The Serpent's Shadow

if he'd sent a message.'

'So—he wasn't thinking rational, you'd say?' The detective's mustache twitched, as if he were a bloodhound that had just sniffed something interesting.

Well, this is certainly an odd conversation. I wonder what Parkening has gotten himself into now? More than his uncle can hush up, if there's a police detective asking questions. 'That would depend entirely on what you think of as 'rational,' ' she temporized. 'Do I think he still knew the difference between right and wrong? Definitely. Do I think he was capable of getting himself from his flat to the hospital and back without losing his way? Obviously, or I would have made sure someone went with him. But do I think he was prepared to treat himself as an invalid? Definitely not—but that was as likely to be from a reluctance to accept an infirmity, however temporary, as from a deficiency in judgment. A man like Simon Parkening,' she added judiciously, 'is unlikely to admit to any sort of weakness.'

The detective nodded, but persisted. 'Assumin' he had a heatstroke, could he have, well, gone off his head after you saw him? Not in any violent way, you understand—just, go a bit barmy, so to speak, and wander off somewhere?'

Good heavens, don't tell me the man's gone missing! 'It's less likely than that he'd simply fall down in a faint somewhere, but it could happen, I suppose,' she replied. 'The last I saw of him, his uncle had taken him in charge and was sending him back to his flat in a cab.'

'And that would be where?' the policeman asked.

Curiouser and curiouser. 'I'm not sure. We don't precisely move in the same social circles, you understand,' she responded, and frowned. 'Piccadilly? Or would that be—no, that's Doctor Greenway. I'm sure he must be in the West End somewhere. Doctor Clayton-Smythe is Sloane Square—well, Mister Parkening isn't a doctor; I know all of the other doctors' addresses of course, but I'm afraid I can't tell you where Mister Parkening lives.'

Piccadilly probably wasn't where Parkening lived, but it was probably the right sort of area for him to be in. If something's wrong, I don't want to immediately deny that I know where he lives. Oh, dear, this is so difficult! How to avoid looking suspicious when I don't know what I might be suspected of!

'Belgravia,' the policeman supplied absently. 'He's got a flat in Belgravia.' He seemed to find Maya's responses perfectly reasonable; she detected a relaxation that hadn't been there a moment before.

Oh, good. At least I'm not a suspect anymore!

'Oh—that makes sense—so handy to his uncle.' Maya smiled cheerfully. 'Although I would never have guessed it; Simon Parkening doesn't strike me as the sort of gentleman for such an artistic neighborhood. It just goes to show how little I know about him, I suppose. Perhaps he has secret yearnings to act, or writes unpublished poetry! I don't suppose you can tell me what all this is about, can you, detective?'

'Seein' as there's no connection with you and Mister Parkening—it seems he's gone missing, miss.' The detective was very good at concealing his thoughts behind that walrus mustache, but Maya saw his eyes peering at her keenly, waiting for her reaction. Fortunately, since she had nothing whatsoever to hide, it was an honest one of surprise.

'Good heavens! Missing? But how? When? Oh, dear. Is Doctor Clayton-Smythe all right?'

'Happens he went out last night, and didn't come home at all, miss,' the detective said with a certain subdued relish, but a very inquisitive and predatory gleam in his blue eyes. 'His man alarmed the police this morning, thinking his master must have met with harm.'

'Oh, no—how horrible!' she exclaimed. 'And certainly if he'd met with an accident, he'd have been taken to his uncle's hospital immediately—oh, heavens!' Her tone took on annoyance as well as concern. 'Oh, these young men will go out on their amusements, no matter what a doctor tells them! I swear to you, if it wasn't for young men behaving foolishly, I wouldn't have half the number of patients I see!'

Now the policeman chuckled, and there was sympathy in his voice. 'I must agree with you, miss. If it wasn't for high-spirited young men, there wouldn't be no need for a quarter of the men on the Force.'

She sighed. 'I can't think what to suggest to you. I suppose there's no chance he could have come over ill and be safely in bed at a friend's flat?'

'We've checked that, miss,' the detective replied, the keen look (which struck Maya as very like that of Mala with a pigeon in view) leaving his eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up a very little, and the hunting look was replaced by a marginally warmer expression. 'None of his friends have seen him. We're going back over his movements, and—' He hesitated, and then had the grace to look embarrassed, '—well, there was some things said about you in his man's hearing. That's what brought me here, just on the chance that you might have had some— contact with him.'

Maya sighed again, but now with unfeigned exasperation. 'Mister Parkening does not approve of females being anything other than ornamental, I suspect,' she said shortly. 'I shall be charitable and diplomatic, you understand, but he has been something less than polite to me within the hospital. Although he is not a doctor and has no authority there, he seems to have the opinion that his relationship with Doctor Clayton-Smythe