Though the keeper was, understandably, a bit embarrassed to not have realized the issue extended beyond the mammals exhibit, he did not grow offended. “I ought to have realized the thefts would not be limited to only my section of the zoo. Please tell me if you find any other specimens you believe we have lost to this unknown criminal.”
“He will not be unknown for long,” Amos said. “I can assure you of that.”
William dipped his head. “There is a reason I asked for your participation in this.”
It must be remembered that the Dead Zoo was run by none other than the Royal Dublin Society, the members of which were not precisely dunces. To not ask one of their membership to oversee a matter such as this was a good indication that either the mystery was indeed an exceptionally difficult one to solve or William Sheenan was particularly keen to keep the matter a secret. It is for the astute reader to ascertain which was, in fact, the case.
Amos continued his searching circuit of the museum, first on the second story, then making his way to the galleries on the third. He found in his perusal a number of missing items. Some showed not the least indication of having been tampered with. Others, however, were scarred with the same careless marks as the other hapless dead creatures. All totaled, he found eight specimens had been taken.
Seating himself upon an obliging bench at the far end of the mammal exhibit, Amos acquainted himself with all his notes, searching for the connection he knew he would find there. Visitors glided in and out, each awed by the displays and most filled with amazement at the collection. Few paid him the least heed. He did not mind.
Nine missing.
One feline.
Four rodents.
One fish.
Two birds.
One bicolored lobster.
All were small enough for an enterprising individual to tuck under a jacket or shawl. These thefts, he grew more and more certain, were not the work of a particularly gifted thief. Perhaps the items were taken by youths challenging one another to undertake what they saw as a lark. Perhaps it was a person with a propensity toward thievery for reasons even they could not explain; he had read that some people could not help the inclination. Perhaps someone wished to undermine the museum.
He rose from his place of pondering and meandered amongst the visitors, listening in with a degree of subtlety he felt quite proud of. None, he felt certain, would realize he was investigating them.
The mother and child peering at the whale skeleton were quickly eliminated. To undertake something like this in the presence of a child would be difficult indeed.
He hovered just beyond a group of young students from Rathmines as they spoke at length of how very bored they all were.
“We’d not be seen if we slipped off and moved a few things about,” one lad said. “Could pose the animals for a rugby match or some lark like that.”
His friend shook his head. “They’re likely all bolted in. And the museum man said once the animals are put on display, they don’t get moved about.”
The boys, then, were certain the specimens couldn’t be stolen or moved from their spots. They’d not think that if they were the ones making off with them.
Amos realized, of course, that the perpetrator might very well not be present that particular day and at that particular hour. But the museum was open only three days per week. For so much to have gone missing in so short a time, he reasoned, the person must have been coming in every open day to make off with something new.
On he wandered. As has been established already, he was not one to admit to any insufficiencies in his intelligence. And he certainly wasn’t likely to admit defeat after a single morning.
His footsteps took him past the polar bear once more. It was really a magnificent animal. Something in its eyes was more realistic than the other creatures strewn about. The glassy expressions one saw in all directions made clear how very dead the Dead Zoo really was. But this bear somehow gave a person pause. Perhaps it was simply the decision to have him perpetually watching the animal that might once have been his dinner. Even the least scientifically inclined visitor could understand hunger at a glance.
Amos wandered on, listening in on every conversation. Back up the stairs. Past the fish. Back to the birds. He ignored as he went the eyes that were deceptively upon him. He knew better than to believe the trick this place played on the senses.
Two gentlemen stood near the ostrich skeleton, having a lively conversation. A quick assessment of their attire told Amos they were relatively well-to-do. Their manner of speaking confirmed that evaluation.
“A remarkable specimen,” the taller of the two said to the other.
“Indeed,” was the response. “And the mounted birds are quite exquisite, as well.”
“Have you observed the penguins?” The taller gentleman indicated the birds in question by pointing at them with his cane. “I find myself quite envious. Something of that caliber ought to be in my collection.”
“Indeed.”
“There is, you understand, but one thing to be done.” The man’s mustache twitched. His silver brows arched haughtily.
“Indeed.”
“I must have a penguin of my own. I will not rest until I do. I have certainly managed to add to my collection of late.” The man’s tone was both self-satisfied and suspicious. “It would be a small matter to do so again.”
And with that, the miscreant sealed his fate.
“Sir, if you will be good enough to follow me.” Amos assumed his most demanding, unwavering tone.
“I beg your pardon.” The man eyed him disapprovingly.
“The keeper of the mammal exhibit requires a word with you.”
“Does he?”
Amos motioned him toward the stairs, counting on the man’s good manners to prevent a scene. He often depended upon people doing what he thought they ought. He was both cynical and trusting by nature, and he was not always a good judge of when to employ which. In this instance, he chose correctly.
William was easy to find. He seldom left his precious mammals, and there he was found.
“Mr. Sheenan, I have solved your mystery.” Amos held himself in a proud and defiant posture. “Your collection is the envy of many, some to the point of abandoning their good breeding to obtain what you have that they wish to possess.”
William looked from Amos to the tall gentleman and back once more. His confusion was lost on the self-assured detective, who was quite proud of having so easily solved a question that had baffled others. Had he paid greater attention, he would have noticed that William and the gentleman did not seem at all surprised to see one another. Neither had they asked for an introduction.
Confident in his conclusions, Amos pressed forward. “This man wishes for one of your penguins to be part of his collection. He spoke of it in quite strong terms, almost foregone terms. I contend that—”