The phone on Inspector Darther's desk rang furiously, but no one moved to answer it. Cupping his hands over his mouth to form a sort of megaphone, Darther called

"Will someone please answer that phone?"

There was no movement in the office. This, however, was not surprising because Darther was the only person in the office. Languidly, he reached for the instrument which, at that particular point in time, was disrupting his well-ordered world. He lifted the phone from its cradle and announced:

"Inspector Mort Darther speaking."

He heard the voice of a woman who, at one and the same time, was terrified, bordering on hysteria, incoherent, and confused.

"Inspector Mort Darther here."

The voice at the other end began to chatter and, between sobs and gasps, poured out a story. According to the call, there was a body on the mall in front of Camembert Hall

and that was all. Darther thanked his informant and hung up the phone. He decided, as the result of many years' experience, that it would not be necessary to rush out to the mansion because it was likely that the body would remain where it was until morning. Besides, it was a dark and stormy night.

Shortly before noon, Darther and his companion, Doctor Wotsan, arrived and were met by an attractive young woman who identified herself as the upstairs maid. They immediately demanded that they be taken to the body, wondering, as they went, just what were the duties of the upstairs maid. The answer to that question, each independently speculated, would be interesting to explore. For the time being, however, both of them resolved to devote themselves to the task at hand. As they approached the body, Darther inclined his head toward Wotsan and whispered, "Doesn't it strike you as singular that she knows exactly where the body is?" He did not indicate whether he believed that the victim was a male or a female because he was not one drawn to hasty inferences. The fact that the body was attired in a short skirt and blouse wasn't, to his mind, conclusive evidence of the gender of the victim; it could represent an effort by the perpetrator to mislead the department's leading sleuth. In any event, he did not believe that the answer to that question was of immediate urgency.

It was with satisfaction that Darther noted that, as he had predicted, the body had gone nowhere since he received the phone call. Upon preliminary inspection, the Inspector announced that the victim was indeed dead and that it looked like this was the result of foul play. Now Darther did not approve of foul play, particularly on his watch, and he, therefore, determined to bring the malefactor to justice, no matter the effort which would be required. Consistent with his reputation for rapid solutions to situations which baffled other police officials, Darther instantly eliminated one of the obvious suspects, Lady Jarlsburg, because, as he recalled, Lady Jarlsburg had been buried six months previously on the basis of the firmly held belief that she had died. Under these circumstances, Darther thought, burial had been a reasonable thing to do. Darther, therefore, had only eleven suspects left who had motive, opportunity, and wherewithal; there was only a very limited number of wherewithals available at that time of year at that place.

"Eleven possible murderers!" said Darther to no one in particular.

"What do you think?" he queried Wotsan. Wotsan shook his head and stared at the detective, awaiting a sagacious pronouncement.

"It seems to me" Darther began, "that eleven suspects portend a novel rather than a short story. This could be one of our more lucrative undertakings."

"But my dear Darter" (Wotsan not only could not spell his own name correctly, but he regularly forgot that of his companion!) "you should realize that you are paid by the department to solve mysteries and not for your short stories."

Darther elected to ignore this ill-considered and unsolicited advice, but in order to mollify his aide, he resolved to solve the mystery as quickly as possible and thus to give the department value received for his time.

"All right," exclaimed1 he, "Let's get the body inside the hall and call the police."

"But" protested the good doctor, "you are the police!" Darther thought a moment and, carefully formulating a reply, responded with assurance,

"So I am."

This fact having now been firmly established, the Inspector covered the body carefully and proceeded to the Great Hall where he caused the eleven suspects to be assembled. With the suspects arrayed before him, Darther narrowed his eyes and focused on Suspect No. 1 who grudgingly gave his name as Lord Gouda. The Inspector vaguely recalled having seen His Lordship upon a previous occasion and struggled to establish the time, place and circumstances. After a few minutes of total silence, he exclaimed2 "Aha!"

"Aha?" queried Wotsan. Wotsan frequently queried and felt that his query was fully justified on this occasion.

"Yes, aha" responded the detective.

"Are you sure?" queried Wotsan.

"I say, my dear Wotsan, haven't you queried enough for one chapter?"

"I have it! I know where I have seen you before, Lord Gouda", Darther shouted.

"What is your name?"

"Lord Gouda" replied Lord Gouda.

"Lord Gouda! Lord Gouda! I have heard that name before. Lord Gouda, eh?"

Darther fell into silence and, picking himself up, began to recall in his mind a triumvirate of Englishmen whom he had seen seated together in a tram car and talking loudly as if one or all were experiencing hearing problems or at least that loss of hearing ability attributable to advancing age. "Curious!" he mused. "Why would there be so many Englishmen gathered at this place and at this time of day?" He rolled that question over in his mind time and time again until, at last, he exclaimed: "I have it! Why didn't this occur to me before? Of course---this is England!" He then remembered the conversation.

Sir Edam, addressing himself to Lord Muenster, had asked:

"Where are you going to get off?"

"Wembley," replied Muenster.

"Good Heavens!" shouted Sir Edam, "I thought that it was Thursday."

"So am I" replied Gouda, "Let's all have a drink."

Having placed these three suspects in circumstances highly suggestive of a conspiracy, Darther admonished the trio not to attempt to leave the hall. "Eh?" Edam asked, cupping his hand to his ear, "What is on the mall?"

"He was talking about next week's ball" explained Muenster.

"Yes" interjected Gouda, "I, too, am expecting a call."

It was apparent to the inspector that the opportunities for learning anything of value from this source were rather remote.

"That" Darther proclaimed, "leaves us with only eleven suspects." He turned now to the trembling young couple whose relationship to one another could be surmised from the squeeze each gave the other as they stood in line holding hands.

"Where" inquired Darther, "were you two at the time the crime was committed?"

Before either could answer, the milkmaid stepped forward timidly and interjected in a low voice,

"I saw them. I saw them together. I saw them together last night. I saw them strolling together down the lane. I knew that it was them because the heavens were bright with the light of the stars. They were returning to the mansion house along the path leading to the milkbarn. Although I couldn't see well without my glasses, I could make out their faces as they reached the gate. Neither one spoke and they stood in silence as he took down the bars which held the gate closed. I watched as she gazed into his eyes, but she said nothing; she didn't even thank him. You would think that she would at least acknowledge his courtesy, but it seemed as if she didn't even know how to smile. It was at this point that I noticed something strange---peculiar---different. I regretted that I didn't have my glasses with me because if I had them, I could have given a name to this oddity. Oh yes, I saw them all right and it was definitely him and I'd bet a pretty farthing that it was she who was with him."

She finished and looked at the Inspector to see what effect her assertion had had. While at first it seemed that Darther was sound asleep, his head jerked upward and he said,

"What? Oh, yes, of course. I understand perfectly and you might be right. You will, I am certain, give your statement in writing." This was clearly a command rather than a request and the milkmaid was, by this time, thoroughly intimidated. At last she nodded her assent and, seating herself at the writing table, began to write at a furious pace. Finally, she replaced the pen and handed the paper to the Inspector. He perused it carefully, reading it twice and nodding his head. For a minute, it appeared that he had fallen asleep again, but at length, he completed his reading and, without comment, passed the paper to Wotsan. Wotsan read the statement with a quizzical look on his face. At first, he could not discern its meaning. He mumbled to himself as he read:

"They walked down the lane together; the sky was covered with stars. They reached the gate in silence; he lifted down the bars. She neither smiled nor thanked him because she knew not how, for he was only a farmer's boy and she---was a Jersey cow."

 CHAPTER TWO
THE INVESTIGATION CONTINUES

 So this is how matters stood: Three of the suspects appear to be engaged in a conspiracy of sorts; the milkmaid who could barely see without her glasses placed one of the suspects in company of a Jersey cow and both at the scene of the crime. Although Darther entertained serious doubts as to the cow's guilt in this affair, he felt constrained to pursue the matter of the youth and the girl's hand which remained deeply embedded in his. Darther knew that there was more to the milkmaid than met one's eyes, but, realizing that he was working and was not then free to see what else there was to see of the milkmaid, he resolved to pass on to official matters. This lead him to a less-than-fruitful examination of the butler.

The butler was a handsome chap, well built and sporting a rustic face. There was a familiar air about him, but Darther assumed that it was merely an overdose of after shave lotion. The butler, whose name the Inspector had neglected to ascertain, seemed to conduct himself with a law enforcement officer's demeanor. In other words, the butler acted like a cop. Turning to the butler, Darther said,

"Please let me have your name."

The Butler, however, politely but firmly declined.

"What" asked the butler, "will I use if I let you have my name?"

The question seemed to Darther to be a reasonable one---one deserving of studied consideration. Since Darther already had a name, he did not press the butler for his.

"May I simply call you Butler or butler?" asked Darther.

A simple nod attested to his consent.

"Is Butler your first name or your last name?" rejoined Darther.

"Yes."

"Very well," uttered the policeman. "So far as I am concerned, you are Butler Butler, the Butler. What is your occupation?"

"I'm a butler", he responded.

Darther did not believe him. He even thought of the butler as a liar, but he remained baffled by the air of officialdom about the "butler".

"What are you doing here at Camembert Hall? Why did you come? Where were you when the crime was committed? Do you know the deceased? Is this your gun? Why did you kill him?" The questions flew like bullets from the detective's lips; the butler's answers were returned with equal rapidity.

"I was sent for by the deceased; because I was sent for by the deceased; I don't know; yes; no; I didn't. Anyhow, that's not a gun---its a flashlight."

The detective had to admit that at least the last answer was reasonable.

Darther felt that, for the time being, these answers were acceptable, but he resolved to return to the butler later. Turning to the cook, Darther asked her to account for her whereabouts at the time of the crime and demanded to know whether there were any knives in the kitchen. The cook stroked her chin thoughtfully and asked:

"I don't know. When was the crime committed?"

Darther turned to his companion and asked, "When was the crime committed?"

"I don't know" responded the doctor. "You're the detective. I thought that you would have thought to find out."

"I know that I'm the detective. I don't need you to tell me that. Besides"

continued Darther, "if I wanted to know when the deceased became deceased, I would ask a doctor. That's you."

"I know that I'm a doctor. I don't need you to tell me that. Besides" continued Wotsan, "if you had told me that there would be a deceased, I would have brought the appropriate implements with me."

"I thought that you did." said Darther. "What's in that black bag that you carry with you everywhere?"

"Well, there is a jar of olives, a bottle of gin, some bitters, a bottle of Dry Vermouth, a---"

"Never mind," muttered Darther." He was silent for a few moments and then inquired, "What about pearl onions?"

"Not everyone likes pearl onions, so I sometimes bring olives stuffed with almonds."

"How will all that do anything for the deceased?" asked Darther.

"It won't," responded the good doctor, "but you would be surprised how much better it makes me feel about being unable to do anything for the deceased."

Perceiving that the two were making little progress and that the project appeared to have bogged down somewhat, the butler stepped forward with an air of authority and offered his services.

"I am" he declared, "a private detective. Prior to the deceased becoming deceased, she sent for me to act as her body guard because she had received death threats. I quickly consented and asked her when she wanted me to begin work. When she explained what a body guard did, I was greatly disappointed because I had thought that the duties would rather reflect the

"Well," mused Butler, "that pretty well exhausts our list of suspects. By the way," said he," did anyone find out the victim's name or did anyone find the murder weapon?"

"Not I!"

"Nor I!"

Suddenly, Darther's eyes, which had been shut because he was about to fall asleep, opened wide, almost like huge globes. He stood in a trance as his mind struggled to recall the sequence of the questions propounded by Butler to the ladies in the milkbarn. "It cannot be that any of those 12 cows had anything to do with this business," he thought to himself. "Besides, if we consider them to be suspects, we will end up with more suspects than we started with and mysteries cannot end that way."At last the muscles of his face relaxed as it became evident that he had found the answer to his question. He turned suddenly toward Butler.

"If the Upstairs Maid's duties required her to work primarily upstairs, suppose she came downstairs and found the milkmaid downstairs and the Downstairs maid Upstairs. What would account for the fact that the milkmaid, in going downstairs, didn't see the Downstairs maid going upstairs? Instead, the milkmaid went upstairs and found the Downstairs Maid upstairs preparing to go to the milkbarn. But that wasn't the way the victim had planned things. The victim had discovered the Downstairs Maid upstairs when the Upstairs Maid should have been going downstairs. Instead, the milkmaid had gone upstairs and had seen the Upstairs Maid upstairs and she knew, therefore, that the Downstairs Maid was downstairs and not in the milkbarn where the Downstairs Maid should have been. Under these circumstances, it became clear to the murderer that the victim had to die!"

"However, the sequence of the questions which you asked in the barn," Mort continued, directing his remarks to Butler, "has no significance whatsoever. Furthermore, if you had never been in the milkbarn before tonight, how did you know that the cows were ladies? The very fact that they withstood your barrage of questions and your threats without moooving a muscle strongly supports my hypothesis that they were terrified of the person who was in the starry lane with one of their number on the night of the murder. As you fired your questions at them, I surmised that the puddles on the floor which you thought were cottage cheese were really puddles of curdled milk! Moreover, you said that you didn't know how the victim died, but if you didn't know how she died, how did you know that she was dead? You admitted that no weapon had been found, but if you didn't know that the woman was dead, you couldn't have known that there was a weapon. Then you gave yourself away when you pointed out that nobody had ascertained the victim's name, but there was no way that you could have known that she had a name until it was blurted out by the American and only one of the cows could have understood the American."

"Finally, my suspicions of you were confirmed when I told the suspects that they should not attempt to leave New York and you said that this was York, not New York. Only the murderer could have known that!"

"Butler Butler, the butler, I arrest you for the murder of Lady Marie Roquefort, lady of Camembert Hall."

 12/4/94

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