Sebastian Gloom

The Transition of Sebastian Gloom

     Sebastian Gloom and Benson returned to the museum later that day frowning with disappointment. Timothy Grenfell had not been able to help them, despite trying various herbal medicines and sitting in meditation for over an hour, and in the end the investigator had thanked him, paid him for his time and started home.

     “Such is the life of a private investigator,” he said to his manservant philosophically as they drove along the street, the last remaining petals of cherry blossom blowing around their heads. The trees were almost bare now. It would be a couple more weeks before their buds broke and they began producing leaves. Gloom wondered how many more cherry blossom springs he would see before the various illnesses and weaknesses that afflicted his body finally carried him off. The positive side, he told himself, was that it made him appreciate all of life's pleasures all the more. People with healthy bodies took so much for granted that it was as though they went through their lives asleep. He, on the other hand, was wide awake and appreciating every moment that he had left.

     “So what now?” asked Benson, walking beside him.

     “I have no idea. I have no leads left to investigate, we are at a dead end. I'll think about it a little more, but we may have no choice but to leave the affair in the hands of Inspector Bailey and hope that he has more luck. As a member of the police force, he has avenues of enquiry that are not open to us.”

     “And if he fails?”

     “Then we will have to consider our options. I would hate for Father Anthony to go unpunished for the murder of Doris Kettle. I never knew the girl, but it seems perverse to me that we only feel sympathy and compassion for those we know personally.”

     “If you need me to perform some act of chastisement on your behalf, then I would be happy to do so. I did know the girl, even if only briefly, and she seemed like a good young woman who didn't deserve what happened to her. She deserves justice, and I'll be happy to deliver it.”

     “Thank you, Benson, but hopefully such drastic action won't be necessary. I have faith in the good inspector. I think he'll come good for us.”

     Arriving at the Museum, they were met by Albert, the housekeeper. “Your pardon, Sir,” he said as Benson helped Gloom into the indoor wheelchair, “but you have a visitor. A man of the church, I believe. He seemed to be in a state of some agitation, if I may say so. I've shown him to the waiting room.”

     Gloom shared a look with Benson. “Thank you, Albert,” he said. “If you would ask him to be patient for a couple of minutes longer, I’ll see him in my office as soon as I’ve gotten myself settled in.” The housekeeper nodded and went off to convey the message.

     Fifteen minutes later, Albert showed the priest into the investigator's office where Benson and Gloom were waiting for him. “Thank you, Benson,” said Gloom. “You can go now.”

     “Are you sure, Sir?” asked the manservant doubtfully. Father Anthony was a trained killer and had reason to hate Sebastian Gloom. The investigator had ways of defending himself, it was true, but leaving his frail, disabled master alone with his enemy still seemed like the sheerest madness.

     “Quite sure, Benson. I'll be fine.”

     Benson gave the priest a look that promised death if any harm should befall his master, and the priest met his gaze steadily. Then the manservant left, closing the door with a click that reminded Gloom of the sound of a coffin lid closing.

     The two men examined each other for a few moments before Sebastian Gloom spoke. “I'm guessing that the reason you're here is that you've received a visit from a certain inspector of the Manchester police force.”