The Kaikoura Horror

3

"I must say, this is quite unexpected," said the blond Paul Bethany the moment Dusang and Uxbury arrived at his studio. "Are you still going on about that case with the giant squid, Uxbury?"

"The deuce!" snapped Uxbury. "The only reason I'm raking it up again is because this man wants to!"

Dusang drew on his tomahawk pipe, gazing at Bethany carefully. "Good afternoon," he said by way of introduction, "I believe that the solution to this case lies in some information I believe you have on Proust's ex-girlfriend."

"Really?" Bethany sounded surprised. "Well, in that case, I think you'd better come in."

The art studio, like how Uxbury had described, was charged with the stench of gas. Frescoes and paintings dotted the walls, coupled with splatters of paint and kaleidoscopes of paintbrushes. Dusang gazed around himself interestedly, a gleam in his eye. "A very interesting little studio, Mr. Bethany," he remarked. "May I be so bold as to examine the painting you did on the day of the crime?"

"Why, of course," said Bethany, striding up to one of the easels and indicating a forest scene. "Here it is."

Dusang studied it carefully, nodding ever so slightly. "Observe the chiaroscuro, Uxbury," he said, almost absently. "It has been executed to such a degree that even Vermeer would be impressed by."

Uxbury stood in a corner, seething. Dusang turned around to face Bethany. "Am I right to presume that there is another studio here?"

Bethany nodded warily. "Yes, but I'm afraid there is a lot of clutter in there at the moment, so I may be unable to bring you to see that... if that's what you wish."

Dusang drew on his pipe. "That is no matter."

Then he turned to face Uxbury. "Would you care for a drink, Uxbury? I think a glass of water should be sufficient."

"I will fetch it for you," said Bethany, striding away from the studio. Moments later, he returned, with a glass of water in his hand. Dusang took it, thanking him, and then strode over to the forest painting. "A very interesting piece of artwork, Mr. Bethany. I wondered if you could explain your inspiration for this-- oh, I beg your pardon!"

Somehow, Dusang's hand had slipped, causing the glass of water to fall out of his hand. Uxbury gave a warning cry! Like some cursed projectile the glass slammed against Bethany's painting, shattering in an explosion of water and glass. The painting, attacked by the water, screamed in pain, running together and blurring; it was as though the rivulets of water were spiriting the paint molecules away from their erstwhile home, causing the painting to run together, blurring together, never to be seen again.

"I am old," said Dusang, shaking his head, as Bethany quickly strode forwards. "I apologize... I think no amount of compensation could make up for this transgression."

"That's quite alright, you needn't blame yourself," said Bethany good-spiritedly. "It wasn't my best work."

Then he turned away from the painting. At that moment, however, Dusang suddenly pointed at him with his tomahawk pipe. "Arrest this man, Uxbury! He is responsible for destroying Proust's pagoda!"

Both Bethany and Uxbury stared at him in disbelief. Then Bethany's face contorted with fury, and with a scream of anger, flung himself at Dusang...