“They think you’ve been slaving us,” Max said.
“Enslaving us,” Pippa corrected her.
Dumfrey waved a hand. “Who cares what they think, so long as they’re interested? When the museum opens again—”
“But zat’s just eet, sir!” Monsieur Cabillaud squeaked. “Zee museum must remain closed, by order of zee police.”
“Not for much longer, mon ami,” Mr. Dumfrey said. “The police are on the right scent. They know poor Potts was killed by accident.”
“By accident?” Miss Fitch said.
“The criminal has confessed,” Mr. Dumfrey said, munching contentedly. “Of course, he didn’t mean to kill, poor devil. The man was only following orders. But who, in these days, uses cyanide to poison rats? Arsenic is far more humane.”
Thomas exchanged a glance with the others. So the waiter had told his story to the police after all.
“But what about Paul—the restaurant,” he corrected himself quickly, afraid of appearing to know too much about it. “Why did it burn down?”
“The owner himself,” Dumfrey said, licking a finger. “Insurance money! No doubt terrified that the place would be shut down by the board of health. The police have arrested him, too.”
Thomas frowned. It was all stacking up neatly. But could Potts’s death really have been an accident? Was it unrelated to Anderson’s murder and the theft of the head?
The head—it always came back to the head.
Mr. Dumfrey was still talking. “Extraordinary. Truly extraordinary. ‘We are but playthings to the gods.’ Aristotle. Or perhaps Shakespeare. Or my old friend Harrison the Headless Wonder. He was quite philosophical. In any case, the police had no choice but to let me go, even if our good friend Hardaway was none too pleased about it. Still trying to pin Anderson’s death on me, but he has absolutely no evidence. I’m very grateful to that waiter. It’s not always easy to do the right thing. I wonder who managed to convince him?” And he gave Thomas a nearly imperceptible wink.
Thomas ducked his head, so Mr. Dumfrey wouldn’t see him blush.
Mr. Dumfrey let out a satisfied burp, then thumped his chest. “Delicious!” he exclaimed. “Nothing like sardines in the morning.” Pippa opened her mouth as though to disagree, but at a gesture from Thomas, said nothing. Mr. Dumfrey checked his pocket watch and gave a little start. “Ten o’clock already! By the handcuffs of Houdini . . . Miss Fitch, fetch me my writing paper and my ink. I plan to send a letter to our friends at the New York City police. The museum must be reopened at once, of course. Monsieur Cabillaud, prepare the ticket booth and bring up the jelly apples for the refreshment stand. Smalls, draw the curtains in the Hall of Worldwide Wonders and for God’s sake, make sure we have enough chairs this time! Danny, Betty—I want the exhibit halls to sparkle. The glass is so smudgy you can barely tell George Washington’s hatchet from his wooden teeth! And, Goldini, get me Bill Evans on the horn. Offices of the Daily Screamer.”
“Bill Evans?” Thomas echoed. “What’s he got to do with it?”
Mr. Dumfrey pushed back from the table. The other residents of the museum bustled around the kitchen and hurried up the stairs to fulfill Mr. Dumfrey’s wishes.
“He’s got everything to do with it,” Mr. Dumfrey said serenely. “I must thank him, of course, for keeping the museum in the spotlight.”
“He wrote lies about you in the paper!” Pippa burst out.
“He’s saying you’re a murderer, Mr. D.,” Sam said solemnly.
“Exactly!” Mr. Dumfrey beamed. “It’s wonderful for publicity. For once, I’ll be one of the attractions. An escaped criminal? A murderer who has evaded the long arm of the law? That, my children, is worth fifty cents at least!” He roared with laughter. “Now move along, move along.”
“You didn’t give us anything to do,” Pippa pointed out.
“Oh! How silly of me.” Dumfrey patted various pockets and eventually withdrew an entire dollar bill. He placed it in Pippa’s hand. “I thought you might take a day off. Go to the movies. Spoil your dinner with popcorn and Turkish taffy.” He gave another nearly imperceptible wink. “I believe I am in your debt, after all.”
Thomas exchanged a glance with the other three. So Mr. Dumfrey did know that they’d spoken to the waiter.
“Thanks, Mr. Dumfrey,” Thomas said.
Mr. Dumfrey turned stern again. “I expect you back by afternoon,” he said. “Tomorrow, it’s business as usual.”