I heard a clatter from within. 'Mr Barrington-Oddy's returned,' I shouted.
'Thanks.' Hobbes's voice replied from behind a tall, dark dresser, glittering with expensive looking knick-knacks. 'I'll just be a minute.'
I went back down the steps, strolling towards the cars, my heart thumping, knowing I'd dropped Phil right in it, convinced Hobbes would now see him for what he was. Yet, I already felt guilty, and might have turned back and retrieved the card had Hobbes not appeared in the doorway, flattening my good intentions under his heavy boots. I'd really done it, for good or ill; I half hoped he wouldn't notice it.
Wilkes was assisting Mr Barrington-Oddy from the taxi as Hobbes came alongside and introduced himself. Barrington-Oddy shook his hand without even flinching, obviously a man with great stiffness in his upper lip. He was very tall, very thin and very grey, wore a heavy, dark suit with a waistcoat and regimental tie and I wasn't at all surprised to learn he was a retired barrister, though barristers are rarely portrayed with angry-looking blisters around their mouths and noses.
When Hobbes introduced me, I didn't warrant a handshake, just a curt nod.
Barrington-Oddy, possessing a clipped, posh voice, the sort rarely heard except in parody, addressed Hobbes. 'I trust you will brook no delay in apprehending the miscreants. In the meantime, shall we go inside? I find the clammy chill this time of year to be exceedingly bad for my constitution.'
Hobbes and I followed him inside, Wilkes taking up his position by the car. He grinned sarcastically, while I smirked, glad he was being left outside in the cold. As Hobbes shut the front door behind us, I was astonished how gloomy it became.
'Take a seat,' said Barrington-Oddy, entering a room, turning on the lights.
It was, I guessed, a drawing room, impressive in an oppressive way. Everything looked heavy and fussy. Dark panelling lined the walls, on which hung dark portraits of stern, humourless individuals in rich, dark clothing. An old black clock, intricately carved with grotesque demon shapes ticked on the mantelpiece, looking both fascinating and repulsive. The only thing in the room I could admire without condition was the carpet, similar to the rug in the entrance hall, though even richer and heavier. A sad fire glowed in the grate and I was grateful when Barrington-Oddy stirred it with a poker and placed a couple of chunky logs on top; the place certainly needed some heat. Shivering, I almost envied Wilkes who was, no doubt, lounging comfortably in his police car. I sat next to Hobbes on a solid, leather-backed chair in front of a solid, leather-covered table. Nothing in the room looked even vaguely Roman, with the exception of Barrington-Oddy's nose.
'I apologise. My man, Errol, would normally have attended to the fire but he's been called away on urgent family business.' Barrington-Oddy, straightening up, shut the drawing room door and relaxed into a deep, dark armchair.
I wished I'd positioned myself a little closer to the heat as I had to keep clamping my jaws together to stop my teeth rattling. Hobbes never appeared to notice the cold.
'Right, Inspector,' Barrington-Oddy began, his tone suggesting he was in charge, 'I suppose I ought to inform you of what happened. I might as well, as I'm sure I've already told most of your colleagues.'
'If you would be so good, sir,' said Hobbes.
'Let me begin. I intend residing in Sorenchester until the New Year while researching a book concerning the influence of Roman law on aspects of modern English jurisprudence.'
Jumping at the mention of Roman law, I glanced significantly at Hobbes, who ignored me.
'I chose this place,' Barrington-Oddy continued, 'because the local museum has a number of fascinating artefacts and documents that are proving exceedingly valuable.'
The museum connection had reappeared and I wasted another significant glance on Hobbes. Somehow, I felt as if I was trying to build a jigsaw puzzle from a handful of pieces and no idea of the overall picture. Yet, everything had to fit together.
'I was transcribing some notes I'd made last week and was indexing the details when the doorbell rang,' said Barrington-Oddy. 'I waited, expecting Errol to answer and when it rang again I recalled he was absent. I was somewhat annoyed as I dislike being interrupted when at work, yet I thought I ought to go. I rather wish I hadn't.'
'I'm not surprised, sir,' Hobbes said, 'you've had a most unpleasant experience.'
'Most unpleasant indeed. When I opened the door, two masked figures were standing there and before I could react they sprang on me. A pad impregnated, so I am informed, with chloroform was clamped over my face, the world began spinning and that is all I can remember until I awoke in the entrance hall. As soon as I felt able, I contacted the police and made a quick surveillance of the house. I am not aware of anything being taken. However, that cabinet,' he pointed towards a mahogany and glass monstrosity in the corner, 'has been broken into. As far as I can tell, nothing else was touched. The two men had gone.'
'Thank you, sir,' Hobbes said gravely. 'A most succinct account. Now, sir, could you describe your attackers?'
'Well,' said Barrington-Oddy with a frown, 'I didn't have long enough to form anything other than the slightest impression of them. As I said, they wore masks, or rather, one wore something like a balaclava with eyeholes and the other had a brown scarf around his face and a trilby hat pulled down low. I can't recall anything further.'
'Any idea of their sizes or ages?' Hobbes asked.
'Sorry, not much. Though I believe neither was as tall as I, the taller of the two, the one wearing the scarf, appeared somewhat skinny. That's really your lot, except, yes, there was a faint smell like flowers before they got the pad over my nose. They took me entirely by surprise, I regret to say.'
'Any idea how long you were unconscious, sir?'
'No, though it can't have been long because I'd just prepared a pot of coffee and it was still warm when I came back in here. I took a sip because of an unpleasant taste in my mouth, which felt as dry as water biscuits.'
'Do you have any idea what was taken, sir?'
'Not really. There are a number of antiques in the cabinet but I'm not so familiar with them that I can identify what has been removed, though there may be a space where there wasn't one before. Errol could probably tell you, because he dusted in here. Unfortunately he's in Jamaica.'
'What about the house's owner?'
'She would probably know,' said Barrington-Oddy. 'Unfortunately, she's in Switzerland, I believe.'
'That is unfortunate,' said Hobbes. 'Do you happen to know how I can contact her? And what her name might be?'
'It's Mrs Jane Ilionescu. I don't know the woman – I'm renting through an agent. The number's on this.' Mr Barrington-Oddy reached into a drawer and handed a card to Hobbes.
All through the interview I'd kept quiet but I ventured a question. 'Is the owner a foreigner then? I mean with a surname like that?'
'I believe she is English,' said Barrington-Oddy. 'She married a foreign gentleman, now unfortunately deceased. If you require any further information, I would advise contacting the agent.'
'Thank you, sir.' Hobbes nodded, rising to his feet. 'Now, would you mind if I take a closer look at the cabinet?'
'Please do,' said Barrington-Oddy. 'My daily routine has been entirely disrupted already. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. I doubt, though, that I will be of much help. I am not, I regret, an observant man. I focus only on what is important to my work.'
'Very good, sir,' Hobbes said, approaching the display cabinet as if stalking a deer. He squatted onto his haunches, creeping forward, examining the carpet, sniffing the air and apparently listening.
I sat still, glad the fire had begun to compete with the damp chill. Brancastle was a grand old house in its way, yet I hated it and couldn't blame Mrs Whatsaname for going away. Mr Barrington-Oddy, lighting a pipe, sank back into his armchair, eyes closed, hands folded over his stomach, almost as if he'd fallen asleep. A heavy cloud billowed about him, curling tendrils reaching out into the room.
Hobbes, unfo
lding into his usual hunched stance as he reached the cabinet, opened its door, peering at the damaged lock. 'This was forced using a knife with a broad blade. I can't see any sign of fingerprints. Your man Errol obviously dusts well and the burglars wore gloves, which isn't surprising, as it's winter. Hallo, hallo, hallo. What's this?'
Frowning with concentration, leaning forward, he plucked at the cabinet, close to where the knife had been forced in. I was astonished how delicate and precise he could be, although, when he raised his fingers to the light, I could see nothing.
'What is it?'
'Some fibres were caught where the wood's splintered. I'll bet they came off a glove. A black one: woollen.' Dropping them into a polythene bag, he sniffed. 'Hmm. There's a faint hint of flowers.'
I couldn't smell anything other than Barrington-Oddy's suffocating pipe smoke that, having formed a dense layer at head height, was stinging my eyes and making my nose run.
'Two people,' said Hobbes, staring at the carpet, 'one tall, wearing shoes with a smooth sole and a bit of a heel. He was light of build, soft treading, and wore black woollen gloves smelling of flowers, a scarf and a trilby. The other one was of medium build, wearing new trainers and a balaclava with eyeholes. Well, if I see anyone fitting those descriptions, I'll be sure to arrest them.'
The doorbell rang. Barrington-Oddy's eyes opened, holding a momentary look of concern, unsurprising in the circumstances. 'I wonder who it could be.'
'Could you get it, Andy?' asked Hobbes.
PC Wilkes stood at the door. 'Sir!' he called across the hall. 'I've been ordered back to the station and thought I'd better tell you. Hallo.' He glanced down by his feet. 'What's this?' Stooping, he picked up Phil's card.
I'd nearly forgotten about it. A sudden cold feeling gripped my stomach and again, for a moment, I wished I hadn't done it.
'What is it, George?' Hobbes walked towards us.
'A business card, sir. The name on it is Philip Waring of the Sorenchester and District Bugle. Isn't he the journalist who's gone missing? I wonder what he was doing here.'
'I've never heard of the chap,' said Barrington-Oddy, from the drawing room.
Hobbes took the card with a glance that made my stomach leap in terror. Had my little ploy backfired?
'Perhaps,' said PC Wilkes, 'it was dropped during the struggle with Mr Barrington-Oddy. Perhaps this Waring was one of the men who did it.'
'Precisely what I was thinking, constable,' said Barrington-Oddy, approaching, looking at the card in Hobbes's hand. 'It's screwed up and grubby: hardly what a chap would leave if he desired an appointment.'
Saying nothing, my pulse racing, my breath coming in rapid gasps, I turned away so it wouldn't be obvious, trying to feel triumphant that my scheme was working. I'd dropped Phil right into the shit and Ingrid would be mine. Yet, somehow, I felt no pleasure. Now I'd really got him, confusion overwhelmed me and, though part of me was cheering, another part cowered in fear of discovery. I made a decision to dispose of his other cards as soon as possible.
In addition, my conscience was insisting that I stop right there, confessing my little ruse before any harm came of it. Yet, if I did, I'd be a laughing stock to the police, Hobbes would be furious and I wondered whether I might even have committed a crime. Besides, I daren't let Barrington-Oddy know; there'd always been something about a barrister's eyes that gave me the creeps.
'Very interesting,' said Hobbes. 'Well spotted, Wilkes. Now you'd better be getting back to the station.' He turned towards Barrington-Oddy. 'We'll be on the lookout for Philip Waring. There is a good chance he can help us with this investigation. And I'll be in contact with the house agent to find out what's been taken. Good afternoon, sir.'
He shook Mr Barrington-Oddy's hand and we left him framed in the doorway of a house that might have featured in a gothic horror film. I was glad to be out of it, glad to leave his fierce barrister's eyes behind. Wilkes, saluting, slipped into his car and headed back to Sorenchester. I expected we'd follow him back to the station. Instead, on leaving the gardens, we turned left.
'Where are we going?'
'To have a word with the next door neighbour. The evidence suddenly seems to be pointing at Philip Waring, doesn't it?'
'Apparently,' I said, 'though I don't think we should jump to conclusions.'
'Oh,' said Hobbes quietly, 'I never do that. However, I thought you'd be overjoyed your suspicions appear to be well-founded.'
I nodded, feeling sick – and not from his driving. We'd only gone a couple of hundred yards when he turned left down a narrow, rutted lane, pulling up next to an angular stone building a few bumpy moments later.
'This,' he said, 'is the Olde Toll House. Of course, it was never really a tollhouse. It's a deliberate misspelling, because people were alarmed by its original name.'
'Why? What's was it called before?'
'The Olde Troll House. We're going to have a quick word with the Olde Troll himself. His name's Leroy but he likes to be called Rocky.'
'We're going to see a troll?'
'Not just any old troll.' He grinned. 'Rocky is a friend of mine, so be careful what you say; he's a little sensitive about his appearance.'
I didn't know what to think. Life had not prepared me for meeting trolls. Still, come to think of it, life hadn't prepared me for meeting ghouls either and I'd got away with it: just about, anyway.
'This way.' Hobbes, springing from the car, beckoned me through the deepening gloom. I followed, my breath curling like dragon smoke in the clammy air as he headed towards an open porch, where a king-sized pair of green wellingtons stood beside a heavy walking stick. Though the bright red door was closed, someone had pinned a note to it, saying, 'I'm in.' A great chain hung from the ceiling. Hobbes pulled it and a low chime I could feel through my feet bonged through the structure. There were a few seconds of vibration and then silence. The door opened.
'It's a bit late for trick or treating,' said a guttural voice. A face, pale and round as the full moon before age had cratered its surface appeared, smiling, from the blackness within. ''ello, 'obbes. 'ow the devil are you old boy?'
'Pretty well, Rocky.' Hobbes shook his hand. 'This is Andy who's helping me with some cases.'
'Delighted to meet you, laddie,' Rocky beamed. 'Now come on into the parlour. I've just made a pot of tea.'
We followed him into a small room, where a cheerful fire made the shadows dance. It felt so much cosier than Barrington-Oddy's dank study.
'Please make yourselves comfortable,' said Rocky, 'and I'll get some light.' Poking a taper into the fire, he lit an oil lamp, placing it on a low sideboard.
Only then did I get a proper sight of him and gasped, because he looked so normal. That is, he would have passed for a rather chubby, human male, six foot tall, broad, bald, clean shaven, wearing well-worn khaki corduroy trousers, a checked shirt and a blue cardigan with a hole in the left elbow. I guessed he was in his mid-sixties.
'I'll fetch the tea,' he said, leaving the parlour through a door opposite to where we'd entered.
'He doesn't look like a troll,' I whispered.
'Shhh,' said Hobbes. 'As I said, he's sensitive about his appearance. Please don't bring it up again.'
I shut up, wondering whether Hobbes was having another joke at my expense, like with the so-called gnome, yet, when Rocky returned with the tea tray, there was something odd about him, though it was difficult to say quite what. His movements weren't right, his arms and legs not bending quite as they should have, while his shovel hands were huge, even bigger than Hobbes's great paws, though hairless and pale. When he handed me a mug of tea I discovered they were as smooth as marble. And, despite the roaring fire in the grate, as cold as marble, too.
'There are biscuits if you want some. I've got a tin of them 'obnobs, or there's crumpets for toasting, if you'd prefer.'
'Just a cup of tea,' said Hobbes. 'Oh, go on then, let's have a crumpet.'
Rocky returned to the kitchen, coming back carrying another
tray with a full butter-dish, a smoke-blackened toasting fork and a plate of crumpets. A delicious, warm aroma filled the little room as he toasted them at the fire, while Hobbes informed him about the recent crimes, culminating in the attack on Barrington-Oddy.
'D'you know Mr Barrington-Oddy?' Hobbes asked.
Rocky shook his head. 'I've seen 'im out in 'is car once or twice but 'aven't spoken to 'im. 'e keeps 'is self to 'is self.'
'What about the owner?'
Rocky buttered a crumpet, passing it to me on a plate before answering. 'I don't know the missus too well. She's much younger than 'e was and I reckon she only married the old boy for 'is money. Mind you, 'e 'ad a lot and no one to share it with. I know 'e thought 'e'd made a good bargain and, to be fair, she stuck to it and made 'is last years 'appy ones. I knew the old man well enough. 'e came 'ere after the last war, did old Nenea. Poor as a church mouse 'e was then, though 'e 'ad a way with business and was pretty well set up in the end. 'e never married 'till 'is declining years.'
'D'you know where he came from?' Hobbes asked.
'Nenea? Yes of course. Now where was it? 'e used to call it the old country. It was where Dracula came from, though 'e said 'e wasn't from that part. Romania, that's it.'
'Interesting,' said Hobbes. 'Now, have you seen any suspicious strangers around these parts in the last day or two?'
Rocky handed him a crumpet.
I'd already sunk my teeth into mine. It was warm, the butter dripping from it like honey from a honeycomb. Hobbes took a bite. 'Excellent,' he pronounced.
'Strangers?' Rocky scratched his head with a sound like two pebbles rubbing together. 'Well, there was a car as went speeding off down the lane this morning. Blue it was. One of them German ones. An Audi. Old Fred in the village, 'is son used to 'ave one like it. Nice car. It 'ad two folks in it and they was goin' real fast so as I couldn't recognise 'em and I 'adn't seen the car round 'ere before.'
Inspector Hobbes and the Blood: A Fast-paced Comedy Crime Fantasy (unhuman) Page 16
