54. The Yard
In which Batshit follows a scent…
“The door was locked all night,” said @Hedgehogforshort. “Halcyon took the key off the hook and opened it, and we were standing right here when she did. Nothing came out of that room except the crate.”
@EdithStourton looked at the office door, which stayed shut, and then into the storeroom, where the sacks of whiting were back against the wall exactly where Fenella had put them. “Then they got out some other way,” she said, “and I’d like to know how, because Fenella Burnish checked that room twice and couldn’t find an exit.”
Edith took the dogs out into the yard.
Brains walked to the middle of the concrete, where the van had stood, put her nose down, and followed something in a short straight line to the gate. There she sat, facing the lane.
Batshit went to the same patch of concrete and began scrabbling at the place where the van had been, and then she ran out and away down the lane towards the drove at full stretch, ears flat back, her lead bouncing along behind her.
Edith ran after her and eventually caught the lead by treading on it. Batshit stopped so suddenly that her back end overtook her front.
“The van has been gone the best part of an hour,” said Edith, reeling her in. “It will be miles away by now.”
Batshit sat in the road and looked down the lane in the direction the van had gone. Edith led her back to the car.
“Let’s get back to the Bluestocking,” she said to Hedgehog. “Somebody might have heard something.”
Batshit rode home on the back seat facing the rear window.
The Bluestocking was full, but nobody was drinking anything. Gasket had the ordinary teapot on the table next to a row of mugs, and she had not yet poured the tea.
“WHERE ARE THEY?” yelled Gantry, before the door had shut.
Hedgehog explained what they had found. The empty workshop. Halcyon, who had been in since half eight and seen nobody. The courier, early because of the A14. The crate in the storeroom, and Halcyon nailing down the lid while they waited. Fenella Burnish arriving afterwards, also blaming the A14, checking the storeroom twice. The vent and the window and the join where the wall met the floor. And finally, Fenella going into her office and shutting the door. Firmly.
“She said it was a stock-take,” said Edith. “But she didn’t write anything down.”
“Then Brains sat in the back corner,” said Hedgehog, “and Batshit found their droppings under the straw, all covered over.”
“Covered over properly?” asked Girdle.
“Like a made bed.”
“That’s how we leave them,” said Geometry. “Always.”
The gerbils nodded. “Always.”
“So were they in the storeroom all night?” asked Gasket.
“All night,” said Hedgehog. “And this morning they weren’t there. The door was locked until Halcyon opened it. We were standing in front of it. Nothing came out except the crate.”
@Boiledbeetle was sitting at the end of the bar. She licked the last remnants of chocolate and marshmallow from her antennae. “Then they were in the crate,” she said.
“That’s impossible,” said Hedgehog. “The crate was already packed. They’d have had to take the lid off, climb in, and put it back on over themselves from the inside. And Halcyon nailed it down with us ten feet away. They’d have shouted. We would have heard them.”
“Not impossible,” said Boily, and unwrapped another teacake. “Improbable.”
“The Sign of Four was written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,” said Grisaille, from something written down, “and it states that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
Everyone stared at her.
“The crate!” said Hedgehog. “We watched Halcyon nail it shut. And they were inside it!”
Gasket poured Grisaille’s tea first, and then she poured everybody else’s.
“WE HAVE TO GET THEM BACK,” said Gantry.
“Where was it going?” asked Angle. “Did either of you see?”
“There was a docket in the sleeve on the lid,” said Edith. “It had a number on it. That’s all. Just a number.”
@AngleofRepose already had the Dispatch tab open. The amber rows came up at the top, Norwich, Carlisle, St David’s and Sainte-Chapelle, and against each of them, in the destination column, the same thing.
“Consignee 3859,” she read. “Was it that?”
Before Edith could answer, the telephone rang behind the bar.
@ChristmasStars picked it up and listened for a moment. “It’s Gosie,” she said, and put the phone on loudspeaker so everyone could hear.
“I need MyrtleLion,” said Gosie. “The depot won’t tell us anything. Not when a crate came in, not where it went, nothing. But they would tell Myrtle. Nobody ever asks Myrtle who sent her. I need her to come and be MyrtleLion.”
“Gosie,” said Christmas Stars. “Griffin, Gimbal and Graphic are missing.”
There was a pause on the line long enough for Girdle to start counting it.
“Missing since when?”
“They didn’t come home last night,” said Hedgehog. “We went to the workshop.
They’d been locked in the storeroom overnight, and now they’re not there.”
“Then where are they?”
“We think they’re in a crate. The courier took it this morning.”
“Going where?”
Hedgehog looked at Angle.
“If it’s the same number as the last crate,” said Angle, “it’s going to Sweden. Consignee 3859. When you rang the courier and said you were Halcyon, the courier told you that was P. Ågren, receipt required, same as the last one.”
“Pernilla,” said Gosie.
“Pernilla?” asked Christmas Stars.
“Pernilla Ågren, glass artist. She handles packages for a women’s network,” said Gosie. “The crate is coming here. As must you all.”
At the end of the bar MyrtleLion put down her glass. “I’ll need a clipboard,” she said.
https://myrtlelion.substack.com/p/54-the-yard