The Unpleasantness at Baskerville Hall (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries Book 4) (17 page)

“Upon further investigation, sir, I discovered a small bottle hidden inside one of the socks. It would appear that the person who planted the head and painting accessories in your room has now added me to their list of people to implicate.”

“Have you checked the bottle for fingerprints?”

“I have, sir. The bottle had been thoroughly wiped, which makes me believe that the person responsible may have been present when you spoke about fingerprints and their importance in the determination of guilt.”

“Or they might have already known. Criminal masterminds know all about fingerprints, Reeves.”

“Indeed, sir, but one would have thought a criminal mastermind would have taken the next step. I find it exceedingly odd that, given the effort involved to plant evidence, that no search of our rooms has yet been instigated.”

I took a contemplative sip of the oolong. Reeves was right. It was odd. Usually the discovery of planted evidence was followed swiftly by the ominous knock on the door by a set of size twelve knuckles.

“One possibility, sir, is that the person in question is not in a position to call for a search.”

“A servant, you mean?”

“Or a guest, sir.”

“I don’t know. One would think a determined servant could raise the idea of a search in the hope that Berrymore would suggest the idea to Henry. Or that a lady’s maid would have a word in the ear of Lady Julia. Has there been talk in the servants’ hall about the need to search anyone’s room?”

“No, sir.”

“There you are then. No, Reeves, I think we should regard this as a gesture.”

“Sir?”

“He’s taunting us, Reeves. Letting us know that he can plant evidence on us whenever he wishes. Fairly typical criminal mastermind behaviour. They’re all egotists.”

The question now, of course, was what to do with said bottle. It had no value as a piece of evidence any more, but it did contain poison.

“Should we return the bottle to Dr Morrow for safekeeping, Reeves?”

“Questions will be asked as to how the bottle came into your possession, sir. I would suggest we hide the bottle with Pasco’s head for the moment. You can then suggest a search of the Hall to Sir Henry when you meet him at breakfast.”

Reeves went off to hide the bottle while I sipped tea and pondered my next move. When Reeves returned I could tell by his eyebrows that all was not well.

“Pasco’s head is missing, sir.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Positive, sir. The tin of paint and brush are where we left them. The head, however, is not. I believe you are correct in your assertion that we are being toyed with.”

Rummier and rummier, as Alice would say. Why take the head and leave the paint? This had all the portents of being a five cocktail problem.

“It also suggests, sir, that the person responsible resides at the Hall. They must be able to move freely about the house and not attract suspicion.”

“Rather rules out Selden and the woman with the cloven feet.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“But not Lupin. Lupin has the run of the house and one only has to look at him to know that ‘low cunning’ is his middle name.”

“An imaginative suggestion, sir, but I do not see Lupin bothering to wipe fingerprints from a bottle of curare.”

“That’s because you underestimate him, Reeves. I don’t. Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t. And neither should you.”

“Shall I lay out your clothes for breakfast, sir?”

~

I decided it was time for boldness. Reeves’ suggestion of hiding the curare bottle and calling for a search after breakfast was all very well — ten out of ten for sensibleness, but where was the panache? And how would it advance the case? All it would do is tell the murderer that we’d rumbled what he was up to, and could defend against it. To break the case we needed to attack, not defend.

Which is why I slipped the bottle of curare in my pocket and toddled down to breakfast.

Everyone was already there, dressed in mourning black and digging into their kippers or, in Lupin’s case, playing with a bowl of fruit. Berrymore was there too, along with Babbacombe.

I hovered in the doorway contemplating my next move. I wanted to see everyone’s face when I produced the curare bottle. Lady Agatha MacTweedie swears by the practice. ‘The face is the window to guilt,’ she says. According to Lady A., even the most inscrutable types can be temporarily unmanned if one whips out something incriminating at an unexpected moment.

I took a few steps over to the near corner to get a better angle.

“What
is
he doing?” said Lady Julia. “I did warn you, Henry. The boy’s touched. You don’t have to stand in the corner, dear. There are chairs over here.”

A lesser man — or, at any rate, one less used to the acerbic tongue of aunts — may have quailed, but I shrugged off Lady Julia’s comments and busied myself by opening a drawer in the corner table and pretending to look within.

“Don’t mind me,” I said. “I’m just completing my search.”

“The breakfast sideboard is behind you, dear,” boomed Lady Julia. “Berrymore, would you be so good as to wave in case Mister Roderick gets lost on the way over?”

I gritted the Worcester teeth and turned. Lady Agatha never had to put up with hecklers. But, looking on the brightish side, perhaps now was the just the moment to spring my surprise. People were relaxed. No one was expecting Reginald Worcester to whip out a bottle of curare from his pocket.

So I did. And as I did, I took a careful note of everyone’s face.

“The missing bottle of curare,” I said.

Everyone looked surprised except Lady Julia and Lupin. Lady Julia looked confused, and Lupin sucked on a grape in a disdainful manner.

Morrow jumped to his feet. “Where did you find it?”

“Precisely where I expected to. It was a simple matter of deduction really.”

I watched for a reaction. If the murderer was in the room — and I had a sneaking suspicion they were — then he, she, or it, would be wondering what on earth I was playing at. Had I perhaps deduced their identity, and was about to say I’d found it in their room? This would be just the moment that such a person might crack and run for the door. Or possibly the pelmet.

Disappointingly, no one attempted to flee, so I continued.

“The murderer had to hide the bottle in a place it would not be readily found. A place, furthermore, that would not incriminate them. What better place than...” I paused for effect. Lady Agatha would have spread both arms out to enable her dresser to effect a swift costume change, but I made do with a steely gaze and the most pregnant of pauses. “What better place than one of the unoccupied bedrooms. And that’s where I found it. Along with a tin of RadioGlo paint.”

“You mentioned that paint last night,” said Henry.

“Indeed I did. It is my belief that Sir Robert’s murder, Pasco’s murder,
and
the ghost were all part of the same diabolical plan.”

“Selden couldn’t have played any part in that ghost incident,” said Morrow. “He’d only just escaped. He couldn’t have crossed the moor from Princetown to here in time. Not at night.”

“He’s right,” said Henry. “There are no paths and there are mires everywhere.”

“I doubt very much that Selden
is
the murderer,” I said. “The murderer has to be able to move freely about Baskerville Hall. How else could they steal the curare and the paint and hide them later? Selden couldn’t do that. He’d be noticed.”

“Are you saying it’s someone living here?” said Henry.

“Not one of us, surely?” said Ida.

“This is ridiculous,” said Lady Julia. “Everyone knows that Selden is a murderer. We cannot have
two
murderers in the parish. This isn’t Whitechapel.”

“I am merely following where the evidence leads, Lady Julia.”

“But how can Pasco’s death fit into all this?” asked Lily.

“Very easily,” I said. “Pasco was the ghost.”

That certainly got in amongst them. Forks were put down, tea cups reunited with saucers, and everyone started talking at once. There were plenty of whats, several hows and a brace or two of whys.

“No,” said Henry. “Pasco was never allowed in the house. And he certainly wouldn’t wear a dress. Selden killed Pasco because Pasco saw him.”

“The evidence suggests otherwise,” I said. “Why would Selden chop off Pasco’s head and hide it? Why would Selden remove Pasco’s clothes?”

“He wouldn’t,” said Morrow, looking decidedly pale. “He uses his claws and teeth to kill. He’d never use an axe or stab anyone.”

“Am I missing something?” said Ida. “What on earth makes you think that Pasco was the ghost? Wouldn’t it have been the murderer?”

Ah. This was a tricky sitch. How could one reveal that Pasco’s head was painted green without mentioning finding the head ... and then covering it with pastry before subsequently losing it? Perhaps it was the proximity of so many kippers, but an idea came to me almost immediately.

“Because the ghost’s head, which we all saw had a diabolical glow to it, was painted in RadioGlo paint and that, as the good doctor told us last night, works best on automata. Now, how many automata do we know who were missing a head the very next day?”

I thought Emmeline was going to applaud. She caught herself just in time.

“So Pasco was naked because he was wearing Theodosia’s black dress,” said Emmeline. “And the murderer had to remove the dress and the head so that no one would discover that Pasco was the ghost.”

“Indeed,” I said. “And the head was stuffed full of Pasco’s memories, so that had to be destroyed to protect the murderer’s identity.”

“I hardly think that naked automata are a suitable subject for the breakfast table,” said Lady Julia. “And
do
sit down. You unnerve me hovering in the corner like that.”

I gave the curare bottle to Henry for safekeeping and ankled over to the breakfast sideboard to load my plate with two of Arbroath’s finest. Hopefully I’d manage to eat them this time.

“I don’t get this,” said T. Everett as I took a seat next to him. “Why would Pasco agree to play this ghost? He’s an automaton. Why would he play any part in a plot against his master?”

“Because he’s programmed to obey orders,” I said. “Reeves says that these gardening automata like Pasco aren’t too bright. If someone tells them to dress up as a ghost, they do it.”

“But why would anyone
want
Pasco to dress up as a ghost?” asked Lily.

“It’s the sort of thing the better class of murderers do,” I said. “The common murderer has no imagination. They grab the first weapon that comes to hand and that’s it. But the clever ones do all sorts of odd things to throw one off the scent.”

“But if what you’re saying is true,” said Henry, “and the murderer isn’t a maniac like Selden, but some chap who deliberately planned to kill the governor, what’s their motive? He hadn’t an enemy in the world. And as far as money goes, I’m the only one who benefits, and I’d cut off my right arm before even thinking of harming the governor. This does
not
make sense at all.”

“Of course it doesn’t make sense,” said Lady Julia. “The boy’s delusional. Selden killed Robert and that’s that.”

“There is someone who
does
have a very strong motive,” said T. Everett. “I was thinking about this last night.”

“What?” said Henry. “Who?”

“Edison,” said T. Everett. “He’d see Quarrywood as a dangerous rival. Your movies have only been showing in the States for three months and already they’re breaking all records. Edison won’t stand for that. He’ll either try to buy you out or get you closed down somehow. If you were in the States, he’d claim you infringed one of his patents, and tie you up in court. But you’re over here in England. I bet he’s hired someone to close Quarrywood down ... permanently, if you get my drift. Edison has a long arm.”

“I can’t believe anyone would have the governor killed over Quarrywood. They must know that I’d keep it going. I’m as committed to its success as my father was.”

“And if anything happened to you?” said T. Everett. “What then? Edison doesn’t do things by halves. He’ll come for you next.”

Well, this was all very informative. I hadn’t considered motive. In most books I’d read, the suspects with the strongest motives were usually the first to be cleared. It was always the chap one least suspected that turned out to be the murderer. But there was something about this Edison cove that appealed. He sounded a bit like a criminal mastermind,
and
he was three thousand miles away — which ticks the ‘unlikely suspect’ box.

Henry looked shaken, as did Ida and Morrow.

“If anyone comes for me,” said Henry. “They’ll find me waiting with a gun in my hand.”

I don’t think I was alone in thinking that Henry’s words were a tad on the unfortunate side. Sir Robert had been waiting with a gun in his hand when he’d been struck with the poison what not.

“Have you hired any new servants in the last month, Henry?” asked Emmeline. “If Edison hired someone to infiltrate the house that’s how he’d do it.”

Could one ask for a better fiancée?

“I don’t believe we’ve engaged any new servants recently,” said Henry. “Have we, Berrymore?”

“Not at the house, sir. I believe some new actors may have been taken on at the studio.”

“They were all
réanimés
and automata,” said Henry. “They don’t come anywhere near the house.”

“And neither shall they,” said Lady Julia.

“Edison has the largest automata factory in America,” said T. Everett. “Some of the new ones look so lifelike you have to stand within three feet before you can tell the difference. Dress one of them up in your footmans’ livery, slap on some theatrical make-up, and I bet it could pass for one of your servants — enough to sneak into the house.”

“A machine may pass for a human in the Americas, Mr Spurgeon,” said Lady Julia. “But
not
in England.”

“I don’t know,” said Henry. “What do you think, Roderick?”

I wasn’t going to mention Reeves. He was one of a kind anyway. Whoever had built Reeves had broken the mould soon after. One imagines he took one look at his creation and declared his work done, retiring on the spot to Worthing to keep bees and raise nasturtiums.