A Riddle in Bronze

was not due to write for two or three days, but the threats to my person were mounting and I wasn't entirely certain I would survive that long. If the scar-faced man didn't kill me and throw my corpse in the river, one of Roberta's assorted spirits would most likely do the job. And if neither ended my life, it was likely the police would find some reason to arrest me over the recent deaths, and I'd probably hang.

Or worse, face transportation to Australia.

      My dearest mother and father,

I trust this missive finds you well. I myself am in good health, and—

There I stopped. Ill-at-ease though I was, I could not find it within myself to deliver a cheery letter full of inane witterings about the city and her inhabitants. Nor could I reveal that my parents might never see me again, for that would cause great concern for my well-being.

I decided there had to be a middle ground, wherein I said my goodbyes but also gave them no cause for concern. Unfortunately, I did not believe this possible, even if the great Mr Dickens himself were to rise from the dead and pen the letter on my behalf. Something had to be written, though, so I took up the quill and tried once more.

I myself am in good health, and working hard at my new place of employment. My colleague Robert has been most helpful in showing me the ropes, and I am settling in well to my new position. The owner, a man by the name of Twickham, is occasionally short-tempered, but he has a good heart.

The work is refreshing, and I am paid enough to send you a portion of my wages every month. I hope these funds prove useful, and know that they are small recompense for the years of care and attention you lavished upon me.

I paused, worried I'd taken the syrupy prose a little too far. I decided I had not, for my parents would try to send the money back if I did not give them good reason to keep it.

As I sat back in my chair to consider an ending to the letter, I happened to glance down at that stubborn drawer. It had been nagging at me since the discovery, for I knew it might contain effects belonging to Edgar, my predecessor. Failing that, there might be long-forgotten information I could take to the scar-faced man, or perhaps some outlandish device discarded by the professor some years earlier. The former would not be aware that the items I delivered into his possession were old and possibly useless, while the professor would never miss them. In this way, I could maintain my standing with the scar-faced man without the professor accusing me of theft.

Unfortunately, this fabulous dream castle I was building for myself still had a foundation of fog and smoke. For if the drawer was empty, the edifice would crumble like sand before the ocean wave.

I pushed my chair back and dropped to my knees, so as to inspect the stubborn drawer more closely. There was no keyhole, and yet when I tried to open the drawer it gave very slightly before stopping, as though it were secured by some obstruction. The behaviour was that of a locked drawer, keyhole or not, and so I began to search for a hidden latch. I felt along both sides, but apart from a splinter or two I encountered nothing of interest. No concealed buttons or sliding mechanisms, and no protrusions or recesses.

I rested on my haunches and eyed the drawer critically. The desk sat flush with the floor, and I could not imagine the secret to opening the drawer lay underneath, for the casual user would not wish to stand the entire desk on end every time they wished to access the contents. Neither could I imagine an elderly matron scrabbling around on hands and knees to reach a remote locking device, which meant the catch had to be within arms-reach whilst seated.

I turned my attention to the handle, which to my eye was ordinary to a fault. Fashioned from brass, it consisted of a square metal ring threaded through two small pegs. There was a circular backplate to protect the varnished wood, scuffed and worn with age, but this was fixed firmly in place. The pegs were securely fastened also, and in any case they could not be rotated as the handle passed right through both of them, locking them in place.

That left the handle, which was a squarish ring of brass, much like a belt buckle. I tried twisting it to and fro, then lifted it until the metal was pressing against the wooden face of the drawer. It was at this point that I noticed the ring was slightly thicker than the handles of the two upper drawers. The lower drawer was larger than the first two, and therefore likely to be heavier when full, but did that really require the handle to be so much stronger? I looked closer, and noticed the right-hand side of the handle had a join top and bottom, just before the metal curved to form the side. So fine was this join that it was no surprise I had not seen it earlier, but now, as I ran my finger over the smooth brass, I could feel the edges clearly. Gently, I tried easing the handle apart, and to my surprise the right-hand segment came away in my hand, leaving a U-shaped piece hanging from the pegs.

At first I thought I'd broken the handle, until I inspected the detached piece. There were holes top and bottom, matching protrusions on the larger piece still attached to the desk, and when I pressed the pieces together they formed a whole once more. I was about to leave well alone when I decided to check the handles on the upper drawers. These were solid, and could not be separated, and this told me there was