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I stood up, struck with a troublesome thought which writhed in my head and just wouldn't go away. "These manuscripts? Did Tibbermore deliver them himself?" I demanded urgently. "Always," Methven answered, now sounding just as frightened as he had looked a moment earlier. "And when was he last here?" "It was more than a week ago," he muttered after a moment's hesitation. It was just as I thought. More of the draft memoirs were probably resting somewhere in Lady Strowan's house, dictated before she died, probably put away somewhere safe and forgotten about in the panic of discovering her corpse. Or, if it wasn't there, proof positive that the manuscript, or something in it, was the motive behind the grisly murder of a old lady. I had to get over there right away. "Look, Gask," Methven stopped me as I made for the door, "Am I really in danger?" "I don't know," I said with absolute honesty, "But, if it were me, I'd take some precautions. Spend a little dough, if I had it. Look, in your business, you must have a few contacts, a few people who owe you favours. Get in touch." Journeys underground are generally very swift. The transit tube systems installed aeons ago to link the caverns take no appreciable time to transport a person - or anything else which will fit through the entrance, for that matter - from one point to another. Normally, it all works very well, and a traveller familiar with the interchanges and exit points can make smooth and rapid progress to their destination. I was in a tearing hurry, quite possibly a matter of life or death. It would just be my luck that, on this occasion there were long queues at the transit entrance as Goblins leaving the matinee performances chatted and ambled their way towards their next entertainment. If it was the police, they would have just blown their whistles and the crowds would have parted to let them through. Private Investigators such as myself have no such privileges and I was forced to resort to extreme rudeness. I dodged the strolling groups and arm-in-arm couples, pushed my way headlong past those dithering over their tickets or swaying in their cups, and leaving behind a stream of oaths and furious imprecations, all of which sounded impressively nasty in the Goblin tongue. Once free of the pressing crowds, I made straight for the secret rear entrance I had used before. Again, it recognised my presence so that I could both see it and make my way through it without hindrance. Once inside, on the other hand, it was immediately apparent that I was too late. The number of policemen milling about was a dead giveaway.
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Part 38