Chapter Fifty-One
The next morning, Enid took her seat beside Pluck in the interview room as if nothing had happened.
“The next interviewee,” announced Pluck, “will be Miss Enid Trojczakowski.”
Enid and Bartoff looked at him. (Sam could not be bothered.)
Pluck placed his hand on hers. “It is just a formality,” he assured her.
She looked around her. “Shall I move seats?”
“If you would not mind.”
She got up, walked around the table and sat in the suspects’ seat. She crossed her legs and awaited the first question.
“Did you have anything to do with the murder of. . .”
“Charles Snede?”
“Yes, if that’s how you say it. Did you?”
She looked at his small, pasty, ridiculous face, and into his pinprick-little eyes. “No.”
Pluck nodded. “That’s good enough for me. Kindly resume your old seat by my side, and we shall proceed with our work at this most critical juncture.”
She took a deep breath. “There is something I should like to say first, Inspector, if I may.”
He shrugged. “By all means. Only pray don’t let it take too long, Miss Trojczakowski, as we still have several more witnesses to attend to today.”
“It will not take long, Inspector.”
Pluck shrugged. “Then—out with it.”
Now she shrugged, and shook her head, and smiled, as if to say, “What can you do in a world as absurd as ours, with human feelings as unpredictable and inexplicable as ours, but to laugh and give in?” But what she did say was: “Thaddeus Curtis Pluck—I love you.”
Pluck stared at her. Bartoff did too.
“Come again, Miss Trojczakowski?”
“I said that I love you.”
“She loves you!” Bartoff shouted.
Pluck began to shake. “Surely. . .there is some mistake?”
“I love you!” she insisted.
“She loves you!” screamed Bartoff. “She wants to marry you! She wants to make babies!” Even Sam woofed, caught up in the excitement but not, in truth, understanding the finer points of what was being discussed.
Pluck rose, unsteadily, and gripped the table for support. “I’m woozy,” he whispered.
Enid went over and offered him her glass of water.
“Thank you.” He took it, raised it to his lips, forgot to open his mouth and poured the water all over the bottom half of his face. “Another,” he begged. She filled the glass, and handed it to him once more; he raised it towards his face, this time remembering to open his mouth, wide and well ahead of time, but dropped the glass; it broke apart on the table. “Another,” he begged. Enid took another glass, filled it, and handed it to him; this time, his hand shook so much that the glass’s contents splashed all over his face, Enid’s face, Bartoff’s face, Sam’s face (Sam found that rather funny) and the papers on the table. Enid filled the glass again, and Pluck dropped it; it broke. Enid found another glass and filled it, this time placing it to Pluck’s lips herself; he sipped it, nodded, and whispered, “Thank you.”
Then he fainted to the floor.