«Have you had many answers to your advertisement, Mr Box?»
The charcoal swooped and scratched over the virginal paper.
«You are the first.»
The horse’s head, caught swiftly and surely. She was rather good.
«Then perhaps we can make this a… private arrangement.»
«Perhaps.»
Miss Bella had caught the heavy fullness of the spelter lancer’s thigh with one, decisive stroke of the charcoal. With equal boldness I now crossed the room towards her and took hold of her drawing hand. I guided it to the paper, moving myself until I was almost pressed against her back. She did not demur as I slid the charcoal over the surface of the paper, shading the lancer’s legs and bottom with what I knew to be forthright sensuousness.
«You are doing very nicely, Miss Pok,» I cooed. «You have an extraordinary grasp of military anatomy.»
I carried on with the drawing without taking my eyes from the figurine.
«A bottom is a bottom, Mr Box,» she said, «whether a soldier’s or a parlour-maid’s.»
I suppressed a smile. «True, I suppose. Tell me, are you town or country born?»
I pressed myself closer to her. There could be no mistaking the broom-handle in my trousers. With a slight dip of her lovely head Bella Pok moved away from me a little and released her hand from my grip. «I am a farmer’s daughter, Mr Box,» she murmured.
I held up my hands in supplication and backed away.
Turning in her seat, she gave a little gasp. I looked to where she looked and saw that she was staring at the glass eye I had placed near the lancer.
«How ghoulish!» she cried, with her musical laugh.
«Isn’t it?» I said. «Shall I put it away?»
«No, no. I am not so squeamish as you might think. But it does, as they say about the
She turned back to me, grinning and presented the drawing board. «Well, then. What is the verdict?» she said.
«Guilty!» I cried.
She gathered up her things. «Is there any hope for me?»
I folded my arms and smiled. «I sentence you to commence your classes on Monday next. And may the Lord have mercy upon your»
I stopped very suddenly. My attention had become riveted on the newspaper that Miss Bella had brought through into the studio. I plucked it from her grasp. «Mr Box?» she said with concern. «Are you quite all right?»
In a column adjacent to my advertisement was a small item of news.
BRITISH DIPLOMAT MURDERED
Terrible discovery in Naples.
A body found in the harbour at Naples on Monday last has been positively identified as that of Jocelyn Utterson Poop of His Majesty’s Diplomatic Service. Mr Poop, who was thirty-three years of age, had been stationed in the Italian city for over four years. The Neapolitan police say that the unfortunate man had been the victim of a murderous attack, leaving his skull crushed, probably by a stick or some such blunt instrument…
«Mr Box?
«I’m very sorry, my dear,» I said quietly. «The lesson is over for today.»
5. A Curious Undertaking
«NO clue?»
Joshua Reynolds, sitting in his accustomed place on the pan, raised his little hands, palm upwards. «The Italian police have it down as a robbery gone awry. We shall have to wait and see. The body has been packed in ice and arrives tomorrow.»
«Poor devil,» I said, leaning back against the pleasantly chill wall of the lavatory. «Saw Naples and died, you might say.»
«So much for Poop,» said Reynolds glumly. «Have you made any progress with the dead professors?»
I thrust my hands into my trouser pockets and kicked idly at the cubicle wall. «Some, I think. They were both concerned with the same branch of Geological Physics and had known each other of old. In addition, there was something odd about Sash’s funeral.»
Reynolds frowned. «Not much, all told.»
«I had precious little chance to investigate Professor Sash’s effects,» I continued. «So I plan to return for a… root about.»
The little man gave a sigh. «How I envy you your adventures, Lucifer. What is left for me but a dull retirement spent in the cultivation of ornamental carp?»
«One man’s fish is another man’s
«Ye… es. Now then, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.»
So saying, he pulled at the toilet chain and, with a screeching, grinding sound, the wall behind me rose up and another lavatory bowl glided into the room.
Sitting on it was a gangling young man in quite the most horrible piece of tailoring I’d ever seen. The sleeves of his suit crept over the knuckles of slim, feminine hands with which he was kneading his hat like a widow with her rosary.
«Mr Box,» said Reynolds, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to his reddened nose. «This is Mr Unmann.»
The blond man shot a hand to his crown in order to doff his hat and then remembered it was doffed already. A stupid smile made his nose crinkle in the middle.
«Sorry,» he began.
«Whatever for?» I asked.
«Oh, sorry. Don’t really know why I said that. It’s a great honour to meet you at last, Mr Box. Cretaceous Unmann.»
«Cretaceous?»
«Yes,» he muttered, looking down at his hands. «Fact is, Papa was an amateur dinosaur-hunter. Never got much further than the Isle of Wight but, hey-ho. Took it upon himself to name me in honour of his favourite epoch. Sorry.»
I smiled pityingly. «I suppose it could have been worse,» I said. «He could have named you after his favourite dinosaur.»
«Ha, ha! Yes!» Unmann exploded in a shrill laugh. «
Thankfully, Reynolds cut in at this juncture. «Mr Unmann has been lined up to succeed Poop in the Naples office.»
«I see. Remarkably expeditious of you.»
«Yes. Shocking business,» bleated Unmann. «I knew old Jocelyn. Sometimes acted as his deputy. Dreadful, dreadful.»
He looked down at his squashed hat and then put it to one side of the lavatory bowl.
The dwarf handed a buff folder to me.
«Someone fired his rooms,» said Unmann, miserably. «But those few fragments escaped.»
«Our people in Naples sent them straight over with Mr Unmann,» said Reynolds.
