Pascale Auber & the Ruritanian Riddle

XXXV Inquiries

Morton's Military Steamworks occupies an enormous building in an industrial neighbourhood southwest of the river. The structure itself is typical for its type – a sort of large red brick shed with few architectural embellishments save stucco knotwork under the eaves and lighter-coloured brick marking the corners. It has a roof with a raised central section running the length of the building, like an inverted trough, to assist with the escape of heat from the works within. Like the other buildings in the area, the Military Steamworks structure had large, arched windows composed of tiny panes of inexpensive glass – an economical source of light, at least during the long days of summer. Major Morton's factory differed from those around it only in its size, and in the numerous wires leading to and from the glass insulators poised along the brick walls. Morton had laid in not only telephone and telegraph lines, but electrical lines at three different voltages, besides the usual coal gas and water.

Each time I walked through the gaping doors to Morton's factory, huge things that trundled open on small wheels, I was fascinated by the hive of activity within. Today, dozens of men were in the process of placing huge gears on a vehicle, presumably to affix two lengths of articulated metal track that lay on the factory floor. I gave the workers a wide berth, having no particular desire to have my somewhat voluminous skirts covered in grease. I made my way around the men and to the back wall, where I climbed an open staircase to Morton's second-floor office.

Major Morton is a middle-aged man with a well-groomed grey moustache and a habit of wearing military jackets despite being officially retired. He is still deeply enmeshed in the military establishment in this country, and works for the Department on occasion in a semi-official capacity. Today, however, he was seated at his heavy oak desk with books of accounts spread out before him.

"Good afternoon, Major," I said brightly, shutting the door behind me.

The older gentleman looked up at me with a smile. "Why, young Miss Auber! Still pursing that Simpelstur rascal rather than working the cryptography detail, eh, what? Or is this a social call?"

"Alas," I said laughter creeping into my voice, "This is all business and not a social call in the least.I am investigating the explosion at the Baratarian embassy."

Morton smoothed his moustache with two manicured fingers. "Deliberately set? A bad business. Though I understand there were no fatalities. A bit suspicious, what?"

"Suspicious, Major? Surely the fact that nobody was killed is a result for which we ought to be grateful."

"If it were deliberately set, why set it in such a way that everyone could escape?" he queried, logically. I could see why Morton and my boss got along so well – they both delighted in torturing young ladies with Socratic exercises.