Ch.127Ch.8 – And Then There Was Nothing (12)

I stopped the car in front of the Federal Security Bureau agent. I’d heard he’d been through a major incident, but the agent’s face showed little change. His watchful gaze, like that of someone looking down on worldly affairs, remained the same—like a hideous gargoyle rain spout sculpture on a church praising God.

“Cowboy!” Crayfield shouted jubilantly, opening the passenger window. Henry Payne, walking toward us, gave a hollow laugh.

“What am I seeing here, Crayfield? Making a drunken scene in front of a Federal Security Bureau agent?”

Payne reached through the passenger window and grabbed Crayfield by the collar.

“You arrogant bastard, I’ve been wanting to kick your ass for a while. You’re under arrest. Get out now!”

“Oh my.”

Crayfield grabbed the agent’s wrist. The agent’s face contorted. His arm swelled beneath his coat flap as if about to burst, but Crayfield appeared relaxed.

“You’re not the only one who can show off strength. And for your information, I’ve taken sedatives, not alcohol. Would you like to see my legitimate prescription, Inspector Sir?”

Payne shook off his hand. Crayfield patted his clothes.

“Just state your business. Unpleasant fellow.”

“Ah. It’s nothing much. Our assistant had a date with your boss’s older sister, but it seems she stood him up. Since my assistant is the romantic type, he’ll be waiting at the Pollard Temporary Museum and would like to at least hear the reason for the breakup. Cowboy, is this your first time playing love messenger?”

Henry Payne displayed transcendent patience. But true to his nature as a federal agent, he didn’t stop Crayfield from surveying the street and whispering secretively. When Henry Payne gave a slight nod, the drunk private detective lightly struck the federal agent’s chest with the back of his hand.

“Watch out for snakes, Cowboy! What would happen if a snake got into your boots?”

“One day I’ll split your tongue like a snake.”

I started the car. Crayfield snickered.

“That guy. He’s quite useful, isn’t he? A loyal dog, right? Protects his master and bites intruders! Anyway, the matter of Emma Scully’s protection and tracking is somewhat resolved. By the way, let’s go to Margie’s sandwich shop in the commercial district. They sell fruit juice so sour it’ll make your teeth fall out, but there’s nothing better for sobering up.”

* * * * *

June 25, 1929. 3:54 PM

Margie’s Sandwich Shop

Pollard Island.

The juice tasted awful. It seemed like they’d thrown in every unripe fruit they could find and blended it all together. It wasn’t the matured sourness of vinegar, but the raw tartness of unripe fruit that made my eyes sting. Yet Crayfield gulped it down with pleasure and even left a generous tip.

“Madam Margie!”

Crayfield knocked on the table. Madam Margie, whose juice-making skills were terrible but whose figure and smiling eyes were pretty, walked over.

“It seems a bit weak today. Couldn’t you add more lime?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you that I’ve forgotten my special recipe just for you!”

Madam Margie playfully smacked Crayfield just above his backside.

“Your touch is still the same. By the way, what’s that thing stuck under the door?”

Crayfield pointed to a rubber mat at the entrance.

“It’s because of the snakes.”

Madam Margie crossed her arms.

“I don’t know where these garden snakes keep coming from. They’re not big ones, so I toss them out with tongs whenever I see them, but they keep getting in from somewhere.”

“Baby snakes?”

“Yes, babies. The old man at the clothing store says he saw medium-sized ones too, but he’s such a braggart! Still, it’s true that snakes have suddenly increased in this neighborhood.”

“Since when?”

“Not long ago, Crayfield. A week? Less than a week? But how can baby snakes just pop up like this? Anyway, Crayfield, you rascal. When are you going to show me your snake?”

“Shouldn’t you have a lasso first, Margie? Or maybe wear some lace gloves. Surely you’re not planning to grab it with bare hands?”

“I don’t use bare hands.” Madam Margie thrust out her chest. “Not since I sent my husband away.”

“How considerate! Just open the bathroom door for me.”

Crayfield pulled out more coins. Madam Margie opened the emergency exit. A straight alley was visible behind it. Crayfield walked past the door marked “Bathroom.”

“Don’t misunderstand. Madam Margie’s husband passed away quite a long time ago. Despite how she talks, she still fasts once a month, praying that the scoundrel goes to hell. Look, do you see that place with smoke coming up in the middle of the street?”

There was a shop emitting steam next to a steaming sewer.

“It’s a laundry. They handle all the uniforms for city hall employees. I’ll draw their attention, so grab a couple of neatly folded water department uniforms from the back shelf. One size larger. For your reference, my charm lasts four times longer with women, but less than half as long with men, so calculate your time well.”

The shelves were full of neatly folded uniforms. While Crayfield shared a cigarette with an employee, I grabbed two uniforms. When we returned to Margie’s shop, Crayfield followed.

“You may not be very perceptive, but you have a good eye. Let’s wear these splendid water department uniforms over our clothes. That way, if there’s trouble, we can quickly take them off and run. Anyway, next we need tools and boots.”

The hardware store also sold used items. Crayfield added more black grease to the equipment belt and purchased two safety helmets and a metal ladder.

“Some guys did an interesting experiment. You know those fluorescent vests used at construction sites? They wore those, held light batons, and hung ID-like badges with their faces around their necks, and they could get into anywhere—concert halls, anywhere. We don’t have light batons, so let’s carry the ladder.”

* * * * *

June 25, 1929. 5:10 PM

Pollard Temporary Natural History Museum

Pollard Island.

We parked the car a short distance from the Pollard Temporary Natural History Museum and picked up the metal ladder. Crayfield in front, me behind.

I worried our disguise might be too neat to be convincing, but people surprisingly paid us little attention. They glanced at us briefly but quickly turned away indifferently.

“Nice place. The Chase family managed it well.”

The temporary natural history museum had served as the Chase family’s villa and retreat. It consisted of a four-story main building and a three-story annex, built in old colonial style.

But more striking than the building was the garden. The Chase annex yard was spacious, and children played among the neatly trimmed shrubs.

Though not officially open yet, the garden was accessible to citizens, and the main building was also open to the public. Scaffolding surrounded the annex, where workers were busy.

“This is what they call pre-opening promotion. They’ll charge for the official opening, but not for the pre-promotion. Thanks to our proud mayor’s grand decision, numerous Pollard citizens can enjoy this cultural experience.”

We passed a seemingly affectionate family. When a child tried to touch a baby snake that had raised its head, the parents recoiled in horror and kicked the snake far away.

“If only there weren’t snakes. Let’s start by checking the fourth floor of the main building. Don’t look confused or circle the same place more than twice. Otherwise, these kind-hearted folks will come over asking, ‘Are you lost?’ and try to help.”

People were wandering around inside the main building too. The first floor had many whaling-related items, but the higher floors featured more pre-colonial and exotic items.

Polynesian masks, Korean white porcelain, Indian Buddha statues, and the like. Some were beautiful, some strange, but they all strongly felt like mere objects.

If those exhibits were wooden plates, the brick I saw at the Arkham auction was like a loaded gun. It had a certain gleam that suggested anyone, even a child with enough grip strength to hold a toy ball, could harm someone with it.

But despite searching all floors from the first to the fourth, we couldn’t find the item in question. We set up our ladder and pretended to inspect the ceiling while talking.

“So the answer is either in the basement here or not here at all. It’s unlikely to be in the annex. Too many people around, and it’s under construction. If it’s somewhere in this building, it’s probably in the basement storage.”

But the door to the basement storage was locked. Crayfield sighed softly.

“No choice. Assistant. Let’s go.”

We headed toward the first-floor exit. I thought he might be giving up, but sure enough, Crayfield walked to the information desk. There was a kind-looking young man there, though his reactions seemed a beat slow.

“Leak inspection.”

Crayfield got straight to the point. The young man was flustered.

“Um, pardon?”

“Leak inspection! I heard there’s water leaking in the basement.”

Crayfield nodded. The young man stared blankly at Crayfield, clearly not understanding.

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t been informed about this.”

“Look. Do leaks ever give advance notice? No, never mind. Just tell them the water department came but left because no one opened the door. We’re already busy enough today without this…”

“Wait a moment!”

The young employee hurriedly grabbed a bunch of keys from under the desk. Eventually, he opened the door leading to the basement. Crayfield simply nodded.

Befitting a noble family’s basement, it was dry, well-organized, and free of mold smell. Exhibition items covered with canvas were neatly arranged in the corridor and doorless rooms.

“Note that other exit.”

Crayfield blocked the entrance with the ladder.

“We’ll need to escape that way if trouble starts. Good heavens, why are there so many things? They bought all this with tax money? And they’ve covered everything with cloth—this is no small matter.”

There was another door at the opposite end of the corridor. When I turned the handle, the lock button clicked open. Opening the door slightly to peek outside, I could see Pollard citizens frolicking in the garden.

Crayfield diligently lifted cloths, but we couldn’t tell where it might be. The collection items in the basement were numerous.

To make matters worse, someone knocked on the door we had entered through.

“Water department people! Let’s talk!”

The sound of the handle turning was noisy, but the door didn’t open. I heard someone saying “Someone’s blocking the door” and “Call the police” simultaneously.

“Let’s go!”

Crayfield quickened his pace but didn’t run. That would have caught the attention of people around. Behind a gazebo, in an area thick with trees, we discarded our uniforms and tool belts.

“A bit of a waste, but what can we do? Now let’s go back to the car, put on our hats and coats again, and leisurely enjoy the scenery in this park.”

I asked if we hadn’t just escaped. Crayfield nudged my shoulder.

“Haven’t you seen Sherlock Holmes? There’s a part where Holmes, unable to find an item, has people shout that there’s a fire. The homeowner then rushes to the very item Holmes was looking for. It’s the same for us. Since suspicious characters have been around, they’ll surely move that stone tablet elsewhere. They’ll do the searching, and we just need to follow.”

Crayfield was right. Suspicious men appeared at the emergency exit we had used. The magician from Arkham was among them. Shortly after, they emerged carrying something like a small chest covered with cloth. We carefully followed them.