9,000 Petals of Insanity

Chapter 17: La Belette Joyeuse

"If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues..."

Wilfred Owen, "Dulce et Decorum Est"

When Dim-Dim-Heedie left the drawing-room Wayzgoose came over, his face registering apology. "I must apologize, sir, for my sister. That armchair was Beelzebub's. You must understand that it brings back horrid memories."

I stared down at the maltreated chair; the fabric had completely been ripped open, its seat ruptured, completely destroyed. Wayzgoose looked scandalously at the chair, and then walked over to another chair and sat down.

"As you can see," said he, "my sister is very dissatisfied with Beelzebub. I cannot say that I am fond of him as well. Despite all of that, I doubt that my sister murdered him."

Galsworthy shook himself. "Well," said he, "perhaps that may be true."

Wayzgoose mopped his brow. "I understand you had questions, Inspector?"

Galsworthy nodded. "Indeed."

He opened his notepad. "I understand that Mr. Narkarec was a victim of Armageddon. Have you found that any of your doorknobs have been stolen?"

Wayzgoose frowned. "As a matter of fact, Inspector, we have. We haven't had time to report it. I assumed it was merely a practical joke."

Galsworthy pointed his pencil. "What of dead chickens?"

Wayzgoose nodded. "We had it buried."

Galsworthy rubbed his chin. "It would be better if the chicken were turned over to the police, Mr. Fsik."

"Certainly, certainly," said Wayzgoose.

The inspector leant back. "Have you reason to believe that Mr. Narkarec had enemies?"

Wayzgoose shook his head. "No. Beelzebub has never been one to make enemies."

Galsworthy inclined an eyebrow. "Suppose you account for your whereabouts during his murder."

Wayzgoose frowned. "If you pardon the observation, Inspector, I do not see how I could have employed the supernatural means to murder Beelzebub."

"That may be true," said Galsworthy, "but it appears that Mr. Dusang is convinced that it was nothing more than showmanship."

The toad doctor chewed on his cigar. "I cannot see how showmanship killed Beelzebub."

Dusang drew on his pipe. "Perhaps. It seems to me apparent that Mr. Narkarec was killed beforehand, and then it was made to look as though he was killed in a desert."

"But the witnesses!" spluttered Galsworthy. "We are not, however, debating this as of yet. Mr. Fsik?"

Wayzgoose removed the cigar from his mouth. "If you must know, I was in the house. I have a cast-iron alibi."

It was fleeting, but I saw it nonetheless: there was a single thread of hesitation that flitted across Wayzgoose's eyes. Then, almost as quickly as it had materialized, it dispersed. I frowned slightly. Was he indeed concealing something?

The interrogation was not enough to yield results. Wayzgoose's alibi was confirmed by the butler, but still I nursed, within me, a feeling of suspicion. Perhaps the butler was told to provide the alibi.