Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six
Madame Tautphoeus grabbed Enid coming out of the lunchroom and begged a minute of her time, upon which Enid, after spending at least a minute and a half failing to conjure up, on the spot, a convincing argument for why she could not spare that minute, sighed and accompanied her into a reading room, where they found themselves alone.
“I’ve had an epiphany!” the wild-eyed old lady announced. Enid took it as read that Vanessa would proceed to detail said epiphany without having to be asked; she found it unlikely that, on the contrary, Madame Tautphoeus would openly refuse, or change the subject, or look at her quizzically and deny having made any reference to an epiphany; even in a holiday as crammed with idiocies as this one, Enid considered such a dialogic sequel to be an idiocy too far, and if she did not wish to waste her thoughts on it, then why, dear Reader, should we?
“My epiphany,” the grand dame proceeded, as expected, “was that Inspector Pluck’s vengeful ghost has done all the murdering!”
Enid considered this new theory. “What about Snede?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Snede. The first victim.”
“Pluck’s ghost, I tell you.”
“But the inspector was alive.”
“When?”
“At the time of Snede’s death.”
Madame Tautphoeus’s counterargument consisted of a forceful shrug of her shoulders (“of her shoulders”, I say; for what else had she on her person she might have alternatively shrugged? (If you counter, “her breasts, of course”, then you’ll agree that, in that case, we might very well have expected to have spied her performing this rousing trick to the accompaniment of a grumbling accordionist in circuses from here to Chicualacuala (a.k.a. St. Hugginsville))). “Perhaps that was somebody else. Or, perhaps Pluck’s ghost, existing, as we know, on a plane unencumbered by the fetters of time, moves freely between past and future. How should I know, after all?! I’m only telling you my epiphany, I beg you to remember!”
“I thank you for your theory, madame. I find it most intriguing.”
“So will you proceed to attempt to arrest the inspector’s ghost?”
“I’m afraid I’m unlicensed to arrest anybody in this world or the next, madame. And in any case, the investigation is closed.”
“Closed?”
“Closed. For after all—we’re all going to die. Don’t you agree? It’s Fate. And therefore, what justification can we have for judging and punishing an instrument of Fate? I ask you that, madame. Pray inform me when your next epiphany has answered it.”