Detective Inspector Derby Flannel had an unwavering allegiance to the law. It was often the topic around the station, but by no means to his face, that he had never been a child. He'd been born a Scotland Yard inspector and, when coming of age, became a Detective Inspector. August, his given name, had been long forgotten, except by a handful of people he had allowed to share his personal life. Derby was an epithet he'd acquired from the conspicuous adornment he chose to wear. It was rather fitting to his station in life and certainly singled him out from amongst the others of his profession. He quite literally had made a name for himself.
He had no interest in the common man, save a portentous nod in response to a greeting on the street. If you had ever stepped on the wrong side of the law, he could read the misdeed in the expression on your face. With one raised eyebrow and a sideways glance, he could size up anyone who crossed his path.
He was about six foot, with a long drawn face. Bushy eyebrows hung over two slits where his eyes were assumed to be. His hair was short, receding and as coarse as his demeanor. A thick gray mustache concealed his thin lips and curled down at the ends giving the appearance of a perpetual frown. No one could ever remember a time when they saw him smile, or even show any expression of amusement. Any attempt at idle conversation with him was met with a grunt. He spoke very little, but when he did, it demanded your full and complete attention. No matter where he went Detective Inspector Derby Flannel needed no introduction. He was, by all appearances, the law. In a green tweed coat and a black derby, he was a man to be respected and certainly never crossed.
Nigel pulled Lily and Ernie aside and left Maunder to contemplate his own situation. "Lily, would you ring up my uncle and inform him of these latest developments? A dead man in a museum uniform is certain to raise many questions and even more speculation by the press. We certainly don't won't to embarrass the Musee d'Orsay, so it's important that they are ready for any inquiry regarding this discovery."
Lily pulled her phone from her pocket and very quietly slipped off to the privacy of the stairwell. Ernie was still fidgeting a bit, preoccupied with what the inspector was up to.
"How are you holding up, old man?" Nigel asked encouragingly, but Ernie was too consumed and never heard the question. "It's getting interesting," Nigel continued a bit louder and leaning in close to his ear, "isn't it?"
"You calls it interesting," Maunder, eavesdropping on the conversation, snarled under his breath, "I calls it a bloody nuisance!"
"Sorry," Ernie replied in a low voice, ignoring Maunder and leaning his head toward Nigel. The truth of his background still loomed ominously over the situation, but his concern about that was now buried in the shadow of his curiosity. "What do you think he makes of it?"
"Here's Lily," Nigel replied. "What say we poke our heads in and find out?"
Lily returned, giving a reassuring nod that the information had been passed along as requested, and that she, too, was anxious to hear the inspector's thoughts. Together they walked over and squeezed into the narrow opening like a gaggle of nosey-parkers. Maunder stayed behind, still mumbling under his breath.
The inspector was crouched next to the body. He had the rail ticket Lily had found earlier in his hand, and with his pencil in the other he had pulled back the victim's coat to examine the wound. An abrupt pause acknowledged the group's presence behind him, but ignoring them he then proceeded to pull the body forward and then from side to side, examining it and the floor around it. Satisfied with his evaluation, Inspector Flannel carefully settled the body back into the pile of frames as it had been found. He slowly stood up and took a small pad from his vest pocket. The inspector looked at the easels at the opposite end of the room and the canvases leaning against the wall in front of him. He made a few notations on his pad and casually looked through the stack of canvases.
"It seems someone was an admirer of Manet," postulated Inspector Flannel, addressing the curious group. "When you were poking about in here, did you manage to find his glasses?"
"Glasses?" Nigel repeated sheepishly, obviously puzzled by the question. He stepped into the room.
The inspector pointed at the victim's head with his pencil and continued, "The marks below his temples and on the bridge of his nose suggest glasses ... rather heavy ones, at that."
"Brilliant," Nigel said quietly, bending down for a closer look and then standing back up. "No, I can't say we did." There was an awkward silence, which led to Nigel noticing the inspector's questioning glance in his direction. "You're probably wondering what we were doing here in the first place."
"Rest assured, I was getting around to that," Inspector Flannel said with conviction, pulling a pouch of tobacco from his coat pocket and filling his pipe.
"We came by the body quite by accident," Nigel said simply...
)
It is only by chance that Ernie Bisquets picked the pocket of Lord Patterson Coats, current president of the East London Adventurers Club. But it was by design that he was then introduced into a world where his talents would be used for a greater good. By the time he realizes what is happening, the attempted theft of a Manet from the Musee d'Orsay, and the subsequent investigation, is unfolding around him. Murder and villainy are seldom far from the center of the inquiries of the East London Adventurers Club.
