Superintendent Silver and I were lunching together. We were both downcast.
“Our morning has not been entirely successful,” I said thoughtfully. Silver shook his head.
“It’s going to be uphill work, Octavia.”
“What do you think of him?” I said, staring thoughtfully at a newly found spot on the tabletop.
“Of the doctor? Well, frankly, I think Blue Blood was right. He’s a killer. And he reminds me of a lawyer chap in Manehatten. Same hearty self-confident manner. Same popularity. He was a devil – so’s Hooves. All the same it doesn’t follow that Hooves killed Blue Blood, and as a matter of fact I don’t think he did. He’d know the risk too well - better than a laystallion would - that Blue Blood might wake and cry out. No, I don’t think the Doctor murdered him.”
I continued to stare at the table. “But you think he has murdered somepony?”
“Possibly quite a lot of ponies. That lawyer had. But it’s going to be hard to get at. We’ve looked over his bank account - nothing suspicious there - no large sums suddenly paid in. At any rate in the last seven years he’s not had any legacy from a patient. That wipes out murder for direct gain. He’s never married – that’s a pity - so ideally simple for a doctor to kill his own wife. He’s well to do, but then he’s got a thriving practice among well-to-do people. In fact he appears to lead a thoroughly blameless life - and perhaps does do so.”
“Maybe. But I prefer to believe the worst.”
I went on. “There’s that hint of scandal over that mare, Mrs. Cloudfair. That’s worth looking up, I think. It would be wise to get someone on to that straightaway. But, seeing as she actually died out in Elephantia by some local disease, so I don’t think there’s anything in that - but it might throw a light on his general character and morals.”
I paused for a moment. “Then there was the husband.”
“Yes. And then he died of anthrax.” Said Superintendent Silver.
“There were a lot of cheap shaving brushes on the market just then - some of them infected. There was a regular scandal about it.”
“I thought it was rather convenient,” I said, sipping my coffee.
“That’s what I thought. If her husband were threatening to kick up a row - But there, it’s all conjecture. We haven’t a leg to stand upon.”
“Courage, my friend. I know your patience. In the end, we will have as many legs as a millipede.” I said, smiling reassuringly.
“And fall into a ditch as a result of thinking about them,” grinned Silver, cheering up.
Then he asked curiously. “What about you, Miss Melody? Going to take up some private in-looks yourself?”
“I may again call on Doctor Hooves.”
“Two interrogations in one day, that ought to put the wind up him.”
“Oh, I shall be very discreet. I shall not inquire into his past life.” I took another sip of my coffee.
“I’d like to know just exactly what line you’ll take,” said Silver, curiously, ignoring his coffee altogether, “but don’t tell me unless you want to.”
“Not at all, not at all. I am most willing. I shall talk a little of bridge, that is all.”
The superintendent sighed, “Bridge again. You harp on about that, don’t you, Octavia?”
“I find the subject very useful.” I replied, ever so slightly offended.
"Well, everypony to his or her taste. I don’t deal much in these fancy approaches. They don’t suit my style.” Said the superintendent, looking down at his coffee, seeming as though he had only just recognized its existence.
Looking at him as if noticing a piece of old cheese left on the side of the path, I said, “I often wonder what exactly is your style, Superintendent.” Before going back to my coffee.
The Superintendent missed the somewhat contemptuous note in my voice, and answered, with a merry twinkle in his eye, “A straightforward, honest, zealous officer doing his duty in the most laborious manner – that’s my style. No frills. No fancy work, just honest perspiration. Stolid and a bit stupid – that’s my ticket.”
I smiled well humoredly and raised my nearby glass of water. “To our respective methods - and may success crown our joint efforts.”
Superintendent Silver smiled and did likewise.
After a minute of two of silently eating our Daffodil and Jasmine sandwiches, Superintendent Silver said, his mouth half full of bread and plant, “I expect Colonel Pants may get us something worth having about Major Amour. He’s got a good many sources of information.”
Dabbing delicately around my mouth with a cloth, I said “Most certainly. And Mrs. Cherry?”
“Bit of a tossup there, I rather like that pony. Talks a lot of nonsense, but she’s a sport. And mares get to know things about other mares that stallions can’t get at. She may spot something useful.”
“Undoubtedly she will.” I said setting down the cloth.
After the appropriate formalities were completed, we separated. Silver went back to Manehatten Yard Ponyville Office to issue instructions for certain lines to be followed up. I betook myself to 200 Thoroughbred Estates.
Doctor Hooves’ eyebrows rose comically as he greeted me.“Two sleuths in one day?” he asked. “Handcuffs by this evening, I suppose.”
I smiled.
“I can assure you, Doctor Hooves, that my attentions are being equally divided between all four of you.”
“That’s something to be thankful for, at all events. Cigar?” The Doctor held out a small, wooden, intricately engraved box of long, thin cigars.
“If you permit, I prefer my pipe.”
I produced my omnipresent Canterlotian wooden smoking pipe and my equally omnipresent small silver tobacco case. I only smoke it on the odd occasion. Once I had placed a substantial portion of tobacco inside the pipe, I took the lit match offered to me by the Doctor, lit the pipe, puffed twice, and stationed its end in the corner on my mouth, puffing occasionally.
All the while, the Doctor waited patiently whilst smoking his cigar.
Once I had finished the lighting process, Hooves offered me a seat and we sat down, almost in unison.
“Well, what can I do for you?” asked Hooves.
I was silent for a minute or two, puffing, then I said, “Are you a keen observer of Equidae nature, Doctor?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I am. A doctor has to be.”
“That was exactly my reasoning. A doctor has always to be studying his patients - their expressions, their colour, how fast they breathe, any signs of restlessness; a doctor notices these things automatically almost without noticing he notices! I’m sure you’re the sort of pony who would know all about that, seeing as you are a doctor.” I paused for a moment. “I would like your help with something, Doctor.”
Tapping ash into a tray on his desk, the doctor answered, “I’m willing enough to help. What’s the trouble?”
I produced from a neat little pocket case three carefully folded bridge scores.
“These are the first three rubbers the other evening,” I explained.
“Here is the first one, in Miss Harpstrings’ writing. Now can you tell me, with this to refresh your memory, exactly what the bidding was and how each hand went?”
Hooves simply stared at me in astonishment. “You’re joking, Miss Melody. How can I possibly remember?”
I was marginally taken aback, until I remembered that most ponies, unlike myself, cannot remember things such as these. I decided that what Doctor Hooves needed was to be assisted with his recollection. “Can’t you? I should be so very grateful if you could. Take this first rubber. The first game must have resulted either in a game bid in hearts or spades, or else one or other side must have gone down fifty.”
“Let me see - that was the first hand, Yes, I think they went out in spades.”
“And the next hand?”
“I suppose one or other of us went down fifty - but I can’t remember which or what it was in. Really, Miss Melody, you can hardly expect me to do so.”
“Can’t you remember any of the bidding or the hands?”
“I got a grand slam - I remember that. It was doubled too. And I also remember going down a nasty smack, playing three no trumps, I think it was - went down a plenty. But that was later on.”
“Do you remember with whom you were playing?”
“Mrs. Shores. She looked a bit grim, I remember. Didn’t like my overbidding, I expect.”
“And you can’t remember any other of the hands or the bidding?”
Hooves laughed.
“My dear Miss Melody, did you really expect I could? First there was the murder - enough to drive the most spectacular hands out of one’s mind - and in addition I’ve played at least half a dozen rubbers since then.”
I sat looking and feeling rather crestfallen.
“I’m sorry,” said Hooves.
“It does not matter very much,” I said slowly. “I hoped that you might remember one or two, at least, of the hands, because I thought they might be valuable landmarks in remembering other things.”
“What other things?”
“Well, you might have noticed, for instance, that your partner made a mess of playing a perfectly simple no trumper, or that an opponent, say, presented you with a couple of unexpected tricks by failing to lead an obvious card.”
Doctor Hooves became suddenly serious. He leaned forward in his chair, taking the cigar from his mouth, “Ah,” he said. “Now I see what you’re driving at. Forgive me. I thought at first you were talking pure nonsense. You mean that the murder - the successful accomplishment of the murder - might have made a definite difference in the guilty party’s play?”
I nodded, “You have seized the idea correctly. It would be a clue of the first excellence if you had been four players who knew each other’s game well. A variation, a sudden lack of brilliance, a missed opportunity - that would have been immediately noticed. Unluckily you were all strangers to each other. Variations in play would not be so noticeable. But think, Doctor, I beg of you to think. Do you remember any inequalities - any sudden glaring mistakes - in the play of anyone?”
There was silence for a minute or two, in which time I puffed silently on my pipe, then Doctor Hooves shook his head. “It’s no good. I can’t help you,” he said frankly. “I simply don’t remember. All I can tell you is what I told you before. Mrs. Shores is a first-class player - she never made a slip that I noticed. She was brilliant from start to finish. Amour’s play was uniformly good, too. Rather a conventional player - that is, his bidding is strictly conventional. He never steps outside the rules. Won’t take a long chance. Miss Harpstrings –“ He hesitated.
“Yes? Miss Harpstrings?” I prompted him.
“She did make mistakes, once or twice, I remember - toward the end of the evening: but that may simply have been because she was tired, not being a very experienced player. Her hoof shook, too –“ He stopped.
“When did her hoof shake?”
“When was it now? I can’t remember - I think she was just nervous. Miss Melody, you’re making me imagine things.”
“I apologize. There is another point on which I seek your help.”
“Yes?”
I said slowly, “It is difficult. I do not, you see, wish to ask you a leading question. If I say, did you notice so and so - well, I have put the thing into your head. Your answer will not be so valuable. Let me try to get at the matter another way. If you will be so kind, Doctor Hooves, describe to me the contents of the room in which you played.”
Hooves looked thoroughly astonished.
“The contents of the room?”
“If you will be so good.”
“My dear mare, I simply don’t know where to begin.”
“Begin anywhere you choose.”
“Well, there was a good deal of furniture –“
“No, no, no, be precise, I pray of you.”
Doctor Hooves sighed. He began facetiously, adorning the manner of an auctioneer.
“One large settee upholstered in ivory brocade - one ditto in green ditto - four or five large chairs. Eight or nine Mesotrotanian rugs - a set of twelve small gilt Empire chairs. William and Mary bureau. I feel just like an auctioneer’s clerk. A very beautiful Baltimare cabinet. A Grand piano. There was other furniture but I’m afraid I didn’t notice it. Six first-class Elephantiain prints. Two Mesotrotanian pictures on a looking glass. Five or six beautiful snuffboxes. Some Trotish ivory netsuke figures on a table by themselves. Some old silver - Arthur the First tass, I think. One or two pieces of Manehatten enamel –“
“Bravo - Bravo –“ I applauded.
“A couple of old Canterlotian slipware birds - and, I think, a Saddle Wood figure. Then there was some Eastern stuff - intricate silver work. Some jewelry, I don’t know much about that. Some glorious Emeralds, I remember. Oh, and some miniatures in a case - pretty good ones, I fancy. That’s not all by a long way, but it’s all I can think of for the minute.”
“It is magnificent,” I said with due appreciation. “You have the true observer’s eye.”
The doctor laughed and asked curiously, “Have I included the object you had in mind?”
“That is the interesting thing about it,” I said. “If you had mentioned the object I had in mind, I would have been extremely surprised. As I thought, you could not mention it.”
“Why?”
I twinkled my eye.
“Perhaps - because it was not there to mention.”
Hooves stared.
“That seems to remind me of something.”
“It reminds you of Sherlock Hooves does it not? The curious incident of the dog in the night. The dog did not howl in the night. That is the curious thing! Ah, well, I am not above stealing the tricks of others.”
Doctor Hooves simply stared at me, apparently lost, “Do you know, Miss Melody, I am completely at sea as to what you are driving at.”
“That is excellent, that. In confidence that is how I get my little effects.”
Then, as Doctor Hooves still looked rather dazed I said with a smile as I rose to my hooves, “You may at least comprehend this; what you have told me is going to be very helpful to me in my next interview.”
The doctor rose also. “I can’t see how, but I’ll take your word for it,” he said.
We bid each other farewell.
I went down the steps of the doctor’s house and hailed a passing taxi chariot.
“One eleven Bridle Lane, Canterlot, please.” I told the driver.