Part 7 (1/2)
Oona sat stock-still, listening to every word, her mind grabbing at each of the inspector's points, searching for clues.
The inspector cleared his throat, then said: ”Clearly it was someone in this room who stole the daggers.” He pointed at the dagger in the floor as proof. ”And then that same individual used one of them to murder the Wizard!”
Oona shook her head, realizing what the inspector had just said. ”Did you say murder?”
”I did, indeed,” the inspector replied, sounding peeved for even having to answer the question.
Oona turned to the faerie servant. ”Didn't you tell him, Samuligan?”
Samuligan clucked his tongue ruefully. ”I did try, but-”
”Tell me what?” the inspector demanded.
”My uncle may not have been murdered,” Oona informed him. ”It is quite possible that he is still alive.”
The inspector crossed to the center of the room and picked up the Wizard's empty robes. He shook them at Oona. ”Then where is he?” he asked.
”Well, if he is alive, then he would be in the Goblin Tower,” Oona said.
”In the Goblin Tower?” the inspector said. ”Don't be ridiculous. A roomful of people saw him get stabbed. Is that not the case?”
He turned his attention to Lamont. Startled to be so singled out, the boy was forced to confess, ”Yes, it is true,” and then he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began nervously cleaning his eyegla.s.ses.
”But Inspector,” said Deacon. ”While it is true that one of the daggers would have killed him, the other would have sent him to the Goblin Tower, as Miss Crate has just told you.”
The inspector dropped the Wizard's robe back to the floor. ”So, Mr. Bird, you admit to having knowledge of these weapons.”
”Deacon has knowledge of the entire Encyclopedia Arcanna,” Oona explained.
”How very convenient,” the inspector replied.
Oona gaped at him. ”Are you actually accusing Deacon?”
The inspector slowly shook his head and began to rub his thin, white hands together. ”The museum has a registry at the front entrance. All persons entering the museum must sign their name. There is a museum security guard stationed at the entrance to make sure no one gets in without placing their name in the registry.” The inspector abruptly turned his back to everyone and watched the pendulum swing from one end of the room to the other. ”It would seem that very few people are interested in magical history these days ... or at least on Mondays anyway ... because there were only two names written on today's page in the registry. And do you know whose names they were?” The inspector suddenly spun around so that his gaze fell on the Iree twins. ”It just so happens that they are both sitting in this very room. Isadora and Adler Iree!”
Isadora slapped a hand to her chest. ”Yes, I did go to the museum this morning ... but only because Head Mistress Duvet at the Academy of Fine Young Ladies is very eager to have the next Wizard's apprentice be someone from her school. It's because of her that I ever even applied for the position in the first place, and it was at Head Mistress Duvet's explicit instructions that I went to the museum this morning so that I might refresh my knowledge of magical history before my interview with the Wizard. And I must say, I was completely bored out of my mind. Magical history is quite dull. There never is anyone in that huge building, and it's sort of ... well, it's creepy being in there all alone.”
”But Miss Iree,” the inspector said, flipping open his notepad, ”you did not go to the museum alone, did you? You went with your brother.”
Isadora shook her head. ”No, I went by myself. I only knew that Adler had been there because I saw his name written in the registry. But I didn't see him. The place is so big I could have been in there with a hundred people and never seen a single soul.”
The inspector studied her for a moment before asking: ”And what did you do after you left the museum, Miss Iree?”
”I went next door to my mother's dress shop for tea. Remember, you saw me there. All of my mother's dresses were stolen.” Isadora drew in her breath. ”Do you think that the daggers and the dresses were stolen by the same person?”
”I think it very likely that you stole them both, and then came to Pendulum House to murder the Wizard!” the inspector said.
”Me? Why on earth would I want to hurt the Wizard?”
The inspector strode across the room toward Isadora, hands outstretched as if preparing to grab hold of her shoulders and shake a confession out of her. But as he moved, the inspector failed to remember the dagger sticking out of the carpet. His foot struck the narrow hilt, and he tumbled to the floor.
”Who did that?” he howled, pus.h.i.+ng himself quickly back to his feet and shoving his stringy, black hair back from his face.
”I believe it was the dagger you tripped on, Inspector,” Oona said.
The inspector turned on her. ”I thought I told you to stay out of official police affairs, Miss Crate.”
Oona raised her eyebrows in surprise, before reminding herself just whom she was dealing with. Truth be told, up until this point she had been quite impressed with all the information the inspector had compiled. Indeed, it was something of a shock to discover that the Iree twins had been at the museum that day. It was certainly possible that Isadora had it in her spiteful nature to attack the Wizard, but the thought of Adler being involved, or even being the attacker himself, was upsetting, to say the least.
She took a calming breath to steady her nerves before realizing that the inspector was still waiting for her to explain herself. She spoke calmly and clearly. ”My uncle was attacked, and quite possibly murdered tonight, Inspector, to which I am a witness. Not only do I have every right to be here, I am required to be here. And also, if you need it to be pointed out to you, no one tripped you. You tripped yourself on the dagger.” She pointed to the floor.
The inspector turned to the dagger, a look of surprise on his face. ”Oh, of course.”
Adler adjusted his top hat so that it rested upon the back of his head. ”I was at the museum, 'tis true,” he said. ”I'm at the museum most days, when I'm not at the Magicians Legal Alliance, that is. The museum's library is quite amazing. I was doing research.”
What sort of research? Oona wondered, but what she asked was: ”Inspector, are you sure there is no way someone could have gotten past the security guard at the front of the museum without signing the registry?” She glanced sideways at Grimsbee, gauging his reaction. His face remained inscrutable beneath the bloodstained rag on his head.
The inspector frowned. ”It is possible, but highly unlikely, I would think. The security guard would have to answer that question.”
And Oona thought: Yes, I'll have to ask him that when I visit the museum tomorrow.
And then a second, crueler voice in her head asked: When are you going to do that? After you break into the Black Tower, defeat the goblins, and discover that your uncle is not in the tower cell after all, and that Inspector White is right ... that the Wizard is dead?
The thought angered her so much that she blurted out: ”Mr. Grimsbee, how did you injure yourself? I saw you earlier today on the museum steps, and you did not have that bandage around your head.”
The room fell markedly quiet. Someone cleared their throat. A mouse could be heard skittering through the walls. Grimsbee slid forward in his chair, and for the first time since they had been gathered together, his expression changed. He appeared to look right at Oona with his horrible white eyes, his lips pinched together in a mask of fury. His faced turned bright red, and his nostrils swelled to the size of walnuts. And then suddenly, horribly, his mouth drew out into an oily grin that was the very replica of his pointy, bullhorn mustache.
Through gritted teeth, he said: ”I cut myself shaving.”
Oona blinked several times, shaking her head. ”Shaving your forehead?” she replied, her voice br.i.m.m.i.n.g with disbelief. She turned to the inspector. ”Surely you do not believe him? Who shaves their forehead?”
The inspector appeared thoughtful, scratching at his white, white chin with the tip of one white, white finger.
”I do not know what to believe,” he said. And then to Oona's further astonishment, he said: ”You are all free to go.”
”Go?” Oona cried. She was suddenly on her feet. ”What do you mean, go? You're going to let my uncle's attacker just walk out of here?”
”We do not have sufficient evidence to hold any of them in custody,” the inspector declared. He paused to consider something for a moment. ”But I will see to it that police Constable Trout over there is posted at the Iron Gates, to make sure no one flees Dark Street until the killer is discovered.”
Police Constable Trout stood near the doorway, his dreamy gaze lost in the pages of his novel, as if completely unaware of the murder investigation going on in the same room. Somehow the inspector's a.s.surance that the constable would be watching the Iron Gates gave Oona little comfort.
”That is all,” the inspector said, and began marching toward the door.
”But Inspector,” Oona tried one last time. ”Don't you think you should place everyone under house arrest? Keep them here in Pendulum House? At least until we discover who-”
The inspector cut her short. ”Miss Crate. When will you learn to leave grown-up work to ... uh ... well, to grown-ups? Now run along and play with your pet birdie, and leave this case to the professionals. We have everything under control, don't we, Constable Trout?”
The novel-reading constable turned the page of his book, giggling at something he'd read.
”You are all free to go,” said the inspector again.