Page 21 of A Season for Scandal

“Briefly,” I admitted.

Sylla rubbed her temples with her fingers. “I see. May I remind you that the purpose of bringing him here was to question him? Do either of you have any suggestions as to how we are supposed to question an unconscious man?”

I could think of nothing. Disappointment and guilt seeped through me. My first proper investigation, and I had already made a potentially catastrophic mistake.

In the heavy silence, Win moved to the desk and poured herself a glass of water from a waiting jug. Then, without any further ado, she threw the contents into Scrimshaw’s face.

“Wha—!” the man exclaimed, his eyes snapping open, his bleary gaze wheeling about the room.

A small gasp of relief passed my lips.

“Ah, good.” Sylla came to stand in front of the desk, leaning her weight against it, her posture all business. “Mr Scrimshaw. We have some questions for you.”

“Where…? What…? Who…?” Scrimshaw began. His eyes flicked to the corner of the room, and he let out a muffled shriek. “My God,” he whimpered. “My God.”

“Excellent.” Winnie pulled out her pocket watch before noting the time down in the notebook on the desk. “The hallucinations have begun. That’s interesting, Mari, isn’t it? Sooner than I had anticipated.”

“Now would be a good time to start asking questions,” I said to Sylla in a low voice. “It’s likely he’ll only be coherent for a few minutes, but his inhibitions should be significantly lowered.”

“Very well.” Sylla straightened. “Mr Scrimshaw, I need to know the numbers of the safe deposit boxes that you and your associates have been using.”

Scrimshaw’s eyes darted between her and the corner of the room. “Can you see?” he croaked. “Can you see them?”

“Yes, of course I can.” Sylla’s voice was soothing. “And unless you answer my questions, I shall let them have you.”

“The goats…” he whispered. “So many goats.”

“Did he just saygoats?” Maud asked.

“Capraphobia,” Winnie murmured, nudging her spectacles up her nose. “Fascinating.”

“The goats are here for you,” Sylla said stonily. “Unless you give me the information I want. The numbers on the safe deposit boxes. Now.”

“So many,” Scrimshaw shrieked, curling back in his chair. “Not the horns!”

Maud choked on a giggle.

“Could you describe the goats?” Winnie asked, her pen poised. “For science!” she insisted when Sylla glared at her.

“Scrimshaw. The numbers,” Sylla said again.

“Yes, yes, the numbers,” Scrimshaw murmured, reaching out with a shaking hand for the pen that Sylla held towards him, casting nervous glances over his shoulder. “You’ll keep them away?” he asked.

“As long as you cooperate.”

When he had finished writing, Sylla picked up the paper, examined it with satisfaction, then folded it and tucked it into the neckline of her dress. She shook out her skirts.

“Well?” She lifted an eyebrow, looking between me and Scrimshaw. “What now?”

“Well, now he should—” I began, but I was cut off by Scrimshaw making a gurgling sound and slumping down in his chair. “Fall unconscious.”

“Right on time,” Winnie said, delighted, scribbling some more notes.

“And what if he hadn’t given us the box numbers yet?” Sylla asked icily. “This whole operation has left far too much to chance.”

“We got the numbers, didn’t we?” Maud said. “I’ll admit it hasn’t gonecompletelysmoothly—”

Sylla interrupted her with a snort.