"I do indeed," said Roberta. "It saves a tremendous amount of time."
"It'll never catch on," growled the professor. "Trains going here and there beneath the dirt. It's not natural!"
I almost laughed at that, given his work with the supernatural.
"Father, you can't expect me to take a cab halfway across the city," replied Roberta. "Think of the expense!"
"You should use the omnibus service, as I do." The professor peered at the news. "Five workers dead, and two injured children amongst them, the poor souls. Dear me! What is the world coming to?"
I felt sick to my stomach. "Sir," I began, "Do they say what caused the collapse?"
"A tunneling shield failed, and the roof came down. They suspect an earlier tremor weakened the structure."
Roberta and I exchanged a glance, and I knew instantly what she was thinking, for I felt the same dreadful apprehension. Had we not caused the tremor ourselves? Did we now bear the blood of the unfortunate victims on our hands? I turned to the professor, intending to confess, but just before I did so Roberta gave a quick shake of the head.
"Later," she whispered.
"Eh? What was that?" demanded the professor. Then he saw something of interest in the paper, and he leaned closer to peer at the newsprint. "Roberta," he said mildly, "I don't suppose you happened to murder Lady Snetton while you were attending her house, did you?"
"Father!" exclaimed Roberta, thoroughly shocked. "Why would you ask such a dreadful thing?"
The professor lowered his paper. "A servant found her this morning. She's dead."
Dead! I recalled our meeting with Lady Snetton the day before, and had trouble taking the news in. She'd been young and full of vitality, and I could not believe she'd simply passed away. "Sir, was there foul play involved?"
"It seems not. Her husband was away, and the servants reported no disturbances. According to reports, the lady appears to have died in her sleep."
"But she was so young!" exclaimed Roberta.
"That does not grant immunity from an untimely end," said the professor, somewhat pompously. "You'd do well to remember that the next time you travel on that infernal underground train." Then something occurred to him, and he stared at her, eyes wide. "The fee! You did collect the ten pounds before departing her premises yesterday?"
"How can you think of money at a time like this!" exclaimed Roberta. "It's unseemly!"
"No, my dear. It's business." The professor folded his paper and stood, tucking it under his arm. "You should have Mr Jones draw up an invoice immediately. There is plenty of time to catch the afternoon post. As for myself, I must attend to my work." With that he departed, leaving me alone with Roberta. We were both shocked by the news stories, and there was a lengthy silence as we dwelt on the twin tragedies.
"The tremors were no fault of ours," Roberta said eventually, in a low voice. "They were a coincidence, nothing more."
"And Lady Snetton's demise?" I recalled the chill hand of death that the spirit had laid upon me, and I had no trouble imagining a similar deathly touch ending our unfortunate client's life as she slept.
"We captured the spirit from her room, did we not?" Roberta leaned across the table. "I beseech you, do not trouble my father with your wild suppositions. I'm sure there are innocent explanations for these events, and I would not have him worry over them."
"He seemed more worried about the ten pounds," I pointed out.
"Have you ever wondered where your next meal is coming from, Mr Jones?" demanded Roberta, her voice rising with her temper. "Have you ever been so short of money you could not afford a roof over your head? Well, I should tell you that my father endured hard times in his early years, and he has no intention of experiencing them again."
Little did she know, for without my current employment I would have been destitute, hungry and homeless. But I decided not to mention this, lest it lowered her opinion of me even further. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I spoke poorly, and for that I must apologise."
"Very well," said Roberta, calm once more. "Now do please eat a proper breakfast before you faint from hunger."
I spread butter and conserve on my bread and took a bite. It tasted divine, and as I ate more my protesting stomach grudgingly conceded the battle. In fact, the slice of bread helped to restore my appetite, and I took my plate to the sideboard for a more substantial helping. As I loaded my plate, I saw Roberta smiling with pleasure, but whether it was due to my acquiescence or my healthy appetite, I could not say.
I was just returning to the table when I heard a loud hammering from the front door. Moments later, Mrs Fairacre hurried by, protesting under her breath. "I don't know, I really don't," muttered that worthy, loud enough for all to hear. "Calling at this hour? Inconsiderate, I call it, and never mind trying to knock the front door clean off its hinges."
There was a delay as she unlocked the door, and then I heard a cry of astonishment. I feared the worst, and I set my plate on the table and took up a poker from the fireplace before hurrying into the hall to lend assistance. What I saw stopped me in my tracks, for there at the front door were two uniformed policemen, the buttons on their coats gleaming in the morning sun. They towered over Mrs Fairacre, and with their severe expressions, tall helmets and mutton-chop whiskers they were a formidable presence.
– — Ω — –
"Good morning, ma'am," said one of the policemen, in a deep, authoritative voice. "Professor Twickham here, is he?"
I whipped the poker behind my back as Mrs Fairacre replied to their query, and backed quickly into the dining room. "It's the police," I hissed to Roberta. "They're
