Gibbous House 99

We were all startled, when the doors to the dining room were thrown wide - and no less surprised, when the Detective stepped into the room. Assuming Mrs Gonderthwaite had answered some summons to the front entrance, I felt the tickle of anger that she should presume to usher the fellow to our table and not announce his arrival, much less inform us that he waited without. He was still in his uniform, but made the politeness of removing the top hat, which he carried uncomfortably under his arm. He eyed each of us in turn:

'There is no doubt of it.' He said.

'Inasmuch as I, myself, am in doubt as to what you refer to, Constable, I should say there is considerable doubt of something.' I replied.

'It is murder, of course.' Constable Turner elucidated. I was considering a response, when Maccabi blurted:

'Oh come, Constable, the man fell down the hill and took a blow from a rock.Very likely he was drunk. He often was.'

The policeman gave Maccabi a look with which he seemed to take his measure and found him wanting in some degree:

'A blow from a rock was surely taken by the poor sot, it's true. It is only that I should like to know by whom the blow was given.'

It was with some disbelief that I saw the colour rise in Maccabi's face. What was the matter with the man? Did I but have such fellows about me in Cheapside, never would I have given the Peelers a second thought!

Constable Turner, in an apparent leap to unrelated matters, enquired:

'The scrivener, Allan, where is he?'

The Professor informed him that the reporter had met with an 'unfortunable accent', betraying - to me at least - with this mis-step in his speech, his own nervousness in the presence of the law. Ellen Pardoner was darting looks from Maccabi to the Professor and thence to the investigator. It appeared to me that the most cool of manner in the room were the man investigating the crime and the man who had committed it, namely, myself.

Turner gave a nod and drew a deep breath through his nose. It was a magnificent specimen, worthy of a prizefighter at a fair, although perhaps not a good one. He released the breath, and it seemed that he had used this aspiration to calm himself or gird his loins for some prospective challenge. He said nothing however.

Against my better judgement, I posed a question of my own;

'What brings you to the conclusion that the man was dealt a blow rather than suffering an unfortunate accident, Constable?'

'It is quite simple Mr Moffat, the rock covered with blood is on the crown of the hill, whilst the unfortunate's body was, as you saw, in the pond. It is most unlikely that he could have fallen against that rock with such force at the top of the rise.'

He was right of course; I had been careless, but, truly, who could have expected any policeman to take an interest in an accident at Gibbous House?