by Marian Orton
Mr Blossom nodded and then hesitated.
“Yes,” he admitted a moment later. “The thought did occur to me, but I’ve dismissed it. I don’t think Joey would be capable of such a thing. It’s true that he’s no angel and that he’s got his faults, but I don’t think he could commit a theft like this. And anyway, why would he want to steal a music box? It has no value for him at all. He was very surprised when he learnt what had happened.”
Mr Blossom pondered something in silence and then added, as if to convince himself, “No, it’s not possible. Joey couldn’t have done it.”
“No, no, of course not,” Mr Nosegoode agreed quickly.
They reached the front of the workshop and stopped. The arrival of the famous detective made quite an impression on Joey. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the master clockmaker to ask such an illustrious figure for help. So, when this illustrious figure reached out his hand to shake Joey’s, the boy blushed deeply.
“Have you noticed anything suspicious?” Mr Nosegoode asked him.
“No.”
The detective cast a glance around them.
“We’re very lucky that the street is deserted. Otherwise we’d soon have a crowd of onlookers on our hands, and that’s something I’d rather avoid. I’m a bit worried about the woman in the window across the street, who is definitely paying far too much attention to our humble selves… But there is little to be done about it. We can put up with one spectator.”
With these words, he opened his briefcase, pulled out a powerful magnifying glass and went up to the door. He looked at it briefly and said, “The thief wasn’t very inventive. An ordinary crowbar was used to break the lock. The mark is very clear. But a crowbar mark is not enough. We must find other clues.”
He lifted the magnifying glass up to his eyes again and began to examine the door carefully.
“Yes…” he muttered. “Yes, we must find other clues. Ah, here’s one: a piece of thread! A black silk thread… It’s caught on a splinter made by the crowbar, so it must have been left behind by the thief. I already have an idea of where it might have come from. But, for now, let’s put it in an envelope. Maybe this thread will lead us to a solution…”
Mr Nosegoode unhooked the thread carefully, placed it inside an envelope and went back to examining the door.
“I have reason to suspect that the thief didn’t leave any fingerprints,” he said. “Let’s check if I’m correct. Mr Blossom, when was the last time this door was washed?”
“Joey washed it yesterday after we closed up,” the clockmaker answered. “We do a thorough clean every Wednesday.”
“Very good. This means that we should find only your fingerprints and Joey’s, and possibly the thief’s. We’ll know in a minute if this is true.”
The detective leant over his briefcase and took out a small box, a brush and a roll of tape. The box contained white powder, with which Ambrosius dusted the door in a few spots. He then swept these spots with the brush and examined them under the magnifying glass.
“I see only two kinds of fingerprints,” he remarked. “I’m sure these are yours and your apprentice’s, but it won’t hurt to preserve them, just in case.”
He pressed pieces of tape against the areas he had dusted, then peeled the tape away and put the pieces in another envelope. An exact image of the fingerprints was preserved on the tape.
“Now we can go inside,” he announced. “I’ll lead the way, if I may.”
Mr Nosegoode stepped over the threshold, followed by Mr Blossom and Joey. Cody slipped in behind them, sat down by the wall and continued to follow everything diligently.
After casting his eyes all around the workshop, Ambrosius concentrated his attention on the floor. He must have noticed something interesting because he crouched down and gazed intently at one spot.
“Mr Blossom.” He turned to the clockmaker. “Is this footprint yours?”
Mr Blossom crouched down next to the detective. He looked at the shoe print visible on the freshly polished floor and shook his head. “No, I don’t own shoes like that.”
“What about you, young man?”
Joey said it wasn’t his footprint either.
“In that case, we can conclude that it must be the thief’s. Let’s copy it. It might come in handy.”
Mr Nosegoode opened his notebook and sketched the pattern of the sole.
“And now,” he said, closing his notebook, “could you tell me precisely where the stolen music box was standing yesterday?”
Mr Blossom pointed straight ahead. “It was over there, on that shelf.”
“It’s not a particularly noticeable spot,” Mr Nosegoode remarked. Not taking his eyes off the floor, he walked over to the shelf. He stopped in front of it, swept it with his eyes and reached out his hand to grab something.
“Does this belong to you, Mr Blossom?” he asked.
In his open palm was a matchbox.
The clockmaker checked his pockets.
“No, my matches are right here.”
Mr Nosegoode looked over at Joey.
“I… I don’t carry matches at all. I… I don’t smoke,” replied the apprentice, visibly flustered.
“Well, this means the thief has left us another souvenir,” said Ambrosius, pretending not to notice Joey’s discomfort. “It’s a valuable one, too,” he added, examining something written on the box.
Nobody could observe what that something was because Mr Nosegoode quickly put the matchbox into his briefcase.
“We should be able to find more traces,” he said. He looked around again and exclaimed, “Here’s another!”
He bent over and picked up a spent match from the floor. He glanced back down.
“Only one?” He considered this for a moment. “Interesting, very interesting…”
The match followed the box into the briefcase.
Mr Nosegoode wandered around the workshop for a while, looking here and there, but he didn’t find anything else. At last, he sat down in a chair and declared, “Now I’d like to ask both of you a few questions.”
Mr Blossom and Joey also sat down. Cody pricked up his ears, and the old detective began the questioning.
“Can you please tell me if there was anyone else present when the chemist came in with the music box?”
“No,” came a decisive answer.
“Did anyone else express any interest in it later?”
“Yes,” the master and his apprentice answered at the same time.
Mr Nosegoode shifted anxiously.
“Who?” he asked.
“A man with a black beard,” the clockmaker said. “A stranger, not from these parts. He came here yesterday and asked me to replace his watch glass. When I got down to work, he started looking around the shelves as if he were in a museum, not in a clockmaker’s workshop. Then I heard his voice: ‘Excuse me, is this toy for sale?’ I looked up and saw him pointing to the music box. ‘No, it’s not,’ I answered. ‘The owner dropped it off to be repaired.’ To which he said, ‘That’s too bad. I’m interested in these kinds of things, and I like to buy them when I can.’ That’s what he said. Yesterday I didn’t pay the least bit of attention to his words, but now… Do you think it’s him?”
“It’s far too early to think anything,” the detective answered evasively.
Although this piece of information about Blackbeard did not appear to make a very strong impression on Mr Nosegoode, it had a huge effect on Cody. The dog was triumphant. He stretched out his tail proudly. Seeking Ambrosius’s eyes, he seemed to be saying, “Well, you see, I was right! I wasn’t deceived by that fake beard. I can’t be deceived so easily!”
But Ambrosius wasn’t paying any attention to Cody.
“Apart from this stranger, did anybody else seem interested in the music box?” he continued.
Mr Blossom scratched his forehead. “I don’t think so…” he said, trying to remember. “I don’t think so…”
“One last question: apart from you and Joey
, who knew that the music box had been fixed yesterday?”
“Only the chemist.”
“When did you tell him?”
“Yesterday afternoon. He sent his nephew to check on it. I told the boy that the music box was ready, and he was very glad to hear it. ‘My uncle can hardly wait,’ he said as he was leaving. But the chemist never came. If only he had come yesterday, this would never have happened… And now what? No doubt he’ll come today. What am I going to say to him? That his music box has been stolen?”
“You don’t need to worry,” the detective said calmly. “I’m going to be talking to Mr Swallowtail very shortly, and I will inform him myself about the theft. I will also reassure him that he will soon have his music box back.”
“Thank you so much.”
Mr Nosegoode got up. Closing his briefcase, he continued, “It’s only a matter of time before the thief is identified. The guilty person left far too many traces. All I’m missing is the key to this mystery. I’m hoping to find that key at the chemist’s, which is where I’m going next.”
He said goodbye and left the workshop with Cody.
Once they were out on the street, the dog burst out, “Really, Ambrosius! I don’t understand you. What do you mean by ‘It’s only a matter of time before the thief is identified’? What is there to think about? We know who the thief is already.”
“We do?”
“Of course. It’s crystal clear who stole the music box.”
“Is it now? Not to me.”
“To me it is.”
“I’m afraid your nose has let you down,” Ambrosius replied.
“Don’t you joke about my nose!” Cody said in an offended tone. “You know very well how useful it has proved in the past. And I do know who the thief is. In fact, you don’t need a nose for that – you just need a head.”
Ambrosius smiled indulgently.
“Oh, Cody, Cody… You’re too hasty in your judgements. This case is not as simple as you seem to think. But I’d rather not talk about it until later. Especially since we have a good reason to be silent.”
“What reason? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look behind you!”
Cody glanced back – and shivers ran down his spine. Walking just a few steps behind them was… Blackbeard!
THE STORY OF THE MUSIC BOX
The Pelican Pharmacy was located in an old townhouse. The decorative sign on the front of the building was shaded by centuries-old lime trees at the edge of the pavement. It was under one of these trees that Mr Nosegoode had stopped and, pretending to tie a shoelace, cast a glance behind him. The bearded man had also stopped.
“He’s still tailing us,” Ambrosius whispered.
“I’m not surprised,” Cody muttered in reply, and both of them headed for the door to the pharmacy.
Mr Boniface Swallowtail was preparing gout ointment in a mortar when the bell on the front door tinkled.
“Welcome, Inspector!” he said brightly, straightening up from his work. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Not an illness, I hope?”
It was only now that the old detective realized his mission was not exactly a happy one. How was he to tell this nice, friendly man, who looked after his health and called him “Inspector”, that he had such unpleasant news?
“We’ve come to see you about a rather troublesome matter,” he began, searching for the right words.
Mr Swallowtail put away the mortar and pestle, adjusted his glasses and looked enquiringly at Mr Nosegoode. The detective’s words had aroused his curiosity so much that he didn’t even notice the bearded face pressed up against the shop window. It disappeared only a moment later, but not before the detective and his dog had noticed it; they stealthily exchanged a glance.
“Our visit has to do with your music box,” the detective continued.
“My music box? I’m sorry, but how do you know about my music box?”
“From Mr Blossom.”
The chemist furrowed his brow. He was beginning to guess the truth.
“Has… has something bad happened?” he asked anxiously.
Mr Nosegoode nodded.
“It’s been stolen, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it has.”
Mr Swallowtail’s face fell.
“But who on earth could steal it?” he burst out. “Nobody outside my family knew that the…” He stopped, realizing he’d said too much.
“At the moment, I can’t answer this question,” the detective replied, “but I can reassure you that the one responsible will be caught. I’ll do my best – but I need you to help me. I’m guessing there’s a secret of some kind attached to the music box. I don’t know what it is – but you do. The thief knew it too. Understanding this secret will be crucial…”
Mr Swallowtail took off his glasses and carefully wiped the lenses. He put the glasses back on, looked straight into Ambrosius’s eyes and said, “I’m going to help you. I will tell you the secret, although it may seem ridiculous. I have to say I’m not sure what to think of it myself.”
He gestured for Mr Nosegoode to make himself comfortable in one of the armchairs and came out from behind the counter to join him. Without waiting for an invitation, Cody curled up on the rug and pricked up his ears.
“The story I’m going to tell you,” the chemist began, “goes back to the time of my grandfather. He too lived in this house, and he too was a chemist – and, according to family tales, a real oddball. He devoted the greater part of his life to searching for a miraculous cure which would bring him everlasting fame. He died, however, without achieving his goal. The last sign of his eccentricity was one little paragraph in his will, which caused a great stir among all the members of the family. It referred to some treasure which my grandfather had supposedly left to his descendants. ‘Look for it yourselves,’ he wrote. ‘The one who follows my path will find it.’
“You can just imagine,” the chemist continued, “what happened after the will was read out. They nearly turned the house upside down. But to no avail: they didn’t find the treasure. The search was renewed many times afterwards, always with the same result. Ultimately, all the inheritors came to the conclusion that there had never been any treasure and that the old man had simply played a practical joke on the family. My father, who told me the whole story, shared this opinion. Years and years went by and the treasure was forgotten – until memories of those tales suddenly came flooding back. About a month ago, I was flipping through some old medical books which I had inherited from my grandfather, and in one of them I came across this note.”
Mr Swallowtail reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, produced a yellowed piece of paper covered with handwriting and handed it to Mr Nosegoode. Ambrosius lifted it up to his eyes and – for Cody’s benefit – read the contents out in a low voice: “‘Hark, whoever you are! I have left a treasure, and I am now bequeathing it to you. Let it be a reward to you for reading these wise books. A dancing girl will show you the way to this treasure.’”
“So it’s true after all!” Mr Nosegoode declared. He wanted to add something, but the chemist took up his story again.
“Yes, this note seemed to confirm that the mention of treasure in the will wasn’t a joke,” he continued. “But it also posed a new challenge: this ‘dancing girl’. Who was this girl? Where could she be found? I’d probably still be trying to puzzle it out if it weren’t for a coincidence. Last week, my daughter and I went up to the attic. We were looking for something among all the old junk, Jill in one corner and me in another. Suddenly I heard her calling, ‘Dad! Take a look at this beautiful dancer!’ I got a funny feeling. I went over and saw Jill holding an old music box that had been kicking around the attic for years. When I took a look at it – when I saw the porcelain dancer on top – the ‘dancing girl’ ceased to be a mystery. I had her right in front of me. But soon a new problem presented itself: what to do to make the music box break its silence. Because no matter how hard I tried to win
d it or tap at it, it was silent as if spellbound. I concluded that the mechanism was broken and needed to be repaired. That same day, I took it to Mr Blossom, whose talent and diligence I greatly respect. You already know the rest.”
The chemist fell silent and appeared lost in thought. His furrowed brow confirmed that what he was thinking about wasn’t pleasant. And no wonder – great fortune had been within his grasp, but it had passed him by.
Mr Nosegoode was the first to break the silence.
“Your story,” he said, “provides a key link in the chain of my investigations. I finally know the motive for the theft. I know why the thief stole a seemingly insignificant toy – but I still don’t know who the thief is. That’s why I need to ask you some more questions. Can you tell me who – apart from you – knew about the treasure, the note you had found and the music box?”
The chemist answered without hesitation.
“My whole family knew about them. That’s to say, my wife, my daughter, my son and my nephew.”
“You didn’t mention it to anyone else by any chance?”
“No.”
“But could someone have overheard your conversations?”
“Overheard our conversations?” The chemist paused. “Yes, I suppose so. We talked about it quite freely. Next to an open window, in the garden…”
“Then we can assume that any of your tenants could have known about the treasure,” Mr Nosegoode said. “May I have their names?”
“The Broomes, the Butterleys, the Hummings—” Mr Swallowtail began listing them.
“The Hummings?” the detective interrupted him. “I think I’ve already heard this name somewhere today. I wonder where…”
“It must have been at the clockmaker’s. Young Joey Humming is Mr Blossom’s apprentice and…”
The chemist broke off and looked at the detective wide-eyed, as if he had unexpectedly made a great discovery.
