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Surprised and chastised, if only by accident, by the young Goblin born with a silver spoon in his mouth, I holstered my gun and set off at double speed to track down the garrulous Almon Methven. Lundie seemed to have taken the hint and quit trying to follow me, and I didn't feel the presence of anybody else breathing down my neck. Although as a matter of course, I kept all my senses at maximum alert. I made good time through the wild profusion of narrow passageways and wide boulevards and crowded transit tunnels which I knew so well. A stranger would have found it hopelessly confusing, which is why the very occasional human to be found down here is almost always accompanied by a Goblin guide. Indeed, it was in that very capacity, many years ago, that I first chanced to meet a much younger Gumshoe. But that's a tale I've told elsewhere. Look it up if you're interested. So it was only twenty minutes later that I was once again climbing the stairs to the offices of Methven and Son, Theatrical Agents, taking my time ostensibly to look over the posed portraits on the walls. As I approached closer, I slowed even more. I could hear sounds, angry voices from within. There was some kind of altercation going on. I was idling on the stairs where the landing turned when Methven himself burst from the door, struggling to close a coat over the rotund bulk of his belly. His attention was even now focussed on something inside; he appeared to be issuing some last-minute instructions to his steely-eyed office manager, no doubt to be in turn handed over to one of the cowering menials in the outer office. Finally he closed the door and set off towards the stairwell. "Mister Methven!" I cried out cheerily, deploying my best hearty voice to some effect, "Well met!" He spun around at the sound of my voice, very nearly missing his step at the top of the stairs. I hurried up to clutch his arm in a firm but friendly fashion, ostensibly to prevent him from falling but really to prevent him from escaping. "Gask!" he gasped, "What are you doing here?" "I've come to check up on your well-being," I lied, rather smoothly I considered. Telling an untruth in a convincing fashion is a not-so-obscure skill have been carefully honing these last centuries. Sounds easy, I know, but trust me in this: it is actually extremely hard to tell a lie in the Goblin tongue, at least without any half-way competent listener being immediately suspicious of your intentions. There are too many nuances, too many tell-tale signs which stand out like the proverbial sore thumb. By contrast, in the popular human tongues, it is trivially easy to speak an untruth: by keeping a straight face, maintaining eye contact and speaking in a level tone of voice, most people just don't seem to see even the most obvious lies. "I trust you've taken my advice?" I went on, "Got yourself a little protection, a place to hide where nobody knows you?" "Yes, yes, of course," he replied nervously, regaining his balance and brushing off my supporting hand, "I'm off now, going to lie low for a while." Methven was lying. I was sure of it. Sure, he was in a hurry, but he wasn’t going to hide. Oh, he was quite good at the deception; he must have had practice, a lot of practice. Them again, I suppose that, in his business, the ability to pass off the occasional deliberate untruth, to pacify an irate customer or to sell in a under-talented client, would come in very handy indeed. I hesitated for a second. He might have lied to me before, without me spotting it at the time. A task which would have been easier if he avoided telling any unnecessary untruths - never lie if you don't have to - and limited our interactions to the minimum feasible time. No wonder he wanted to get rid of me as soon as possible. "I need to talk to you," I went on affably, adding, "If you don't mind." "Can't talk now," Methven said in a clipped voice intimating urgency, "Need to leave, get away, right away." I smirked, somewhere behind the polite smile on my face. "Fair enough," I drawled, "Of course I understand your position. It could be dangerous. So, you get on your way, and I'll await your call whenever you feel it's safe for us to meet." I reached out and shook his hand: a firm warm handshake on my part and a clammy, limp, dead-fish feel on his. Then I spun on my heel and set off back down the stairs. I didn't look back at him for a second. I didn't need to. I wasn't going to sit back and wait for him to contact me, of course. I'd be waiting forever if I did that. No, I was going to follow him, starting right now.
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Part 75