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‘You have plate armour and a gun for me?’
‘Ha, ha. Very funny.’ I waved her off. ‘Go! And hurry! We don’t have much time.’
She jumped up and ran, and—wonder of wonders—truly returned with Mr Ambrose in tow only a few minutes later. He did not look pleased. Not at all.
‘Mr Linton? I was told that told that my assistant required my assistance?’
Oh. I hadn’t thought about it in those terms before. Maybe I should have gone myself after all. I cleared my throat.
‘Well, um, err…yes.’ I sat up straight. ‘I know how we may be able to find out who’s behind all this. But I need your help.’
Even though I might have oinked at you last night. You wouldn’t mind that, would you? After all, it’s a perfectly acceptable response to a proposal in most porcian families.
For a moment, I was sure he would tear me a new one. For a long, silent moment, I was sure he would just turn around without a word and march out of the room. But instead, he looked at me and said: ‘How can I help?’
I felt a warm tug in my chest.
Maybe there was no oinking after all. Maybe, in response to his renewed proposal, I just passed out in a drunken stupor. Yay!
‘I’m going to call the staff in again, one after another. And while I’ve got them in here and am squeezing everything I can out of them, I need you to go search their rooms.’
One stony eyebrow lifted infinitesimally. ‘You want me to go and…what? Dig through dresses and note paper for clues?’
‘I want you to search for a cage. Or a basket. Or anything else that could have been used to bring a snake into this place. Unless, of course, you think whoever did this brought it in here wrapped around their neck, disguised as a shawl?’
‘Somewhat unlikely.’ Mr Ambrose gave a slow nod. ‘I see your point, Mr Linton. Adequate. I will go inspect the rooms in question, while you keep the suspects occupied.’ He gave us both one last, hard, ice-cold look. ‘Do your job well.’
Then he turned and was gone.
Beside me, Claudette raised a few sheets of music and fanned herself. ‘Oh là là! That man is simply…well, I know you are a man, so you would not understand, but trust me, he is…oh là là!’
‘Oh, I think I understand what you mean,’ I said, my voice rather fainter than usual.
We called in the first employee, and I pelted him with renewed questions, this time focusing on any contacts they might have to shipping companies, zoological gardens, geographical societies or any other place or organization that might somehow grant them access to rare South American serpents. This proved to be a far more fruitful line of enquiry than my previous attempts. By asking the staff members about each other and comparing their statements, I was able to eliminate most of them from my list of suspects. In the end, only three remained. I sent a messenger boy to inform Mr Ambrose who was under suspicion and where their rooms where located, and then detained them with further aimless questions. I was just starting to wonder how long I would have to keep them occupied when, from outside, a loud screech cut through the everyday noise of the opera house, followed by a resounding slap.
‘Stay here!’ Jumping to my feet, I pulled my revolver and raced to the door. Claudette, the stubborn idiot, acted as if she hadn’t heard me and stayed right on my heels. Ha! A woman after my own heart.
Racing down the corridor, I swerved around a corner, approaching the epicentre of the commotion. To judge by the sound of it, a minor French Revolution was going on somewhere in the opera house, involving mostly female revolutionaries. I was ready for anything when I came around the last corner.
Or at least I thought I was, until I saw Mr Ambrose striding towards me, three red streaks down his cheek, and the rest of him covered in rouge and pink feathers. I stopped in my tracks, my eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.
‘W-what happened to you?’
‘The directions you gave me to the last suspect’s room, Mr Linton—were they “left corridor from the entrance hall, two doors down”?’
‘Yes.’
Mr Ambrose’s eyes glittered with frost. ‘Interesting. I wonder how it is, then, that when I opened that door I appeared to have stepped into the ballerinas’ dressing room.’
My eyes, if possible, went even wider. ‘The ballerinas’…!’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Indeed.’
I eyed his decorated state. A tiny part of myself wondered if I shouldn’t feel jealous that Mr Ambrose had entered a room full of scantily clad women. But the bigger part of me felt only one thing when looking at him right now: a burning need to burst into maniacal laughter.
