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I ducked back into the tiny office and sat down at the desk, again opening the notebook to a new page ahead of the next interview. As I listened, the argument outside wound up, although I couldn't tell what the outcome was or even if there was anything resembling a conclusion had been reached at all. A few moments later, there was a vigorous knocking - more of a thumping, really - and the door opened without waiting for any word from me. I stood up as politely as before and extended my hand conventionally. "Findo Gask, Private Investigator," I said. This is my standard introduction; I use it all the time, at least in polite circles. The newcomer was indeed the well-dressed Goblin I had observed outside earlier. He exhibited quite a different demeanour than the one I had briefly glimpsed in the corridor a few moments before although, from closer quarters, he still exuded that quiet menace I had noted. "Arditty Pickston," he responded, grasping my hand affably and shaking it firmly. He was all smiles and charm now, although it was something of the same charm that I had observed in the Old Ones in the past: the kind of smile that tells you that you could be bitten in half or burnt to a crisp in an instant if the owner of the smile felt like it. "Please sit, Mister Pickston," I suggested. He pulled out the chair from the other side of the desk and folded himself into it neatly. I slumped into the chair opposite. "Now, Mister Pickston," I began, "You're the Stage Manager here, yes?" He nodded. "Okay," I went on, "So, Roman Broxden has asked me to investigate the appearance of the cameras in the dressing rooms." "So I understand," he agreed affably, "How can I help?" "I imagine you've been active in searching for the devices and removing them?" "Yes, certainly," he answered, "I've been freeing up everybody I can spare to search every part of the places where the performers undress." "They've not be found anywhere else, then?" "Not that I've heard," he said with what I took to be complete truthfulness, "Just the dressing rooms, and the toilets, and the dance studio. Oh, and a couple in the corridors outside the dressing rooms themselves." I amused myself by scribbling in the notebook in front of me for a few moments. "And when do you think the cameras started being found?" I enquired, not looking up. "I think we found the first one about a week ago." I nodded sagely. This was consistent with my current understanding. I scribbled some more. "And do you have any idea who’s been planting the cameras?" I asked, glancing up just as I delivered the final syllables. "None whatsoever," he answered flatly. I was watching for this. He was lying; I was convinced of it. Oh, he was very good, and maybe ninety-nine percent of the population wouldn't have spotted anything. But I'm not just anybody. Goblins - and humans, too - have been lying to me for several hundred years and, by now I've got really good at telling when they're doing it. "Do you think it could be Pow Drumfin?" I pressed, going for broke. "Drumfin?" he answered, seemingly surprised, "Well, I don't know. What makes you think it could be him?" Not answering the question, I thought, and then asking another question as a response. Not the reaction of an innocent person at all. "He's on my list of people to talk to," I said offhandedly, "Haven't managed to catch up with him yet." "Ah," Pickston said noncommittally. I completed my note-taking with an ostentatious flourish and looked up at Pickston, meeting his eyes across the table. "Okay," I said, "Anything else I should know?" He thought for a moment - or at least gave the impression of so doing - then shook his head slowly. A fine act, but I still wasn't convinced. I thanked Arditty Pickston politely for his time and let him escape, back to whatever kept him occupied. I sat in the chair in the tiny office for a while afterwards, wondering to myself why Pickston was doing this job. I could think of only one reason why somebody who was convicted in court of being a leading lieutenant of a major smuggler and gunrunner was now content to manage the back-stage assets of a small-time nightclub.
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Part 41