“Ravenous!” Tring agreed. His eyes must be twinkling, Daisy would have bet on it. “Now, I see there are doors from this gallery here to the … let’s see … Fossil Plants, Corals, and Sponges, and to the reptiles.”
“The reptile gallery is where it happened, isn’t it?” the invertebrate curator said, now grave. “It’s shocking to be so cheerful when a man lies dead, even a man like Pettigrew. But I have had such an invigorating evening.” His gravity already vanished, he spoke with a joyful earnestness. “Most people can’t see the fascination of corals and sponges, echinoderms, arthropods, mollusks, cephalopods, and so on, especially fossilized ones, but I assure you, when one really gets to know them they are quite wonderful.”
“I’m sure they must be, sir. A bit like police work—lots of people can’t see why anyone’d want to do it.”
“Exactly! You are an expert in your field as I in mine. As an expert, you take the same pleasure in your business as I take in the study of invertebrates. On the scale of mere mass, dinosaurs outweigh them, to be sure, but only look at age, numbers, and diversity! Invertebrates came first, and there have always been far more of them than of vertebrates, both in numbers of species and in numbers of individuals. Where would we be without earthworms, I ask you?”
“I, er, couldn’t say, sir,” Tring admitted.
Ruddlestone laughed. “An unfair question, and rhetorical, I assure you. But you must have questions for me. I am holding up your investigation. I ought to have warned you not to let me mount my hobby-horse, Sergeant.”
“It’s been very interesting, sir. Given me a bit of an eye-opener, you might say. You didn’t set foot outside that gallery after you went in, sir?”
“Not until one of your officers came and told me what had happened. Poor Pettigrew, he was his own worst enemy. I don’t know about his private life, but in his professional life he succeeded in alienating one and all.”
“Ah,” said Tring. “Well, Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher will want to hear all about that tomorrow, sir, but for now, I’m done, thank you. I’ll warn the Chief to keep you off your hobby-horse, sir.”
“Do that, Sergeant!” Ruddlestone laughed again. “Good night to you, and I hope you get your dinner soon.”
Her eyes still shut, Daisy noted that, whatever their similarity of build, his departing tread had none of Tring’s lightfootedness.
“A nice gentleman, Sarge,” was Ross’s verdict, “shaking your hand and all.”
“So he seemed, laddie, so he seemed, but if you want to get on in our business, it doesn’t do to judge a book by its cover.” Tring heaved a heavy sigh. “All that talk of dinner, and the missus was making steak and kidney pud tonight. It’s not the same warmed over. Still, finishing up Miss Dalrymple’s whisky seems to have cleared the tubes and knocked my cold for six. All right, let’s have Dr. Bentworth in.”
“So that’s what happened to the rest of the whisky,” said Daisy tartly, hearing the door close.
“Waste not, want not,” Tring responded in a mock sententious tone, which switched to injured as he continued, “I couldn’t very well put it back into Sir Sidney’s decanter, could I? Young Ross poured with a heavy hand, like it was beer.”
“I’m glad it’s cured your cold, if only temporarily. Gosh, I could do with some of Mrs. Tring’s steak and kidney pud! I only got one biscuit with my tea.”
“You can leave if you want. You soundcompos mentisenough now to get yourself home.”
“Youaremaking a parade of your Latin today!” Daisy teased. “No, I’ll stay, though I’ll be very surprised if you get anything useful out of Dr. Bentworth.”
“Oh?”
“Wait and see. Here they come.”
Dr. Bentworth had retired as the Curator of Fossil Plants some eighteen years ago. Since then he had been working on a magnum opus on fossil ferns, coming in to the museum five days a week and pottering about the collections and the Geological Library …
“ … And I fear I may have drifted off,” he said in his thin, old voice, “taken a nap, forty winks or so, in the library, the Geological Library, though Palæontological would be more accurate, more descriptive, altogether more appropriate.”
Daisy did not bother to close her eyes, knowing that Bentworth had a very fuzzy view of the world through the thick lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses. Gnomelike, he sat there opposite Tring, leaning forward anxiously with his ropy hands on his knobbly knees.
“So Dr. Pettigrew is dead, has been killed,murdered, you think? It is shocking, quite dreadful, simply disgraceful. Nothing like this happened in my day, when I was employed at the museum, when I was in charge of fossil plants. No, I saw no one, no one at all, not a soul, but then, my sight is not what it was, alas, very poor, presbyopia they say, and cataracts, though I see quite well close to, for reading and writing, for examining specimens, you know. But I fear I may have drifted off, nodded … .”
“Thank you very much, sir,” Tring interrupted, having come full circle. “I’m very sorry to have kept you so late. I believe your son is waiting to take you home.”
“Just outside, sir,” said Ross cheerfully. “If you’d kindly step this way.” Stooping slightly, the long-legged constable ushered Bentworth out with a helpful hand at his elbow.
“You were right, Miss Dalrymple,” observed Tring, rising to his feet as she stood up and handed him the vast overcoat he had used to blanket her. “The poor old bird wouldn’t have noticed if a herd of dinosaurs had trampled through that library, let alone what time they passed. I’ll have Ross call a taxicab for you—the Met’s expense.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather walk,” Daisy said. “It’s not far, and I’d quite like a bit of fresh air and exercise after … Mr. Tring, do you know how Pettigrew was killed?”
“Stabbed, looks like, but it’s a bit of a mystery how and what with. And I’m not telling you more than that,” he said firmly, “because Sir Sidney’d be bound to notice if any moreof his whisky disappeared. Good job he’s gone off for a few days to some symposium or other. Time he gets back he won’t remember the exact level, but I don’t want you needing it.”
“Oh. Oh well, I’ll ask Alec tomorrow, when the whole business is a bit further away. At least … I suppose there’s absolutely no hope of keeping my name out of it?”
