Death on the Nyle

Murder: Part Two

The familial discontentment from earlier had not abated when Beckett entered the library, where through a long window, a small, dull sun shone low in the lunar sky, shrouding the room in an eerie red glow. Professor Spoon and Melanoma Branston were engaged in a blazing row. Elbert Branston sat quietly observing them, wiping his bloodshot eyes every so often. Ms Pee was scuttling about nervously, murmuring to herself in her own language and Cedric lay snoring, sprawled on an easy chair, oblivious to the world around him. Büttler stood straight-backed and patient at the doorway, although his eyebrows arched, disapprovingly.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," cried Beckett. "Please try to be civil to one another. Is Bart not here yet?"

"I have sent George to summon him," replied Büttler. "He should be along presently."

"Good. Now perhaps—"

"Refreshments are also on the way, sir."

"Excellent," answered Beckett, somewhat annoyed that Büttler had pre-empted him, and he subconsciously rubbed his stomach, as he was wont to do in such circumstances.

"Do you have an answer, Mr Beckett? Do you know who did it?" pleaded Elbert.

"I—" Beckett's response was cut short by the appearance of George. The little robo-valet tumbled into the conservatory, its wheel spinning wildly.

"Mr Büttler, Mr Beckett! Everyone! It's terrible. Mr Bart. He's dead!"

Silence engulfed the room like a black hole.

"The final deed is done and the murderer is revealed," proclaimed Beckett, forebodingly.

"What do you mean?" asked Ms Pee.

"I mean," said Beckett, "that up until now, Richmal Branston's murder did not make sense. But now, the truth has become clear. All the pieces are fitting together. I know who murdered Richmal Branston and I know who murdered his son!"