Read Online The Unpleasantness at Baskerville Hall (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries Book 4) by Chris Dolley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Dolley
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the old stable block and the woodshed. There was plenty of evidence of the two dozen feet that had visited the woodshed after breakfast, but no obvious signs of a struggle. And there was a flagstone path between the stables and the shed.
The old stable block didn’t provide any clues either. There were no signs of a struggle inside. I checked the hayloft and every stall, looking for the unexpected — a crumpled note, a discarded banana, mysterious carved runes, a convict’s striped clothes...
Nothing.
“If the killer was this convict,” I said. “It might explain why Pasco was debagged. A man in a striped uniform is going to attract attention. He’d get a lot farther with new clothes.”
“So there should be a pile of prison clothes somewhere,” said Emmeline.
“Exactly,” I said. “I haven’t seen any. Have you?”
“No,” said Emmeline. “He couldn’t have burnt them — not with the rain last night. He might have buried them though.”
Reeves coughed. “There is a furnace that heats the copper boiler, miss.”
I looked at Reeves in awe. I may have the occasional issue with his eyebrows, but the man’s brain was immense.
We returned at speed to the old stable block and stood back while Reeves opened the furnace door.
“Any sign of a stripe?” I asked.
Reeves raked the embers with a rather lethal looking poker.
“No, sir. It is possible that the cloth has been completely incinerated. If Pasco was killed in the early hours of the night, there may have been time.”
Such is the detective’s lot. There are highs. There are lows. There are even times when one finds oneself wrestling orang-utans on dining room carpets. All one can do is dust off one’s brogues and press on.
I decided another look at the woodshed was called for.
“Do you know if they’ve moved the body?” I asked Reeves.
“I overheard Berrymore say that Sir Robert had not given him any instructions on the matter, sir. And that Pasco was to remain where he was until Sir Robert returned.”
“Ah, well, brace yourselves then. You don’t have to come in, Emmie.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “I saw it all earlier.”
Well, I certainly braced myself. A naked under gardener was disconcerting at the best of times, and this would be my second viewing on an empty stomach.
I opened the door, and peered in.
Pasco had gone.
Nine
looked at the log pile we’d moved earlier.
“He’s not been buried again, has he?” I said.
The three of us began moving the log pile, one log at a time, back to its original position. As soon as we reached the bottom layer we knew the answer. Pasco was not there.
“He was dead, wasn’t he?” I asked.
“He was certainly not operational, sir, neither could he have been repaired this quickly. He’d require new turbines, or a new torso. He’d also require his head reattached, and at least thirty minutes on the steam outlet.”
“Why would someone move him?” asked Emmeline. “We’ve already seen him.”
I may not have had my kipper breakfast, but my little grey cells were in mid-season form. “I see all,” I said.
“You do?” said Emmeline.
“Indubitably. That is the right word, isn’t it, Reeves?”
“I suspect so, sir.”
“Good. The killer has taken some risk in moving the body in broad daylight, therefore one can deduce that it is of vital importance.”
“Go on,” said Emmeline. “I adore it when you deduce.”
“So, although we though t we had seen all there was to see this morning, we were mistaken. There must be something about the body that we missed. And the killer has risked all to make sure that his, her — or, indeed, its — mistake was rectified.”
~
We sleuthed for another hour, checking all the outbuildings for any sign of Pasco.
“He couldn’t be in the Hall, could he?” I asked. “Is it possible to stroll through the servants’ entrance carrying a naked under gardener without attracting comment?”
“I would very much doubt it,
The old stable block didn’t provide any clues either. There were no signs of a struggle inside. I checked the hayloft and every stall, looking for the unexpected — a crumpled note, a discarded banana, mysterious carved runes, a convict’s striped clothes...
Nothing.
“If the killer was this convict,” I said. “It might explain why Pasco was debagged. A man in a striped uniform is going to attract attention. He’d get a lot farther with new clothes.”
“So there should be a pile of prison clothes somewhere,” said Emmeline.
“Exactly,” I said. “I haven’t seen any. Have you?”
“No,” said Emmeline. “He couldn’t have burnt them — not with the rain last night. He might have buried them though.”
Reeves coughed. “There is a furnace that heats the copper boiler, miss.”
I looked at Reeves in awe. I may have the occasional issue with his eyebrows, but the man’s brain was immense.
We returned at speed to the old stable block and stood back while Reeves opened the furnace door.
“Any sign of a stripe?” I asked.
Reeves raked the embers with a rather lethal looking poker.
“No, sir. It is possible that the cloth has been completely incinerated. If Pasco was killed in the early hours of the night, there may have been time.”
Such is the detective’s lot. There are highs. There are lows. There are even times when one finds oneself wrestling orang-utans on dining room carpets. All one can do is dust off one’s brogues and press on.
I decided another look at the woodshed was called for.
“Do you know if they’ve moved the body?” I asked Reeves.
“I overheard Berrymore say that Sir Robert had not given him any instructions on the matter, sir. And that Pasco was to remain where he was until Sir Robert returned.”
“Ah, well, brace yourselves then. You don’t have to come in, Emmie.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “I saw it all earlier.”
Well, I certainly braced myself. A naked under gardener was disconcerting at the best of times, and this would be my second viewing on an empty stomach.
I opened the door, and peered in.
Pasco had gone.
Nine
looked at the log pile we’d moved earlier.
“He’s not been buried again, has he?” I said.
The three of us began moving the log pile, one log at a time, back to its original position. As soon as we reached the bottom layer we knew the answer. Pasco was not there.
“He was dead, wasn’t he?” I asked.
“He was certainly not operational, sir, neither could he have been repaired this quickly. He’d require new turbines, or a new torso. He’d also require his head reattached, and at least thirty minutes on the steam outlet.”
“Why would someone move him?” asked Emmeline. “We’ve already seen him.”
I may not have had my kipper breakfast, but my little grey cells were in mid-season form. “I see all,” I said.
“You do?” said Emmeline.
“Indubitably. That is the right word, isn’t it, Reeves?”
“I suspect so, sir.”
“Good. The killer has taken some risk in moving the body in broad daylight, therefore one can deduce that it is of vital importance.”
“Go on,” said Emmeline. “I adore it when you deduce.”
“So, although we though t we had seen all there was to see this morning, we were mistaken. There must be something about the body that we missed. And the killer has risked all to make sure that his, her — or, indeed, its — mistake was rectified.”
~
We sleuthed for another hour, checking all the outbuildings for any sign of Pasco.
“He couldn’t be in the Hall, could he?” I asked. “Is it possible to stroll through the servants’ entrance carrying a naked under gardener without attracting comment?”
“I would very much doubt it,
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