Laurie King - The Beekeeper's Apprentice

"No, no," said Mrs. Barker before her husband could speak. "You must come in for refreshment. A glass of sherry, or is it not too early for tea? Tea it is, then. We are neighbours, I believe. I've seen you from the road. I am Mrs. Barker; this is my husband." She turned to the other two men. "Thank you, Ron, they'll be quiet now. Terrence, could you please tell Mrs. Woods that we will take tea now, and there will be four. We'll be in the conservatory in a few minutes. Thank you."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Barker. I am sure Miss Russell is as in need of refreshment as I am after our walk." He turned to the older man, who had stood watching his wife affectionately as she dealt with dogs, guests, and men. "Mr. Barker, this is a most interesting building. Portland stone, is it not? From the early eighteenth century? And when was the folly added?"

The obvious interest Holmes had in the structure led to a deep conversation concerning cracking foundations, wood beetles, leaded windows, the cost of coal, and the drawbacks of the British tradesman. After a hearty tea we were offered a tour, and Holmes, the amateur architectural enthusiast, talked his way into the tower as well. We climbed up the narrow, open wooden steps while Mr. Barker rode in the tiny lift he had installed. He met us at the top.

"I've always wanted an ivory tower." He smiled. "It was the main reason I bought the place, this tower. The lift was an extravagance, but I have problems with climbing the stairs. These are my rooms here. I'd like you to see my view."

The view was indeed panoramic, a northerly outlook up to the beginnings of the dark weald. Having admired it and the rooms, we set off again for the stairs, but before we reached them Holmes abruptly turned and made for a ladder leaning against a wall at the end of the hallway.

"I do hope you don't mind, Mr. Barker, but I must see the top of this magnificent tower. I'll just be an instant, Russell. Note this clever trapdoor here." His voice faded and echoed as his feet disappeared.

"But it's not safe up there, Mr. Holmes," Mr. Barker protested. He turned to me. "I can't think why that door is unlocked. I told Ron to fix a padlock to it. I was up there three years ago, and I didn't like the look of it at all."

"He'll be quite careful, Mr. Barker, and I'm sure he'll be just a moment. Ah, see, here he comes now." Holmes' long legs reappeared down the ladder, and his eyes seemed darker as he turned happily towards us.

"Thank you, Mr. Barker, you have a most interesting tower. Now, tell me about the primitive art you have in your hall downstairs. New Guinean, isn't it? The Sepik River, I believe?"

Mr. Barker was successfully distracted and walked slowly down the stairs on Holmes' arm, talking about his travels in the wilder places of the world. By the time we left an hour later, we had admired several magnificent African bronzes, an Australian aboriginal didgeridoo, three Esquimaux carved walrus tusks, and an exquisite golden figure from Incan Peru. The Barkers saw us to the door and we said good-bye, but suddenly Holmes pushed back past them.

"I must thank the cook personally for that superb tea she produced. Do you think she would give Miss Russell the recipe for those little pink cakes? The kitchen is down here, I believe?"

I answered the Barkers' startled looks with an expressive shrug, to tell them that I was not to be held responsible for his behavioural oddities, and ducked down the hallway after him. I found him shaking the hand of a bewildered little woman with grey hair and ruddy cheeks, thanking her profusely. Another woman, younger and prettier, had been sitting at the table with a cup of tea. "Thank you, Mrs. Woods is it? Miss Russell and I so appreciated your revivifying tea, it helped restore us after those dreadful dogs set upon us. Amazing number of them — do you have to care for them? Oh good, yes, it is a better task for a man. Still, they must eat a lot, and I suppose you have to prepare their food?"

Mrs. Woods had responded to his banter with an oddly girlish giggle.

"Oh yes, sir, they fairly keep the town butcher in business. This morning it took all three of us to carry the order from the butcher's — there must've been twenty pounds of bones alone."

"Dogs eat a lot of bones, don't they?" I wondered what this was all leading up to, but it appeared that he had what he was after.

"Well, thank you again, Mrs. Woods, and don't forget that Miss Russell wants that recipe."

She waved us merrily out the kitchen door. The dogs were there, lying about on a struggling patch of much-dug- up lawn, and ignored us completely. We circled the house and strode off down the road.

"Holmes, what was that about the cakes? You know I don't know a thing about baking. Or do you think the poisonous things are the cause of Mr. Barker's illness?"

"Merely a ruse, Russell. Is it not nice of the government to arrange this telephone line for the use of the Barkers and myself? To say nothing of the birds." The line overhead was dotted with singing black bodies, and a poin tillist line of white defined one edge of the road. I looked at the face of my companion and read satisfaction and not a little mischief.

"I'm sorry, Holmes, but what are we looking for? Did you see something on the roof?"

"Oh, Russell, it is I who should apologise. Of course, you did not see the roof. Had you, you would have found this," he said, holding out a tiny splinter of black wood, "and half a dozen cigarette ends, which we shall analyse when we get back to the cottage."

I examined the tiny sliver of wood, but it said nothing. "May I have a hint, please, Holmes?"

"Russell, I am most disappointed. It is really quite simple."

"Elementary, in fact?"

"Precisely. Consider, then, the following: a chip of treated wood atop an unused tower; market day; bones; Sepik River art; an absence of poison; and the woods that the road cuts through up ahead."

I stopped dead, my mind working furiously while Holmes leant on his stick and watched with interest. A chip of wood — someone on the tower — we knew that, why should — market day — a set market day — with bones to feed the dogs while the telephone line that lay along the road — I looked up, affronted.

"Are you telling me the butler did it?"

"I'm afraid it does happen. Shall we search the woods for the débris?"

It took us about ten minutes to find a small clearing strewn with bones. The butcher had been contributing to the dogs' diet for some months, judging by the age of some of the dry brown knucklebones.

"Do you feel like a spot of climbing, Russell? Or shall I?"

"If I might borrow your belt for safety, I should be happy to." We examined the nearby telephone poles until Holmes gave a low exclamation.

"This one, Russell." I went over to where he stood and saw the unmistakable signs of frequent, and recent, climbing spikes.

"I saw no sign of spikes or climbing on his shoes, did you?" I asked as I bent to unlace my own heavy boots.

"No, but I am certain that a search through his room would give us a pair with suggestive scuffs and scratches."

"Right, I'm ready. Catch me if I fall." Leaning back against the circle of our combined belts I planted my bare feet firmly onto the rough wood and began slowly to inch my way up: step, step, shift the belt; step, step, shift. I made the top without mishap, hooked myself into greater security, and set to an examination of the wires that were attached to the pole. The marks were clear.

"There are signs of a line being tapped in here," I called down to Holmes. "Someone has been here within the last few days, from the lack of dust at the contact point. Shall we come back with a fingerprint kit?" I climbed down and returned to Holmes his belt. He looked dubiously at the bent buckle. "Perhaps a stronger climbing tether would be advised," I added.