itself instead to be a new complication. It was like a set of nesting boxes, except that every time I opened one it paradoxically turned out to be larger than the one that had allegedly contained it.
Then my integrator announced that Inspecting Agent Brustram Warhanny of the Archonate's Bureau of Scrutiny was on my doorstep seeking entry and conversation.
"I am not available for consultation," I told Warhanny.
I saw him through the image relayed by my door's who's-there. He was in his black and green uniform and his long-jowled, hangdog face bore its most official mien. "It is not a consultation," he said, "but an investigation."
I instructed the door to admit him. When he was standing in my workroom, giving it the unabashed inspection that distinguishes a scroot from every other category of visitor, I said, "What is being investigated?"
He said, "The murder of Torquil Falberoth," and watched to see how I reacted.
It was an elementary technique and though I could have negated it by controlling my autonomic processes, I did not do so. I let my surprise show in my face and did not bother to disguise my curiosity.
"How was he killed?" I asked.
"By subtle means," Warhanny said.
"They would have to have been subtle," I said. "He guarded himself well."
"We understand that you were recently part of that effort."
Ordinarily, I do not discuss cases with the scroots, but when the client turns up murdered it is no time to prickle and stickle. I told Warhanny the circumstances of my connection to Falberoth.
"Who are the seven likely suspects?" he said.
I had my assistant bring forward their dossiers and my report to Falberoth. He read the latter closely and glanced through the former. "Hmm," he said when he had finished.
"One of those is almost certain to have done the deed," I said, "though I do not see how."
Warhanny looked thoughtful. "Falberoth's integrator said as much."
"Have they alibis for the time of the murder?"
"All of them."
"Indeed?" I said. "At least one of them has slipped you the sham shimmy."
"If one, then all," he replied. "For they are all each other's alibis. They were all in the same place at the time Falberoth ceased to trouble this tired old world."
"What place was it?" I asked.
"A reception room in Falberoth's manse."
He told me more: having identified his seven direst foes, Falberoth had brought them together to savor at close range their helplessness to win vengeance over him. He had declared it to be his happiest moment. Then, in midgloat, the reception room had been plunged into darkness by means of a suppression field that muted all surveillance energies.
"How was that done?" I asked.
"Falberoth had the system installed for his own purposes. But who activated it and how remain unknown. The field was live for less than three minutes, but when it dissipated, Falberoth was dead."
Warhanny conjectured that somehow one of the seven, or some of them, or all of them acting in concert, had contrived to overpower their common enemy's precautions, had indeed used his own system to confound and destroy him.
The seven therefore had motive and at least the outline of an opportunity. The means, however, were a mystery. I questioned Warhanny on the investigation so far.
"How deep were his defenses?"
"He was warded by matter, energy and, we think, by some rudimentary magics," the scroot said. "He was not even physically in the room with the suspects, but had his integrator project a simulacrum from his sealed inner sanctum."
"And the cause of death?"
"Asphyxiation, though there were no signs of smothering, strangulation or noxious gases."
"Hmm," I said. I applied a few moments of concentrated thought to the matter, then said, "Ahah!"
"You have a theory?" Warhanny said.
"Better. I have a solution."
"Tell me."
"No," I said, "I must show you."
"Why?"
"Because you would not elsewise believe me. And because I can."
We recreated the circumstances of the crime. Falberoth's prime victims were
Then my integrator announced that Inspecting Agent Brustram Warhanny of the Archonate's Bureau of Scrutiny was on my doorstep seeking entry and conversation.
"I am not available for consultation," I told Warhanny.
I saw him through the image relayed by my door's who's-there. He was in his black and green uniform and his long-jowled, hangdog face bore its most official mien. "It is not a consultation," he said, "but an investigation."
I instructed the door to admit him. When he was standing in my workroom, giving it the unabashed inspection that distinguishes a scroot from every other category of visitor, I said, "What is being investigated?"
He said, "The murder of Torquil Falberoth," and watched to see how I reacted.
It was an elementary technique and though I could have negated it by controlling my autonomic processes, I did not do so. I let my surprise show in my face and did not bother to disguise my curiosity.
"How was he killed?" I asked.
"By subtle means," Warhanny said.
"They would have to have been subtle," I said. "He guarded himself well."
"We understand that you were recently part of that effort."
Ordinarily, I do not discuss cases with the scroots, but when the client turns up murdered it is no time to prickle and stickle. I told Warhanny the circumstances of my connection to Falberoth.
"Who are the seven likely suspects?" he said.
I had my assistant bring forward their dossiers and my report to Falberoth. He read the latter closely and glanced through the former. "Hmm," he said when he had finished.
"One of those is almost certain to have done the deed," I said, "though I do not see how."
Warhanny looked thoughtful. "Falberoth's integrator said as much."
"Have they alibis for the time of the murder?"
"All of them."
"Indeed?" I said. "At least one of them has slipped you the sham shimmy."
"If one, then all," he replied. "For they are all each other's alibis. They were all in the same place at the time Falberoth ceased to trouble this tired old world."
"What place was it?" I asked.
"A reception room in Falberoth's manse."
He told me more: having identified his seven direst foes, Falberoth had brought them together to savor at close range their helplessness to win vengeance over him. He had declared it to be his happiest moment. Then, in midgloat, the reception room had been plunged into darkness by means of a suppression field that muted all surveillance energies.
"How was that done?" I asked.
"Falberoth had the system installed for his own purposes. But who activated it and how remain unknown. The field was live for less than three minutes, but when it dissipated, Falberoth was dead."
Warhanny conjectured that somehow one of the seven, or some of them, or all of them acting in concert, had contrived to overpower their common enemy's precautions, had indeed used his own system to confound and destroy him.
The seven therefore had motive and at least the outline of an opportunity. The means, however, were a mystery. I questioned Warhanny on the investigation so far.
"How deep were his defenses?"
"He was warded by matter, energy and, we think, by some rudimentary magics," the scroot said. "He was not even physically in the room with the suspects, but had his integrator project a simulacrum from his sealed inner sanctum."
"And the cause of death?"
"Asphyxiation, though there were no signs of smothering, strangulation or noxious gases."
"Hmm," I said. I applied a few moments of concentrated thought to the matter, then said, "Ahah!"
"You have a theory?" Warhanny said.
"Better. I have a solution."
"Tell me."
"No," I said, "I must show you."
"Why?"
"Because you would not elsewise believe me. And because I can."
We recreated the circumstances of the crime. Falberoth's prime victims were
Similar Books
