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Sergeant Tewel exited at some considerable speed through the door followed closely by his faithful hounds. he looked like a Goblin on a mission. Prudently, and not wishing to interrupt his mission, I left in the opposite direction, heading back out to the courtyard at the back of the house. I suspected the secret exit would still recognise me and I could make a smooth getaway without risk of my picture appearing in the inside pages of the newspapers. I stopped in the doorway, leaned on the frame and looked out casually. Then I pulled out a cigarette from a crumpled packet I found in the recesses of my coat and lit it with a match from a book which seeme to have followed me home from some bar somewhere. I blew smoke and nodded at the two junior cops who evidently decided that, since I had obviously escaped from the clutches of Tewel, I could probably be left to my own devices. I could see that the old maid Molly was still sitting on one of the stone benches which dotted the courtyard. The uniformed Sergeant has disappeared and the female officer was doing little more that sit alongside her, more to keep her from harm more than to prevent her from getting away. Acting on a hunch, I reached for my wallet and flipped it open to display the PI permit. The badge always looks suitably official and still has a certain amount of cachet even in this century. It also has the advantage of being remarkably difficult to fake, using the same kind of glamours which are routinely attached to legal documents in the Lower Realms. Traditionally, we Goblins attach a lot of weight to legal documents and take loads of precautions to make sure their trustworthiness is not misplaced. I flashed the buzzer at the bored officer, took off my hat and knelt down next to the maidservant, who was sniffing despondently into a already-damp handkerchief. "Molly, isn't it?" She looked up and nodded, then dabbed at her reddened eyes. "I'm sorry to hear about Tibbermore's death." These simple words were enough to set her off in another flood of tears punctuated by piteous wails on the theme of "Who could have done such a thing?" "We're trying to find out" I said softly, soothingly, "But I need to know something, a thing which might help. Has Mayfield arrived here today?" "Why, no, sir," she answered, looking up at me with a sudden startled glance which somehow cut through her grief, "Miss Mayfield hasn't been here for months." "Thanks, that was very helpful, very helpful indeed," I demurred, standing up again and screwing my hat back onto my head. So, mercifully, Mayfield had not been there when Tibbermore met his fate, whatever the details were. She was still at large, somewhere out there - hopefully in the Lower Realms themselves. I needed urgently to intercept Mayfield, who I had so foolishly advised to move into Lady Strowan's house. She was definitely in danger, I was sure of it, but from what or who I still had no idea. But she was probably on her way here right now. But, I wondered, how would she get in? Under normal circumstances, no doubt she would have approached the front door in a confident fashion and rang the bell, expecting Tibbermore to answer in a moment. Had Mayfield taken the urgency of my warnings, if not my advice, at all seriously. I couldn’t be sure. But if she had, and if she actually knew about the hidden entrance at the rear of the mansion, then maybe - just maybe - she might attempt a more discreet approach. Suddenly galvanised into action, I spun on my heel and left by the secret entrance I had used earlier. I must have just faded into the wall as far as anybody in the kitchen courtyard was concerned. I stood in the passageway behind, looking right and left. I was very relieved to find Mayfield approaching me, wearing the kind of oversized dark glasses which are supposed - by the very naive - to disguise the face supposedly concealed, and towing a large suitcase of the kind that uses expensive designer glamours to float smoothly in the air rather than rattling along on wobbly little wheels.
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Part 41