Cox frowned. "I'll ask you not to use Her Majesty's name in that fashion. Now please answer the question."
Chastened, I nodded. The professor had a gift of needling the policemen without offending, but my own effort had been clumsy in comparison. "I did not see anything untoward," I said quickly.
The inspector regarded me coolly, and I looked steadily back at him. I had a trick I employed when I wanted to mask my expression, and it involved summing an imaginary column of pounds, shillings and pence in my head. I made it through two entire columns, double-checking the results, before Cox nodded and turned his attention to the professor. "Sir, do you have any knowledge of one Arthur Staines?"
"None whatsoever."
"Are you certain? I believe you interviewed him for the position of bookkeeper earlier this week."
"I did?" The professor thought for a moment. "It's possible, of course, but I don't recall the name. Can you describe him?"
"Indeed I can. He was a young man of twenty-three, five foot six in height, and he was in the habit of wearing eyeglasses."
"I have encountered many such men," said the professor with a shrug. "Unless you can be more explicit…"
"He did have one distinguishing feature." Cox drew a thumb across his neck. "He had a large incision across his throat. You couldn't miss it, as it was deep enough to strike bone."
The professor paled. "The murder victim from today's newspaper? That was Mr Staines?"
"Indeed. And from your expression, I'm guessing you now recall the young man in question."
"Why yes. He was an applicant, but I did not find him suitable. Mr Jones here won the position, as I'm sure you're aware."
"Professor, in the course of my enquiries I discovered that you also considered Jules Hartlow for the same job. Yet you failed to mention this significant fact during our previous interview."
"You cannot expect me to remember the name of every man or woman I encounter!" cried the professor. "In any case, all the applicants were in perfect health after leaving my house. Aside from pure coincidence, how can you think to link me with their unfortunate deaths?"
"I do set much store in coincidence," said Cox quietly. "And professor, I would like the names of the other unsuccessful applicants, if you please."
"Mrs Fairacre will write them down for you, although I can think of no reason why they might be singled out by a vicious murderer."
I sat in silence, torn by conflicting emotions. I knew the reason the applicants been singled out, and it was all due to the scar-faced man, William Sykes. At that moment I would have revealed all to the police, had I but known the man's true name. As it was I had nothing more than a nom-de-plume and a description, and while the police blundered around making enquiries of the mysterious Sykes, I suspected he or his cronies would quickly put an end to my beloved parents. Despite this, I still would have spoken out but for one fact. I knew there was no danger to the surviving applicants, for Sykes had promised to end my life next.
"Inspector, are you quite done?" asked the professor. "The hour marches on, and I really must return to my work."
"And what work is that exactly?" Cox asked him.
"I am a specialist in fine metalwork, and the fabrication of intricate mechanical devices."
"To what end?"
"None. They serve a decorative purpose."
"Would you show me?" asked Cox.
The professor was taken aback. "You wish to poke around in my study? My workshop?"
"If you would be so kind."
"Well!" said the professor, most put out. "Why don't you search the entire house while you're at it?"
"Thank you sir. I was hoping you'd agree." With that, Cox signalled to his sergeant, who tucked away his notebook and left the dining room. "It won't take long," said the inspector, oblivious to the professor's shocked expression. "The sergeant and I brought along half a dozen constables for the job."
– — Ω — –
"You planned to search my house all along?" demanded the professor.
"I did indeed," said Inspector Cox. "And sir, in case your servants are in cahoots, know that I have constables stationed at the exits to ensure any evidence remains on the premises."
"But this is monstrous!" cried the professor. "It's an absurdity! A complete waste of time!"
"It's our time to be wasted," said Cox mildly.
"But whatever are you hoping to find? A bloodied dagger, perhaps, or a confession written in the blood of my victims?"
"I'll know when I see it." Cox got up and turned for the hall, but the professor hadn't finished.
"Wait just one moment, Inspector! My daughter is resting upstairs, and I demand that you let me speak with her, so that she might dress appropriately. I will not have your constables gawking upon her night-things."
"Very well. You may fetch her downstairs, but I want all three of you in here for the search. Understood?"
"Yes, of course."
"And you will be careful with our belongings?"
"Yes, sir. You have my word." Cox hesitated. "I know this is an imposition, professor, but my methods involve eliminating suspects so that I might narrow my investigation."
"It seems to me you should be preventing your suspects from eliminating any more victims," said the professor tartly. "Oh, go on with you. Turn my house upside-down. We have nothing to hide!"
All this time I was thinking of the revolver in my room, and I wondered whether I might volunteer to fetch Roberta in the professor's stead. Perhaps a remark about the steep stairs, and his aging legs? If I flew upstairs I might have enough time to warn Roberta and reach my own room so as to conceal the pistol before the police came looking. Why, maybe I could throw the thing out of my window, and the pouch full of cartridges along with it!
But no, it was impossible. It would have been strange indeed if I had volunteered to enter a woman's bedroom while she was sleeping, and in addition I was certain the professor would
