Gibbous House 93

We sat in silence for a while. Through the variegate windows the reddening sky alerted me to the fact that the Jewish Sabbath would soon be over; though no doubt more food would be served according to the convoluted dietary restrictions.

The long dining room was appointed with a generous fireplace, an ingleneuk which would have accommodated my entire household and an inferno fit for Beezlebub himself. There was not a stick of wood, or smut of ash, in the voluminous grate, which item was so clean as to have never felt the lick of flames. It had not been cold in the room, even during the Sabbath repast, which by custom had begun after sundown, and it was not uncomfortable now. Leaning to the side, toward Miss Pardoner's seat, I laid my palm on the parquet floor. The wood was warm. It was not likely that Gibbous House was possessed of a hypocaust, although I supposed anything was possible. Miss Pardoner - after an uncharacteristic flinch at my unexpected proximity to her person – spoke:

'It is steam, sir, driven through pipes under the floor, the Professor tells me it is modelled on an innovatory system of the last century designed by Martin Triefeld. For a large greenhouse in Newcastle, in fact.'

'And the engine?' I queried.

'Below sir, the fire is below.'

'I wonder that I have been excluded from that part of the house, Miss Pardoner.'

My hand, warm as it was after contact with the parquet, gave better to my temper.

'As have I, sir. Perhaps it was assumed you would have no interest in it.'

She said it innocently enough. Since it might well have been true, I chose to let it pass.

'In any event, whilst there is no lack of available wood for the fire, where are the strong of arm to feed the beast? Surely this is not in Cullis' remit also?'

For answer I received a shrug.

Miss Pardoner's manner toward me had changed somewhat; I was most disappointed in this development, this demure and respectful aspect was not stimulating in the least. Provocation seemed best suited to my purpose:

'Are you much in the company of Maccabi, Miss Pardoner?'

'I am more in his company than in yours.'

'Of late that is not so, surely?'

'I should be more plain Mr Moffat. I find your company diminishes me.'

I laughed.

'I think even the company of Satan himself would do little to diminish you, Ellen.'

Her visage assumed a more familiar aspect.

'That remains to be seen.'

'Well, forgive me, if I have put you out of countenance. I meant no harm. Shall we not share a friendly libation?'

Her answer remained unheard as a drawn-out grinding sound filled the dining room. One would have thought it the progress of a capstone up the side of a pyramid, so loud was it. The noise appeared to emanate from the enormous fireplace. The soot-free stone of the rear of the ingleneuk drew back to reveal the Professor:

'A libation? A capital idea! Most capital!'

He beamed at the both of us from the depths of the empty fire.