"Indeed! Poor Lady Snetton lived in the jealous shadow of her husband's former wife, and she engaged me to facilitate communication with the spirit. I was to convey Lady Snetton's desire for harmony."
I sat there in silence, marvelling at Roberta's composure in the face of such questioning. Almost every word she uttered was false, and yet she wove in enough truths to make the whole seem conceivable. What skill! What poise!
"What rot," said the inspector. "Are you telling me this vengeful spirit tore down the curtains, smashed vases and destroyed paintings?"
Right on the nose, I thought, but I held my tongue.
"Of course not! We closed the curtains for complete darkness, which is required when contacting wayward spirits, but fool that I am, I neglected to light the gas beforehand." Roberta indicated me with a gesture. "Mr Jones here, who is a gangling, clumsy sort, tripped on the carpet and knocked the jug clean off the nightstand. When I attempted to open the curtains, the rail came away all of a sudden, burying me in the fabric, and Mr Jones knocked a painting from the wall as he sprang to my aid." Roberta lowered her gaze. "So embarrassed were we at the damage, we left the house before Lady Snetton returned."
I'd been holding my breath as she fabricated this web of lies, but now I let it out with a gasp.
"I'm sorry, Mr Jones," said Roberta, patting my hand, "but you are indeed clumsy."
"Indeed I am," I said, and I gave an apologetic smile for the benefit of the police.
"What's all this?" demanded a reedy voice from the doorway. "Why do I have policemen in my house?"
I turned to see the professor marching in, and my heart sank. If they questioned him about Roberta's seance, he would let the cat out of the bag.
"Father," called Roberta. "I was just telling these good gentlemen about my seance with Lady Snetton yesterday. Did you know she was murdered in her sleep? They're interviewing us as suspects!"
As usual, Roberta was thinking six steps ahead of me, and I experienced a flash of admiration at the way she'd outmanoeuvred the inspector. Before Cox could stop her, she'd given her father enough information for him to back up her story.
"Not another seance," said the professor, feigning exasperation. "Roberta, my dear. When will you give up these foolish fancies?"
Inspector Cox looked from one to the other, his eyes sharp. Then he turned to me. "What is your role in this seance business?"
"He fetches and carries on my behalf," said Roberta.
"I'd like Mr Jones to answer for himself," said Cox.
"I fetch and carry for Roberta," I said dutifully.
"But you keep the books for her father?"
"Indeed, sir." I felt myself growing uncomfortable under the inspector's gaze, and I looked down at the table, my face reddening. Then, all of a sudden, I realised I could turn my self-consciousness to my advantage. Roberta was not the only one who could fool the police! "I always do as Roberta asks," I mumbled. "I think the world of her, you see, and…" Here, I allowed my voice to tail off, as though embarrassed beyond words.
The sergeant suppressed a laugh, and I guessed he was exchanging an amused glance with the inspector. Then I pictured Roberta and the professor exchanging an entirely different sort of glance, and I was instantly mortified. I was living under the man's roof, and I had just admitted feelings for his daughter! I wanted to apologise, to tell them it was all part of the ruse, but the police were sitting opposite and I was forced to hold my tongue.
"Very well," said the inspector at last, and his chair scraped as he stood up. "Apologies once more for disturbing your breakfast, and I hope we won't need to bother you all again."
"But the murder?" asked Roberta. "Who could possibly have killed that poor woman?"
"The truth will come out," said the inspector loftily. "We'll get our man, you see if we don't."
I raised my head cautiously, my cheeks still flaming with embarrassment. Nobody was looking at me, but I was particularly careful not to meet Roberta's eyes. Then I saw the sergeant fold his notebook and tuck it away, and to my enormous relief I realised the interview was truly over.
"Come," said the professor. "All this food is going to waste. Sergeant, will you take some sausages back to the station for your lunch? They're fresh cooked, and I can have Mrs Fairacre wrap them in grease-proof for you."
"Thank you, sir. That's most kind."
"And you, inspector? I have an unopened bottle of whisky in my office, and I never touch the stuff. Will you take it off my hands?"
"Well, if you insist," said the inspector, and the three of them left the dining room together. Moments later Elsie, the maid, came in, gathering the breakfast things on a large tray before departing.
"Well done, Mr Jones," murmured Roberta. "That declaration of your undying love for me was the icing on the penny loaf, and no mistake."
"I'm most dreadfully sorry about that," I replied earnestly. "It was a complete fabrication of course. I would never presume to, er…"
She raised one eyebrow. "You do not find me appealing in any way?"
"No! I mean, yes! I mean…"
Roberta took my hand. "Do not torment yourself, Septimus, for I fear there is no answer you can give that will not lead to further embarrassment."
I nodded dumbly.
"But come, for we have work to do."
"We do?"
"Indeed! Someone murdered my client, and I must find out who… or rather, what."
I realised what she was hinting at. "You think a spirit did this?" I whispered, aghast.
"It's likely it was Lord Snetton's first wife."
"But— but we captured her!"
"We captured something, Mr Jones. What if we took a wandering spirit and left the far more dangerous one behind?" Roberta looked serious. "If it was a ghost that ended Lady Snetton's life, we're duty-bound to capture the foul being before it harms anyone else."
"But the police—"
Roberta snorted. "Do you imagine the police
