"Oh, very well," said the professor with some asperity. "But do not tarry. And do not question the household about their mistress's death, for they will be in mourning, and you will be unwelcome in the extreme."
"Of course, father."
"And now I shall retire to my office."
"There is one more thing I must ask."
"Oh for heaven's sake!" cried the professor. "Have I not given in to your wishes? What else do you torment me with?"
"It would appear a murderer is at large, and I would not like to become his next victim. Therefore, I would ask that Mr Jones accompany me as a bodyguard."
The professor stared at her, then turned to look at me in disbelief. "Him? But he has the physical presence of a sapling, and I swear a waved feather would be more deadly!"
"He will give an attacker pause for thought," said Roberta stoutly.
"He will give an attacker a laughing fit," replied her father.
"Sir," I said. "I would place my body in harm's way to defend your daughter."
"Mr Jones, a stiff breeze would lift your body and place it in the Thames," said the professor tartly. "And in any case, I ordered you to work on my accounts."
"I can tend to my bookkeeping duties later this evening, when the household is asleep."
"As you did last night, when you paced up and down directly over my head?" demanded the professor. "I barely got a wink all night!"
"Oh father, how you exaggerate," sighed Roberta. "I heard your snores for a good eight hours. Anyway, I refuse to place myself in danger by travelling the city on my own, so you simply must allow Mr Jones to accompany me."
Trapped, the professor could only throw his hands up in disgust. "Oh, do as you will!" he cried. "It appears I have no say under my very own roof, so take the thrice-cursed invoice and your ineffectual bodyguard and do your best to stir up every policeman in London. Let them arrest the pair of you, but don't expect me to waste time pleading at your trial!"
After this rather theatrical outburst, he turned on his heel and marched from the dining room. The exit was dramatic indeed, but he spoiled the effect by returning for his newspaper, which he'd left on the table. Then, with a final glare at the both of us, he stormed off a second time.
"Ah, my dearest father," said Roberta softly. "He protests and blusters, but he has a good heart."
I certainly hoped so, because his daughter seemed to delight in putting an immense strain on it. She had the ability to not only wrap him around her little finger, but also to persuade him to hold the knot while she put a bow on top. Then I remembered the argument she'd used to sway her father's decision. "Do you truly intend to visit a friend in Westminster?"
"Don't be obtuse, Septimus."
"And the bodyguard business? I confess I am not much given to brawling, and I do not possess a weapon."
She looked me up and down, then gave me a warm smile. "As far as I am concerned, Mr Jones, you will serve the purpose admirably. Now, let us prepare our things for the investigation. We must inspect Lady Snetton's room at the very least, and there are servants to be interviewed."
I was still experiencing a heady glow after her smile and her compliment, and it was a moment or two before the rest of her words sank in. As I realised the import of what she was saying, the glow faded and I stared at her, appalled. "But— but—"
"I intend to leave this house at three p.m., so that we have time to investigate properly. I suggest you attend to some bookwork in the meantime. If nothing else, that will help to soothe father's anger."
Thus dismissed, I left the dining room and took the stairs to my office. I sat behind my desk for several minutes, contemplating Roberta's plans, and then I placed my elbows on the scarred wooden surface and buried my head in my hands.
– — Ω — –
It was some time before I managed to fight off the overwhelming fugue of despair and hopelessness. I felt as though I was being hounded from all sides, what with the scar-faced man, the police investigation and now Roberta's intention to track a murderer, and I knew that before long I would shatter like a china vase under the repeated hammer-blows.
When I was finally able to remove my head from my hands, straightening in my chair, I came face to face with the pile of bookkeeping work awaiting me. A groan escaped my lips, for I would sooner have thrown myself from the nearest window than spent the next three or four hours engaged in laborious calculations.
To delay the inevitable, I convinced myself I needed a new quill, and I opened the drawers in my desk one by one, inspecting the contents. The first two drawers slid open easily, and I discovered a pair of eyeglasses, a few sheets of parchment and a broken piece of India rubber within. The larger drawer at the bottom resisted my efforts, and so I let it be, fearing I might wrench the handle clean off if I persisted. I doubted it contained anything of interest, although I promised myself I would investigate further when I had the opportunity.
The paper gave me an idea, so I took a sheet of parchment, sharpened a quill and began a letter to my parents. I
