth between the two of us. He opened his mouth in rebuke, but I held up a hand. “No need to thank me, Mr. Muire. I will see myself to the exit while you tend to things here. Good day to you.”
Having thus spoken for poor Muire and made clear my intention to leave, I started for the door. I was gone before the outraged man could manage a response, and I heard him curse one last time before the clinking sounds of cleared debris were audible. The chaos of the pursuit was still sweeping over the corridors around me as I made my escape. It was not long before I bid farewell to the Pevensley estate for yet another time.
My smile lasted the whole way to my next destination, for although my investigation had met with several difficulties, an alternate plan had formed in my mind that would fully resolve the entire problem. I made my way to the nearest office for the Gearshift Daily. Muire, solemn as he could be, was not the only person who I could trap with artifice, and so I had a message to place. If I had guessed the situation correctly, the case might still be solved quite soon. If not, then perhaps at the least I might further confound the plotters who had used that secret room. A true investigator was never above sowing a little confusion for the sake of the truth, after all. A tuneless whistle escaped my lips as I strode toward my goal, the end now much more firmly in sight. All in all, I had made wonderful progress.