Sebastian Gloom

Benson Investigates

     Benson didn't go directly to the house of Philip Cranston but instead went back to Sebastian Gloom's museum for a change of clothes. Simply turning up at Cranston’s mansion and demanding to interview his staff and the surviving members of his family was likely to only get him turned away with a flea in his ear, so instead he dressed as an inspector of Scotland Yard along with some high quality forged identification. Ideally he would have liked to turn up with a couple of constables beside him to add weight to his presence, but the fellows he’d used to play those roles in the past were out of town and there was no time to find replacements and train them in how to play the parts. Benson was alone when he approached the house, therefore, and arriving there he paused for a moment to take note of its entrances and exits.

     The Cranston house was located on Trafford Avenue, the street that contained the homes of most of Manchester's wealthy and powerful. It had a central building with two wings and a stables fronted by a large garden and an in and out driveway. There was, he believed, an even larger garden to the rear of the house, and the whole thing was surrounded by a steel fence with wicked spikes along the top. The gate giving access from the street could be closed and locked, but was normally left open and Benson was able to simply walk in. He was familiar with this kind of arrangement, and although the house itself had many entrances he doubted that there would be any other exits through the boundary fence. Anyone entering or leaving the house would have to pass within sight of anyone watching from the street. He nodded with satisfaction and approached the house.

     The doorbell was rung by means of a chain hanging from the portico, and a few moments later the door was opened by a smartly uniformed doorman. He was taken inside and asked to wait in the drawing room while the doorman went to fetch the master of the house. Benson spent the time examining the paintings of exotic foreign lands that hung on the walls.

    George Cranston, Philip's son and heir, accepted his identity as a police detective without question and offered him a drink, which he declined. “What could be so urgent that it couldn’t wait until morning?” he asked. “Most of the staff are just about finishing up for the day.”

     “There have been developments,” said Benson. “The crime you reported has turned out to be only a small part of something much larger. I regret that I cannot go into more detail, but it has become imperative that the crime be solved as quickly as possible. I would like to interview every member of your household individually."

     “Very well. If you will wait here for a few moments, I will have everyone assembled immediately. Will you be wanting to see them one at a time?”

     “Yes, and please make sure that no-one enters or leaves the house until I’ve interviewed everyone.”

     “There is a small study through that door over there, it has a table and a chair. I can have someone take another chair in if you wish.”

     “That will do very well. Thank you.”

     A few minutes later he was sitting in one of the chairs, looking across the table at James Todman, the head butler. He was still in full uniform and sat with military rigidity, a look of stoic, imperturbable calm on his inscrutable face. He gave every impression that his expression wouldn’t change even in the event of a volcanic eruption taking place directly beneath him. That was okay. Benson wasn't here to shake information out of anyone, although that was what he wanted them to think. He'd decided upon a better way to get what he wanted.

     “I'm sorry to disturb you so late in the evening,” he said. “I just need to ask you some questions.”

     “Of course,” replied the butler. “We are happy to help the police in any way we can.”