A squawk of scandalised interrogation sounded in my ear.
‘Yes, well, we don’t know anything about him. He’s in Professor Monk’s apartment. Trudi is standing over him with a garden fork, so if anyone’s in danger it isn’t us … Yes, an ambulance is probably indicated. I’ll stay here until I see you.’
I put my phone back in my pocket and smiled.
Anwyn was gazing at me in some astonishment. ‘So this sort of thing happens a lot here?’
‘All the time,’ I told her, then turned to our gardener. ‘Trudi, are you happy to keep an eye on our little friend here?’
She nodded, and waved her weapon suggestively. ‘Oh yes. My grandmother used to do this when we had Germans.’ She pronounced the word as though it rhymed with vermin, which seemed fair enough considering that the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands had been brutal.
‘We’ll keep you company, Trudi,’ Therese said. ‘I’ll fetch our embroidery.’ Trudi pulled over some chairs from the side of the room and sat in one of them, still balefully glaring at the Professor’s unwelcome guest.
Therese headed for her apartment and I trooped towards the stairs to Mrs Dawson’s. With three sceptical women and one four-foot garden implement to watch over him, I didn’t think our friend would be any trouble. Then I had a sudden illumination and doubled back to Professor Monk’s apartment. In his study I found his precious leather-bound commonplace book, which contained all his working notes. The front page was in plain English, and began with the title The Gospel of St Joseph. My Biblical knowledge was nothing special; but I’d never heard of that one. Flicking through the pages, I saw Latin, and Ancient Greek, and who knew what else, handwritten in orderly rows. I stuffed it into my bag. I didn’t know how long his apartment would be embargoed, and he would fret without his pet project. Then, prompted by I knew not what instinct, I went into the kitchen. The fridge door was open, and so was the freezer cabinet. Odd. I didn’t want to interfere with a crime scene more than was needful, but this was a bit unusual. I had a closer look. The ice cubes were melting in their plastic trays. So that meant that the doors had been open for … how long? Maybe an hour?
Now this was strange. Why would Professor Monk have left his fridge door open for that long? You cannot read anything into that, I could hear a sceptical detective constable opine; old people can be forgetful. Perhaps he had opened the fridge and freezer doors and then been distracted by something, like his cat. Except that Professor Monk’s mind was still razor-sharp, and he showed no signs of age-related inattention at all.
It seemed to me that this was an extremely thorough burglar. Most burglars are happy to make their visitations as evanescent as possible, but this one had been here nearly long enough to grow a spare beard. I peered into the freezer and found a plastic packet of prawns beginning to thaw. I slipped them into my bag as well. I knew someone who would be very glad of them, and I did not think they were any sort of Clue. Even for the Famous Five. I left the rest of the Clues untampered and left the apartment.
I found Professor Monk reclining in a most elegant armchair, wrapped in a gorgeous Chinese silk robe (red, with golden brocade dragons) that would have been far too big for the elegant Mrs Dawson, and was doubtless the property of the late Mr Dawson. The Professor’s shoes and socks had been removed, and his slippered feet luxuriated in the deep carpet. He held in his hand a tall gin and tonic, complete with a lemon slice, and he appeared recovered from his ordeal.
‘Ah, Corinna,’ he remarked. ‘There you are!’
It was a scene of ultimate comfort. At his side sat Mrs Dawson (in matching armchair), also sipping a G and T. On her impeccable Chinese carpet was a blue china bowl filled with milk. A small black kitten was attending to it, with both ears pinned back. So far as Nox was concerned, Outrages had been committed and she was owed compensation. The tiny sound of furious lapping could be heard from the bowl’s interior.
Mrs Dawson smiled at me and rose. I presented her with the packet of prawns and her mouth curved in a smile. ‘I know someone who will be happy to receive some of these,’ she said. ‘And the remainder will be paella this evening.’
She disappeared into the kitchen with the prawns and returned, taking up a protective position on the left of the reclining Professor Monk. He beamed at her.
‘Gin and tonic?’ Mrs Dawson offered.
‘Not yet, but later would be wonderful,’ I answered.
What I had had in mind for the afternoon had certainly included a G and T or so, relaxing in the Temple of Ceres on the roof, but I was resolved to have it only after the alarums and excursions had been satisfactorily concluded.
‘Professor, you may want to keep this by you,’ I suggested, producing his notebook from my bag.
His eyes lit up, and he patted the small table by his right elbow. ‘Leave it there, Corinna, if you would be so kind. Many thanks! I have no idea when I am likely to regain the use of my apartment, and I do not want policepersons morrissing through my notes. I do not believe for a moment they are pertinent to the crime scene.’
‘We may probably assume that they are not. Professor, if you do not mind my asking, what can you tell us of your intruder? Had he an introduction, or did he simply barge in without so much as leaving his calling card on a silver tray?’
‘It is a mystery,’ the Professor admitted. ‘We have not met before. I am sure I would have noticed. I had left my front door open, since my basilissa wanted to explore the building. I was consulting a Latin dictionary in my study when I heard what sounded like the arrival of several tonnes of coal into my parlour. Goodness knows what he meant by it.’
‘Are you certain he was alone?’
His deep blue eyes exchanged a piercing look with mine. ‘No. I cannot be certain, but I believe he was. Had he been accompanied, there would have been, at the very least, footsteps running away down the stairs.’
‘All right, I won’t ask you any more for now. I’m going back to your apartment, Professor. And this time I shall search it as thoroughly as I can without getting fingerprints everywhere.’
‘And we shall remain here, Corinna,’ Mrs Dawson stated. ‘Do keep us informed, Corinna.’
The door to Dion Monk’s apartment was still open. I looked through it towards the parlour. It appeared that the audience for today’s pageant had grown rather than diminished. We had Visitors, standing mostly in a clump along the far wall, looking down at our burglar. The young man appeared to have regained consciousness. But he lay where he was, with three kitchen chairs placed around him at equal intervals. Trudi had her garden fork poised, and it appeared that Anwyn and Therese were armed with pins, needles, scissors and stilettoes. Trudi waved her free hand at me.
‘All in order here, Corinna,’ she announced. ‘We have an agreement. He lies quietly on the floor, and I don’t stab him with the fork. Please shut the door.’
Taking out my handkerchief, I wrapped it around my hand and lightly closed the door on the burglar and his guards. Then I gave the newcomers the once-over. Standing apart from the others, and looking at me without expression, was Meroe, dressed in one of her usual gypsy wraps. She nodded, but did not speak. Her eyes were taking everything in, but she preferred silence until she was sure of herself. I surveyed the remainder of the crowd. There were two men and three women – though there was more than a whiff of intersex in their attire and attitudes. All were in their early twenties as far as I could tell. Four were dressed informally in long trousers and white T-shirts emblazoned with RMIT PERFORMING ARTS. The fifth sat in a wheelchair a little away from them. She appeared to be watching everyone else. She was mousy-looking, and wore a pale blue shirt and jeans. Her hands grasped the wheels of her chair. In her lap was a loop of crewel, half finished, in bright colours. I could not see what it was going to be as yet. But it looked good.