“When … ?”
“Let’s start from five o’clock.”
“I was in the work room, looking at some bones I’ve been trying to classify. I’m the dinosaur curator, by the way. We often—usually, in fact—get incomplete skeletons, frequently of hitherto unknown species. Sometimes the discoverers misidentify other reptilian fossils as dinosauria, pure wishfulthinking. I realized that was the case in this instance, at which point I decided to go home.”
“What time would that be, sir?”
“Time?” said Steadman vaguely, a slight tremor in his voice. “I couldn’t tell you exactly. I know it was after five thirty, because several assistants left the work room on the dot. The official work day ends at half past five, you know. I went through the Geological Library to the stairs and down to the staff cloakroom in the basement. That’s where we all keep our outdoor clothes, of course.”
“Of course, sir. So you put on your coat and hat, two minutes, shall we say, or three.”
“A little longer than that, I’m afraid. I was there for several minutes, er … hm …”
“Answering the call of nature, sir?”
“Yes, yes, that’s it,” Steadman said gratefully. Having heard him discourse freely on the disgusting eating habits of the Megalosaurus, Daisy was amused by his delicacy. “Then I went to the usual exit at the rear of the basement, where I found a police officer barring the way. I was horrified to learn of Dr. Pettigrew’s … death.” Again his voice shook.
“A nasty business, sir, and a bit different from your dry old bones, eh? Well, that’ll be all, thank you.”
“That’s all?”
“For now, sir. My chief will have some questions for you tomorrow, I expect.”
“Oh! Oh, I see. Yes. Well, I’ll be on my way, then.”
“Good night, sir. If I were you, sir, I’d have a stiff drink when you get home, and put the whole thing out of your mind until the morning.” The door closed behind the squeamish dinosaur man. “Dr. Bentworth still asleep, Ross?” asked Tring.
“Yes, Sarge, sweet as a baby.”
“Leave him for last. I’ll take Mr. Ruddlestone next.”
Daisy had a feeling something was wrong with the list of people Tring was interviewing, but she could not quite put her finger on it. She did know someone he had missed, though.
As soon as Ross was gone, she asked, “What about the children, Mrs. Ditchley’s grandchildren? Are you going to talk to them tomorrow?”
“That’s up to the Chief. Mrs. Ditchley told me you’d asked them if they saw anyone crossing the dinosaur gallery, which they hadn’t. Not much help there. It doesn’t incriminate Mr. Mummery, nor let him out, neither.”
“No,” Daisy admitted.
“You fancy Mr. Mummery for our villain, do you?” Tring enquired teasingly.
“Gosh, no! Not more than the others, anyway. He has quite a temper, but as far as I know, he only had the same general reason to dislike Pettigrew. A running feud over the respective importance of palæontology and mineralogy hardly seems adequate cause for murder!”
“You never can tell,” said the sergeant sagely. “Be about the same as a bloke doing in a nagging wife, or vice versa, I reckon. You’d be surprised how often they think that’s a reasonable excuse when trying to explain a corpse on the kitchen floor. ‘But Officer, he wentonandonat me,’” he mimicked in a squeaky falsetto.
Daisy swallowed a half-shocked giggle as Ross showed in Mr. Ruddlestone. Eyes shut, she pictured the two large, bald men confronting each other like a couple of boiled eggs on the breakfast table.
“Sorry to keep you so late, sir,” said Tom Tring.
“That’s quite all right, Sergeant.” Ruddlestone’s distinctly Lancashire voice sounded as if he was beaming hiswide, jaunty beam, positively bubbling with enthusiasm. “I might well have stayed till now anyway. I found some fascinating stuff I hadn’t come across before.”
“Where was that, sir?”
“In the Special Palæontological Collections. That’s the stuff presented to the museum over the centuries by collectors like Sir Hans Sloane, Gustavus Brander, and William Smith. Most of the specimens are filed away in drawers, and one tends to forget they are there, but something drew my attention to … Oh, but you won’t want to hear about that. Here, I was here in this easternmost gallery.”
“Thank you. From what time, sir?”
“Time? It must have been about four. I had tea and a biscuit in my office. Several biscuits, to tell the truth, Sergeant,” Ruddlestone said confidentially, sharing amusement, one outsize man to another. “Then I went through to the special collections and I was still there, quite forgetful of the time, when a constable came and told me what had happened. He kindly let me stay there until just now. I’m more than ready for my dinner now, I can tell you, as I’m sure you must be.”
