by Chris Dolley
“To escape from ... a Lizard Man?” I suggested.
“That’ll work,” said Henry. “This Lizard Man... No, three Lizard Men have trapped us on the cliff top. We see the rope and start to climb down... No, I think we need more danger.”
“More danger than dangling from a rope two hundred feet off the ground?” I said.
“This is Quarrywood, Roderick. Our audiences expect bigger, better and scarier.”
“You could have a giant octopus suddenly appear at the bottom of the rope,” said Emmeline. “And three Lizard Men trying to chew through the rope at the top.”
“That’s more like it!” said Henry. “So we climb down the rope and throw ourselves on the giant octopus.”
“Who has a sword in each tentacle,” said Emmeline “Except the one he’s strangling Ida with.”
I had the feeling that Reeves — and possibly Ida — might disapprove of some of these later additions, but the essence of the plan was agreed. Henry would announce the new scene this morning and it would be the talk of the parish by lunchtime.
~
Emmeline shot off to her room to change out of her enforced mourning wear leaving me to head back to my room alone. As I toddled along a corridor flanked with the portraits of generations of Baskerville-Smythes, the Worcester brain began to stir.
I told Reeves the moment I bounced into the room.
“I’ve been thinking about inheritance, Reeves.”
“Indeed, sir?” said Reeves, who was busy ironing my shoelaces.
“A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think, that here we are looking at inheritance as a motive for murder when the parish is chock full of Baskerville-Smythe descendants? All that over-familiarity business.”
“Titles can only be passed to legitimate heirs, sir.”
“Ah, but have you ever read Belted by the Boot Boy? It was the sequel to Sporrans at Dawn.”
“I have not had that experience, sir.”
“It’s all about this servant, the eponymous boot boy, who inherited an earldom — hence the belted earl reference.”
“I had wondered, sir.”
“He came into the title when Lady Alice, the heroine, discovered an old marriage certificate in the library proving that her great great great uncle had married the scullery maid, thus legitimising their issue and making the boot boy the heir to the earldom. Bit of a tear-jerker, Reeves. The title was about to go to a complete rotter who kept three ex-wives locked in the attic and had designs upon Lady Alice.”
“You posit that such a marriage certificate may exist in this case, sir?”
“I certainly do, Reeves. Be it real or forged, I posit most strongly. In fact, I think I may have a rummage in the library. Tell Emmeline to meet me there.”
~
I thought I’d start with the books first. Missing wills and certificates always turned up hidden between the pages of books. I’d lift them out one at a time and give them a good shake. It shouldn’t take long.
That was my plan. But the moment I opened the library door, I was struck by an unexpected opportunity. There, sitting on a table, was Lupin, and the two of us were alone.
Twenty-Five
ere was my chance to find out if Lupin could talk! No one else was in the room. No witness to make him think twice about speaking. And if Lupin was the criminal mastermind that I suspected him to be, here was his chance to gloat — something no master criminal could ever resist.
And I’d make it even more irresistible. I’d speak in a Scots accent — just like the Colossus of Blackwater had.
I locked eyes with the simian Moriarty and approached.
“Hoots, Lupin, mon, och aye the noo, what?” I said.
Lupin may not have responded — he even tried to feign disinterest by picking his feet — but I knew that, deep down below all that fur, he was itching to bandy words with the great detective.
I tried again. “Wha hae, Lupin, auld haggis. ’Twas a braw bricht moonlicht nicht for the wee sleekit beasties.”
That almost did it. He stopped picking his feet and gave me a look that would have uncurled a banana at twelve paces. But then, just as I was sure he was about to break, another voice piped up from the other side of the room. Lady Julia! She’d been behind a bookcase, and I hadn’t seen her!
“He’s an orang-utan, dear, not Scottish. I know the ginger hair can be a little confusing to someone of your limited intellect.”
I had to respond. “I know he’s an orang-utan, Aunt Julia. I was merely testing him to see if he was a promethean. I’ve seen promethean animals before that can speak.”
“Were these animals pink and extremely large by any chance?” she asked.
“The one I talked to certainly was.”
“Ye gods. And what, pray, did this pink elephant tell you to do? Come to Baskerville Hall and make a nuisance of yourself?”
“It wasn’t an elephant. It was a giant pig.”
The ancient a. levelled both eyeballs at me.
“A giant pig,” she said. “Do you see it now? Or does it only appear after you’ve had a few?”
It’s bad enough being chaffed by one’s own aunts without having one’s made up aunts weighing in. Next time I adopted a new persona I’d make sure they were an only child in a long line of only children.
“No, I do not see it now. I haven’t seen it since it ran off with my cousin’s fiancée.”
In retrospect that probably wasn’t the best thing to have said. On several levels. It may have been true, but sometimes truth can be open to unfortunate interpretations.
“Which cousin?” asked Lady Julia, her eyes narrowing alarmingly.
I don’t know about you, but I find it difficult to invent Spanish Christian names under duress. And the only Spanish name brave enough to tilt at Lady Julia’s narrowed gaze was Don Quixote.
“My cousin Donald,” I said. “The son of ... my mother’s sister.”
“H’m,” said Lady J, both eyes still the merest of horizontal slits.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, my left hand was suddenly grabbed by Lupin, and I was pulled towards him. I steeled myself for another round of wrestling, but Lupin seemed more interested in my hair. He stood up on the table, and gave the Worcester locks a thorough inspection. I thought it best not to move. I wasn’t sure what Lupin was looking for, but he appeared to find something particularly toothsome and put it in his mouth!
I decided it time to take a brisk step away from the table. But Lupin took umbrage and leaped off the table onto my shoulders, knocking me over. Wrestling ensued, with quite a bit of rolling. It wasn’t exactly Holmes and Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls, but it had its moments. And a fair amount of water. The latter provided by Lady Julia when she emptied the liquid contents of a large vase of flowers over the pair of us.
Lupin squawked and rolled off me, before beetling off to seek refuge on top of a pelmet. I struggled to my feet. I had a left ear full of water and a soaked collar.
“You are certifiable,” said Lady Julia, a fistful of flowers in one hand, a vase in the other. “How you have managed to survive beyond childhood is beyond me.”
I thought about a spirited rejoinder, but I was a chap with water dripping down his neck. And a sore shin where I’d collided with a chair leg.
Thankfully, the door then opened, and in came the cavalry. Though the cavalry’s face dropped the moment she saw Lady Julia.
“Oh, and here comes Lily,” said Lady Julia, her voice ladled with enough sarcasm to float an acerbic battleship. “What a surprise. I am still unsure as to whether you’re his accomplice or his nurse, dear. Why are you no longer dressed in mourning?”
“I’m appearing in Henry’s moving picture this morning,” said Emmeline.
Lady Julia snorted.
“We’d better get going, Roderick,” said Emmeline. “Henry is leaving any moment.”
I couldn’t shoot out the door fast enough.
~
Emmeline and I fled back to my ro
om. I had to change. A detective cannot detect in wet clothes.
Emmeline looked out the window while I towelled myself dry and slipped into a replacement shirt and jacket.
“Does that mean Lupin isn’t a promethean?” asked Emmeline after I’d given her an edited account of the Worcester Lupin struggle on the Reichenbach carpet.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “He’d have known we weren’t alone in the library. And he could have all manner of scars hidden under that fur. He might be assembled from the worst parts of the most fiendish orang-utans in history.”
“Most unlikely, sir,” said Reeves as he helped me with my jacket. “And even if he were, he would still lack the power of speech.”
“You forget the Scotsman, Reeves,” I said.
“From what I have read upon the subject, sir, I believe the Colossus of Blackwater to be somewhat of an anomaly. Will you be requiring your walking boots?”
I sat on the bed while Reeves laced my boots. There’s nothing like freshly ironed shoelaces to put a spring in one’s step.
“I’ve been thinking about tonight, sir.”
“What about tonight, Reeves?”
“It is essential that the rope is kept under continual observation from the moment it is tied to the tree, sir. But it is also essential that there are no unexpected absences from tonight’s dinner party lest the murderer’s suspicions be aroused.”
I could see that Reeves had a point. If Henry, Emmeline and I all absented ourselves from the family trough eyebrows would be raised. And Ida would probably come looking for us — certain that Henry and Emmeline were having a secret assignation.
“You have a plan, Reeves?”
“I do, sir. I shall take the first watch and remain on the cliff top. Sir Henry, Miss Emmeline and yourself should attend dinner and leave separately soon after. I would suggest that you meet in the library, from whence you can leave via the window.”
“I’ll have to change first,” said Emmeline. “I can’t skulk across the moor in crepe and swishing petticoats. And I’ll need walking boots and a cloak. And a blanket if we’re going to be sitting on damp grass.”
“Indeed, miss. It is also essential, sir, that Sir Henry stands down the footmen guarding the external doors. The footman in the hallway would observe the three of you entering the library, and the footman by the back door would observe your usage of the servants’ staircase in outside apparel. Footmen are notorious gossips. The wrong word within hearing of the murderer could endanger everything.”
“I see your point Reeves,” I said. “But what about Selden? I’d feel bad if we came back to the Hall to find everyone eaten.”
“There is nothing in Mr Selden’s past, sir, to suggest he has ever broken into another person’s home. We would be in more danger from Selden than anyone who remained at the Hall.”
“And we’ll have guns, won’t we?” said Emmeline. “I do get to carry one tonight, don’t I?”
Reeves coughed. “I think two guns will be sufficient tonight, miss. One for Sir Henry and one for myself.”
~
Reeves shimmered off to spread the word of tomorrow’s rope scene to the servants, and Emmeline and I ankled downstairs to catch up with Henry and his party before they left for the studio.
The dangling Baskerville-Smythes scene was the only topic of c. on the entire journey to the studio.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Henry?” asked Dr Morrow. “We could dress up two prometheans to look just like you.”
“No,” said Henry. “Our audience expects verisimilitude. Besides, Roderick and I are used to danger.”
“Rather,” I said. “When one’s wrestled crocodiles up and down the Orinoco one becomes inured to danger.”
“Well, I don’t think you should do it, Henry,” said Ida. “Wasn’t it supposed to be Lily swinging from the cliff top?”
“I wouldn’t dream of spoiling Henry’s and Roderick’s fun,” said Emmeline. “But it was kind of you to think of me, Ida. If anyone could tempt me to swing from a rope it would be you.”
I kept a firm hold on Emmeline’s arm for the rest of the journey.
Henry had Tom stop the carriage on the approach to the quarry, so everyone could get out and walk up the hill to the cliff top.
It was a fairly gentle climb to the top. The hill was more of a mound than one of those Alpine affairs. Ida made somewhat of a meal of the climb though, stumbling and clutching progressively tighter to poor Henry. I thought he might have to carry her the last hundred yards.
And I did notice plenty of cover. There weren’t that many trees — a half dozen stunted and wind-blown specimens — but there was a wealth of good sized rocky outcrops and scrubby bushes. And the views were good in all directions. One could see the Hall, the mire, High Dudgeon Farm. No one could creep up on us unseen.
I ventured a little way towards the cliff edge. It looked like some large creature had removed half the hill with a single bite. I could see the studio buildings below and what looked like half of Devonshire spread out towards the horizon.
“Sooner you than me,” said Morrow, appearing beside me. “Are you both sure you want to do this?”
“Can’t wait,” I said.
“I think this rock looks best,” said Henry. “We can loop the rope around it. It’s tall, well-weathered. There are no sharp edges to fray the rope. What do you think, Roderick?”
My one thought was that the cliff looked a dashed sight higher from above than it had done from below. I was standing six feet from the edge and that was close enough.
“Roderick?” repeated Henry.
“What? Oh, yes, it looks an admirable rock to me,” I said.
~
Emmeline and I spent the rest of the morning watching various scenes from The Creature from 20,000 Leagues Under the Quarry being filmed. It all seemed great fun, if a little confusing. Henry seemed to spend most of his time rescuing Ida and Lily from the clutches of assorted Lizard Men and giant octopi. And Ida and Lily spent most of their time screaming, fleeing and tripping over just as it looked as though they might escape.
“I think if I were going on an expedition 20,000 leagues under a quarry I’d wear sensible shoes,” said Emmeline.
“For the fleeing and climbing, of course,” I said. “But I think one would have to pack one’s evening wear. One might encounter a subterranean civilisation and be invited to a ball.”
Emmeline laughed. “Do Lizard Men dance, do you think? They look a little top heavy to me.”
“I suspect their tails would get in the way too.”
“They’d have to hold them off the floor with one hand like you do with a train.”
We managed to have a quiet word with Henry just after luncheon, to pass on Reeves’ additional instructions re: the evening sleuthing. And, once more, Henry tried to persuade Emmeline to reprise her role as the Lizard-Man-Slaying Amazon.
Emmeline declined. “I wouldn’t mind being a Lizard Man, though,” she said.
“Are you sure? The costume’s awfully heavy,” said Henry.
“I could give it a go. With Ida tripping over so much, I wouldn’t have to move that fast.”
I think the costume proved to be a good deal heavier than Emmeline had imagined. She didn’t so much chase Ida, as stagger after her — one slow lurch at a time. In an odd way, it looked more menacing, giving the onlooker the impression that, although not the fleetest of her species, she was an exceedingly heavy and purposeful Lizard Man who hadn’t eaten for several days and was not about to let her next meal escape.
That is until she lurched a little too far, overbalanced, and toppled over, rolling onto her back.
Ida then stopped screaming, and hurried over to the fallen Lizard Man. I thought at first she might be worried that Emmeline had injured herself. That is, until she turned to the camera, smiled broadly, and put her foot on the Lizard Man’s stomach — copying Emmeline’s pose of the other day.
It was a short-lived pose as the Lizar
d Emmie grabbed her foot and pulled. Ida fell over and was grabbed again. There was some screaming — mostly from Ida — and a good deal of wrestling — mostly from Emmeline. Even the intervention of Henry, standing boldly with hands on hips and white-hatted head thrown back, failed to rattle the Lizard Man. Ida screamed louder. Henry shook his fists. And Emmeline shook Ida.
“Cut!” shouted Morrow ... and Stapleford, and T. Everett. Henry and I joined in on the fourth shout.
“Sorry,” said Emmeline, as Henry and I helped her climb out of her Lizard Man costume. “I don’t know what happened. I must have become caught up in the moment. I do apologise, Ida. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“Not at all,” said Ida, her hair — that a moment a go had been up — now unpinned and flopping over her face. “How is your poor fetlock, Lily? That looked like such a heavy fall.”
I almost shouted ‘cut!’ again.
~
Towards the end of the afternoon, I noticed Reeves lurking by a rock at the entrance to the quarry. He showed no inclination to shimmer in our direction so Emmeline and I walked over.
“Something to report, Reeves?” I asked.
“Word of the rope scene has been widely disseminated, sir. During the course of my extensive conversations with the servants this morning, I also learned of several matters that I believe may be germane to the investigation.”
“Speak on, Reeves.”
“Several of the maids reported hearing a woman crying these past two nights, sir. I believe that woman to be Mrs Berrymore.”
“She did faint when she heard Sir Robert was dead,” said Emmeline.
“Indeed, miss. I have also noted a certain redness about her eyes. She appears to be taking the news of Sir Robert’s death considerably harder than the other servants.”
“An emotional type, do you think, Reeves?” I asked.
“Not according to the other servants, sir. They are at a loss to explain it.”
“You don’t think she had ... feelings for Sir Robert?” asked Emmeline. “All that overfamiliarity business?”
“Surely not,” I said.
