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I edged in the direction of the little group that had clustered discreetly around the fireplace at the end of the room, carefully skirting the groups and knots of guests in subdued conversation, and dodging the smoothly graceful movements of the professional waiting staff. Even so, my motion was not completely unobserved. Madderfy suddenly looked up from his conversation a few moments after I started to move in his direction, affected a reaction intended to convey first puzzlement and then belated recognition, and waved me over with a languid swipe of his hand. "Findo Gask, isn't it? The Private Detective?" he said affably, narrowing his eyes as if daring me to say anything that suggested he was less than sure of my identity. I decided to play along. "You must be Madderfy," I replied, in a fair approximation of the same affable tone. The ground rules established, he relaxed slightly. "That's me. I'd heard that poor Merton had engaged you. But I didn't expect you to be here today," he added in a less edgy tone, "Although I'm sure my dear daughter would be gratified to know of your presence." He nodded in the direction of Alva, who was just in the process of graciously accepting yet another artfully worded condolence from a black-garbed visitor. She nodded daintily, her eyes demurely downcast, every bit the picture of the attractive widow mourning her dear-departed husband. "I'll have a word when she's less distracted," I replied, "I dare say she's still a little upset, even distraught, by the sudden death in the family." He nodded sagely, apparently taking my words entirely at face value. Maybe he didn't know what pastime his favourite, and indeed only, daughter had been indulging in recently. Maybe he didn’t care. Or perhaps a lifetime in the professions had given him an impenetrable poker face. I couldn't tell. I glanced at the younger Goblin that stood at Madderfy's left elbow. He followed my eyes, then turned and reached out a beckoning arm. "Mister Gask," he said, pulling the youngster closer in a faintly proprietary way, "This is my son. Junior, say hello." "Pleased to meet you, Mister Madderfy," I said politely, extending my hand. "Call me Creagan," the younger Goblin said with entirely synthetic warmth and shaking my hand firmly, "Everyone does." Creagan Madderfy was the image of his father in a younger mould, not yet as rotund but with a strong suggestion it was only a matter of time before he got that way. He exhuded a degree of urbanity and self-satisfaction which eclipsed even his father's. He was a youngster on the make, not yet a century old and already a partner - albeit a junior one - in a respected firm. And no doubt all achieved with almost no help from Dad. A third Goblin stood stiffly nearby, as if he wasn't sure he should actually be there. "And this is Busby Logan," the elder Madderfy went on, gesturing in his direction. Logan looked distinctly nervous. Whether this was the company or a more general condition I couldn't tell. He looked the nervous, edgy type, all twitchy movements and sidelong glances. He was taller than either Madderfy, as old as the father but so thin he looked as if he hadn't had a decent meal in several centuries. I extended my hand in his direction. He stared at it for a second, as if he had never seen anything like it in his life, then took my hand in the most limp-wristed handshake I had experienced in a long time. "Well, gents," I said, my voice still dripping with bonhomie, "It's good to meet you all, it goes without saying, but I came here to talk to Mrs Vale." "Of course, of course," the elder Madderfy said, "Let me take you over and introduce you." He took me by the elbow and guided me across the room, leaving the other two Goblins standing by the fireplace looking very slightly nonplussed. I took the opportunity to drain my champagne flute and place it on a waiter's tray, declining the offer of a second glass. Madderfy nodded left and right as the crowds parted deferentially on either side, acknowledging the great man's presence without anything as overt as a bow. "Alva, my dear," he said as he approached, "Can I introduce Mister Findo Gask?" She looked up and started minutely as she recognised me. It must have been her, not Hosh, who had peeked from the window the last time I had visited this house. Madderfy too caught the almost imperceptible movement, even though she recovered almost instantly. "Mister Gask is a private detective, who was working for Merton before his untimely demise," he added, frowning slightly, and glancing first at her and then at me. "I'm so very sorry for your tragic loss," I said, oozing sympathy at every pore. Mrs Vale extended a hand languidly. I took it, barely grasped in my fingertips, and shook it gently. "So how do you know my late husband, Mister Gask?" she asked, pain and anguish artfully projected in her voice. "He died in my office, I'm sorry to say," I replied, my best method acting coming to the fore, "Sitting in my best chair and drinking my best whiskey."
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Part 37