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1: Law

Chapter 1

     Inspector Percival Legreave paced slowly down the path, the click of his polished boots sharply audible in the early morning quiet.  His heavy-lidded green eyes would have looked sleepy if they were not darting from side to side, and Lieutenant Neal Jenkins, who walked beside him, knew they were keenly alert.  Notwithstanding, Jenkins could see nothing special about the scenery just south of the manor, near the very center of the estate.  To their right there was a wide swath of neatly-clipped grass dotted with small patches of garden and a few trees.  To their left the manor itself sat about thirty feet away.  They were walking slowly toward the east side of the estate, but Jenkins didn't know if Percy actually wanted to go there or not.  He had known Percy to wander aimlessly on duty before.
     "The investigation of a burglary poses several difficulties not often present in the more personal crimes, Jenkins," the Inspector drawled in a quiet voice.  "As you know, I am fond of any puzzle which offers a unique and interesting challenge, but the peculiar difficulties of burglary – and indeed of most merely mercenary crimes – are rarely stimulating.  I will be glad when this is over."
     Obviously Percy was bored, and would probably talk merely to hear the sound of his own voice until he fixed upon something to occupy his mind.  In the meantime it would be up to him to try to keep the eccentric detective focused, a daunting task at times.
     Percy continued.  "Murder, for example, can stem from any number of motives; profit, of course, but also vengeance, security, convenience, jealousy, or any number of more interesting and investigatively useful ends."  From his tone the Inspector might have been discussing gardening or pottery.  "It provides a wonderful opportunity to study the mind of every beast involved.  The skilled detective has a complex and nuanced situation to master, and may test assumptions, set traps, use pure deduction, or engage in more, ah, pedestrian methods of investigation, on the prompting of circumstance.  There is call for careful observation, meaningful interview, fine judgment, swift and skilful strategy, and all the higher enjoyments of the intellect."
     "A fine thing, murder.  Shame there isn't more of it," Jenkins remarked drily.
     "Burglary, on the other hand," Percy continued, ignoring Jenkins completely, "is dreadfully linear.  In all but a precious few cases the motive is purely financial, and therefore of no use as a starting point for an investigation, nor a window into the criminal mind.  Mere information-gathering is far the most useful tool in catching a burglar: seeking and questioning witnesses, paying underworld informants, even searching pawn shops for contraband."  Percy crinkled his nose, wrinkling his short muzzle.
     "Darned inconsiderate of those burglars, not committing a murder instead.  To think, now you might have to work, and not just have fun psychologizing.  When we catch them I'll be sure to tell them to try harder next time."  Jenkins glanced down at his superior's face, but after the spasm at the thought of routine detective work had subsided it remained impassive, save for the eyes.
     "I should have adjusted that sarcastic streak of yours long ago, Lieutenant: it is too late now."  The eyes flitted over to Jenkins for half a second, then resumed their roving.  "Ah well, I suppose I need the occasional pinprick to remind me that I am not here solely for my own amusement.  Since nearly all the city's difficult cases would go unsolved but for me, it might almost justify that badge of yours by itself."
     "I do my best, sir."  Jenkins suppressed a grin; the Inspector's enormous arrogance was at least partially justified.  He was the most highly regarded detective in the whole City Watch, with a near-perfect record.
     "As a matter of fact," Percy said, "I have been thinking of several features in this particular case that deserve my attention.  Consider what we learned from the initial report alone, before we ever set foot on the Buford Manor grounds.
     "I submit: Chairman Buford is the wealthiest and most influential citizen of Azaria next to President Barran himself.  This is the first burglary his property has suffered since it passed to him after the revolution.  The building was not ransacked; on the contrary, there seems to be no substantial damage, and the burglars, or, less probably, burglar, certainly knew the estate's layout before they had so much as trespassed.  The security here is the finest of any private residence in Azara, and apart from the two guards stationed in the tower, all reported that they saw and heard nothing unusual before the alarm sounded.  There are no signs of forced entry at either of the gates in the outer wall, which is tall and topped with iron spikes.
     "All of these facts are suggestive, and I expect to have more before we leave this morning.  I fear there will be routine to endure ere we finish, but our thieves have left us with distinct lines of inquiry to pursue, so the case is not completely without promise.  I was merely discussing generalities a moment ago, as should have been plain from my phrasing."
     "It was a carefully planned job, I'd say," replied Jenkins.  "A simple break-in would never have worked, and of course everyone knew that gold sculpture was here.  That would be motivation enough by itself, but the lady's jewelry was famous in its own right.  Well worth taking the time to make a plan, if you're into that sort of thing."
     The golden sculpture to which Jenkins was referring was a priceless artifact from the continent across the southern sea, largely unexplored but legendary in wealth, and also peril.  Cecil Tremain, the famous explorer, had called it the Calmayan Sun when he returned with it from an expedition, and for it Chairman Buford had paid him enough to retire.  From either magnanimity or vanity – opinions diverged – the wealthy official had lent it to the Azarian Municipal Gallery for three months before installing it in his private collection.  Therefore, its existence, value, and owner were all public knowledge.  By comparison, the theft of the Chairman's wife's jewelry was a mere detail, though she had not said so herself.
     "'Carefully planned' is a way of putting it, to be sure," said Percy.  "I should say the work began as soon as the thieves learned of the Sun's existence three months ago, else this endeavor would have been suicidal, even supposing we are dealing with prodigy, which I do.  Such extensive planning must have left traces for us to find, and I am hoping to find them before I leave these grounds today, else I would already have left.  Stop here."
     Percy halted.  The two Watchbeasts were standing just south of the servants' quarters.  The captain of the house guard had shown Percy and Jenkins a detailed map of the building and grounds when they had first arrived.  The mansion consisted of two wings, with the living quarters and guest rooms on the west facing Palace Circle and a great hall on the east.  Connecting the two was a long hall with two floors, and south of that on the first floor were the servants' and guards' quarters, the kitchen, the larders, and other practical rooms.  These were only one story, and rose only about six feet above Jenkins' head.  Jenkins was a retriever with golden fur, tall and broad.  Percy, by contrast, was small and slender even for a cat, and stood two feet shorter.  He had ginger fur with a darker patch around his left eye, and his ears were particularly large and active.
     "Give me a boost, Lieutenant," Percy said, turning his head back to face Jenkins.
     "Up to the roof, sir?"  Jenkin frowned as Percy glared up at him.
     "Don't ask questions just to stall," the cat snapped.  "It's a bad habit.  That was an order, if you insist."
     Jenkins shrugged.  "Yes, sir."  He stepped forward and bent over, cupping his large paws to give Percy a step.  The Inspector placed his boot there and the big dog stood and raised his arms with little effort.  Percy reached up and grabbed the eaves, then pulled himself up.  Turning back to look down at Jenkins, he spoke quickly.
     "When the Captain comes, tell him I suggest interviewing the guard stationed at the north gate and the one in the tower who sounded the alarm.  They are the only beasts here likely to have anything useful for us."  Without waiting for a reply he vanished from sight.
     "Jenkins!  What the blazes!"  The shout came from the west and Jenkins turned to see its source, though he already knew Captain Strong's voice.  Off in the distance he could see the stout figure running down the path.  He was a bulldog, old and grizzled, and quite as broad as he was tall, taking up by himself the narrow lane which Percy and Jenkins had walked side by side.  When he had got within ten feet of Jenkins he stopped and puffed for a few seconds before barking at him.  "Blast it, Lieutenant, didn't you hear me?"
     Jenkins saluted his commander smartly.  So that was why the Inspector had been in such a hurry.  "No, sir.  I was assisting the Inspector with something, as you could see.  I'm sorry."  It would do no good to say what he felt like saying.
     The Captain glared at him.  "I bet you are.  That smug cat looked straight at me before you hoisted him up to that rooftop.  I need him."
     "Well, sir, if you shout he might hear you."  Jenkins didn't bother faking an earnest tone; the Captain knew Percy as well as he did.
     "Fat chance of that, when he can pretend he didn't.  If I had my way he'd have been decommissioned years ago."  Captain Strong scowled at Jenkins as if it were his fault.  "Well, you're the next best thing.  Come with me.  Now."  He turned back the way he had come, motioning for the Lieutenant to follow.
     "If I may ask, sir, what's the emergency?" Jenkins asked after the two had gone some distance.  "The Inspector wants me to conduct a couple of interviews while he investigates the roof."
     The Captain replied without bothering to turn his head back.  "If he's not just taking a nap in the sun, you mean.  Why they let a cat serve in the City Watch is beyond me.  Well, you can conduct those interviews when you're finished with what I have for you.  The lady of the house is throwing a fit.  Says if someone don't tell her how we're proceeding she'll have the whole Watch abolished.  She won't talk to me, and anyway I haven't got anything to tell her.  I'm just a dignitary."  He paused and turned his head to give Jenkins his profile.  "That's what she said, a dignitary.  I wanted the Inspector to deal with her, but he tells you everything, so you'll do."
      Percy would be far less irritating if only that were true, Jenkins thought.  What he said was "Yes, of course, sir.  Unfortunately, by his own account he has nothing to tell right now except that he's working on it.  In his own way, you understand, sir."  That was a lie.  Percy had said no such thing, but what else could he tell the Captain?
     "Yeah, I understand alright.  Well, figure out how to make that sound reassuring to the Chairman's wife, or she'll make this even more of a nightmare for us than it already is.  When I get my hands on whoever did this I'm going to rip his whiskers off and strangle him with his own tail.  Prison's too good for them.  If we don't bring this to a successful end fast there's no telling how many Watchbeasts will lose their jobs, or worse.  The Chairman's own mansion, robbed!"  The Captain shook his head disparagingly.

     "I'm afraid that's all I can tell you for now, ma'am.  I'm not keeping anything from you, I promise.  We simply haven't had time to find out anything else, yet."
     It had been twenty minutes since the Captain had escorted Jenkins into Mrs. Buford's chambers.  She was a middle-aged pug, and the years had not treated her kindly.  Her upturned snout gave her mouth a perpetual scowl that her beady black eyes simply couldn't enforce, and the result would have been repellant were it not faintly amusing.  She sat in a large cushioned chair fanning herself with an embroidered silk device that must have cost at least ten Stars, wearing a dress that must have cost over two hundred, but for all the good it did she ought to have saved her money, Jenkins thought.  He had stuck strictly to business.
     Or rather, for fifteen straight minutes he had merely invented thirty different variations of "Yes, ma'am," while the Chairman's wife had lectured him on the sorry state of security in Azaria, the inefficiency of the City Watch, and the importance of recovering her stolen jewels before the whole city fell into anarchy, which was surely the next logical step if such a vicious and brazen crime were left unpunished.  When she had thoroughly explained her views and admitted that the topic was exhausted, she paused and looked the Lieutenant over.
     "Well," she demanded, "what have you to say?  How is the investigation proceeding?"
     It had taken only a few minutes for Jenkins to convey what he knew.  Seeking to escape, he added hopefully, "With all due respect, ma'am, the sooner I can conduct one or two interviews at the Inspector's request, the sooner we can move forward with the investigation.  On his behalf I promise you he will give you a full account of his progress before we leave today."
     "Very well, then.  You may leave.  I trust you will use all possible haste in your efforts."  Her tone indicated it would have gone the worse for him if she didn't.  He left her chamber, which was on the second floor of the east wing, and had just walked past a window in the hallway when he heard a tapping noise.  Percy was standing on the roof outside the window.  Jenkins stepped back to it and, after unlatching it, opened it inward.  There were no bars on any of the second-floor windows, only small brass latches, a fact which Percy had pointed out to Jenkins almost as soon as they had arrived at the mansion, though he did not guess why at the time.
     "Thank you, Jenkins," said the Inspector, climbing through the window.  "If you hadn't been passing by, I would have had to circle around to the guest room down the hall, which is where one of the thieves forced his way in last night."  He aimed a paw down a passage.  "Just north of here is the study, where another window was forced.  The conservatory, where the Sun was on display, is on the other side of that.  So much for access.  Now the only questions are how they managed to get inside the wall without being caught, how they attained the roof without the tower guards seeing them, and how they escaped.  I suspect the first answer will lead us to the second, and I already know the third.  Have you interviewed the guard at the north gate yet?"
     "I'm afraid not, sir.  I was detained against my will.  The lady of the house is on the warpath, and wants to speak with you.  It's only thirty feet to her room now, if you have time."
     "She can wait.  Blasted female, wasting our precious time.  I don't suppose she had anything useful to say?"  Percy scarcely tried to conceal his disdain of females, especially wealthy ones.  Jenkins had heard many a lecture on the wasteful and insupportable nature of the ornamental classes.
     "Well, sir, if her predictions are correct, the city should be in ruins in a few days.  I very much hope that before the axe falls you'll find time to explain how they escaped.  The Captain thinks you tell me everything you know, and it would be a shame for him to be wrong right to the bitter end.  At his rank."
     "Please, Jenkins," said Percy, showing a pad to Jenkins, "the lady has already held us up enough.  Don't make it worse.  There will be opportunity for that after I have answered my other questions.  Since I've finished on the roof, we'll split the work.  I think the tower guards will be the less important of the two, so please take them.  I'll head to the north gate."  He started down the stairs, and Jenkins followed.  They walked quickly together in silence until they reached the archway that led to the hall connecting the two wings.  As they passed under it, Percy remarked "The tile in this hallway hasn't been changed since the revolution.  See the Foxfire pattern running down the center."
     The Foxfire pattern, green flames taking the shape of a fox's head, had been a common theme in design and architecture from the Imperial days under the Fox King, who had been deposed and executed along with most of his government after President Barran's revolution ended in victory twelve years ago.  No one had used it since then, and it survived only in places that had seen no civic improvement since that time.  There were not many such places, especially as near to Palace Circle as the Chairman's mansion.
     "You would think Chairman Buford would have had it redone," said Jenkins.
     "The Chairman is one of the few beasts in the city who can safely afford to appreciate Imperial art in these times of cultural revision," replied Percy darkly.  "I suppose there is no doubting his sympathies, since he made his fortune riding the President's coat-tails."  He knelt down to examine the close-fitting tiles.  "The craft is superb by today's standards, however much the President may have done to improve things since those times.  But now we part ways."  They were standing by a small door in the north wall.  Through the large window beside it Jenkins could see the north gate in the distance.
     "Am I trying to find out anything in particular from the tower guards?" he asked.
     Percy closed his eyes and hesitated for a few seconds before answering.  "I don't think they can help much," he said finally, "but I want to know what they saw and heard.  You recall from the guardmaster's report that they were found unconscious and bound after the alarm bell sounded.  I assume, defensibly, that one of the burglars scaled the tower from the outside, but I want to know for sure.  Beyond that I trust you to use your own judgment to determine what they have to contribute, if anything."  With that, the Inspector opened the door and left.
     Jenkins walked down the hall until he came to the door to the barracks on the south wall.  Percy and he had gone there as soon as they arrived early that morning to hear the head guard's report, and the guardmaster was still there now, sitting writing in front of a large oak desk covered with circular mug stains.  He was a tall, handsome dog with fur in patches of black and orange.  When Jenkins entered he stopped to glance up.  "More questions.  Or are you here to take me in?" he growled.
     "I would like to speak with the two guards who were on duty in the tower," said Jenkins.  "If you don't mind."  The guardmaster had not been cordial so far in dealing with the City Watch, but that was perfectly understandable, Jenkins thought.  His position was probably the worst of any beast involved in the whole mess, at least until the thieves were caught, and there was certainly no point in antagonizing him.
     The guardmaster jerked his head toward an open door to his right.  "Wittier's awake now.  He's drinking coffee in the barracks.  Carson is still out cold.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to finish writing my letter of resignation.  I'll be lucky if I can get hired as a bar bouncer after this."  He resumed his writing with an air of finality.
     "Best of luck."  Jenkins said sympathetically, and passed through the open door.  The guards' quarters were plain and spare but clean, with bunk beds lining the walls in recessed alcoves and three round tables occupying the center of the room.  At one of these a black Alsatian dog was sitting with one paw to his brow and another grasping a steaming clay mug.  He didn't look up until Jenkins pulled up a chair and sat across from him, but when he did, Jenkins was surprised to see no sign of drowsiness or confusion in his eyes.  They were red, but not tired.
     "Headache, much?" he asked the guard with friendly concern.
     "Oh, only like the whole bloody Victory Week parade was marchin' in circles on my poor noggin.  I'm perfectly sure but what I'd be fine again in a sennight if I could just sleep through it, but I couldn't sleep right now anywise, what with the grounds in an uproar and the chief prob'ly not even goin' to have a neck to hang himself by when the master's through with him.  I ask you, have you ever heard of anything to match it?"  Wittier's voice was a little hoarse, but genial and pleasant.
     "Only about once a month or so," replied Jenkins, "but I admit the newsletters will probably make this one worse.  The victim's standing certainly doesn't help.  May I ask you a few questions about your experience last night, or is the horror still too near?"
     "I suppose I can do that, for a fellow dog like yourself.  Is it true what my mates say, there's a cat leading the investigating here?"  He cocked his head at Jenkins.
     Jenkins leaned back a little.  "It's a little backwards for the interviewee, that's you, to start the interview by questioning the interviewer, which is me, but I suppose I can answer one, and one only, for a fellow dog like yourself.  Yes, a cat is heading up the investigation here, although he isn't the ranking Watchbeast, since Captain Strong himself is also present.  May I begin my questioning now?"  He tilted his muzzle down a little to aim his eyes up at the black shepherd.
     "Of course, officer.  I didn't mean no harm by it, I just thought it were a little strange.  You don't see many catkin in the Watch, or much of anywhere, really, that's all.  On my honor, I didn't mean nothin' by it.  I hope to heaven he catches the bastards, I really do, and more to the good if he does.  Now, Nigel Wittier at your service."  The guard extended a paw, and Jenkins took it.  "What were you wanting to know?"
     Even with the guard's goodwill and attention thus secured, the interview took almost half an hour.  The story Jenkins pieced together from the guard's wandering and unfocused answers was interesting, but not especially helpful as far as he could see, just as Percy had predicted.
     The evening had passed uneventfully, to the best of Nigel's knowledge.  At eight o'clock he and Carson had relieved the evening shift in the tower.  Shortly thereafter the two guards had observed a slight commotion at the north gate, but since it had ended in the admittance of a cart which they recognized as belonging to the Chairman's longtime stable supply company, they had thought nothing of it.  Absolutely nothing of note had occurred from then until shortly after two o'clock, at which time Nigel had been startled from his watch by the noise of Carson collapsing behind him.  Naturally he had hastened to investigate, but as he stooped over his fallen comrade whatever had claimed Carson got him as well, for between that and his coming painfully awake in the barracks just an hour before Jenkins began the interview, there were only hazy snatches, though he vaguely remembered stumbling to the bell rope and ringing it with his paws tied behind his back.  It must have happened some time after, since the alarm sounded shortly before three o'clock, according to the chief's report.  The doctor who had been called in to inspect the two guards had found a small puncture wound in the neck of each guard, so it was being assumed they had been drugged.
     "It must have been a nasty concoction, to keep you out so long," remarked Jenkins after he had the full picture.  "I see Carson is still out, even."
     "Yes, well, officer, between you and myself," Wittier replied, "I think he may have been dozing on his paws already when the filthy brutes got him.  He does, sometimes, does Carson, on the night watches."
     "Well," Jenkins said, pushing his chair back and rising, "even so, it was an impressive performance, ringing that alarm in spite of the drug.  I'll be sure to mention it in my report, and I think if you decide to leave your employment here the City Watch might find room for you somewhere.  Get some rest now."
     "Oh, you needn't worry much on that," the guard replied, yawning.  "I'll manage myself somehow, if only I can keep my back straight.  I wouldn't miss the next few hours here for a month's pay, and that's the truth, on my poor mother's honor it is."
     "May they not disappoint," said Jenkins, and left.  After the strain of keeping the garrulous sheepdog on topic, he felt a little tired himself, but at the moment he wanted to know how the Inspector was getting on with his end.

     Jenkins found Percy apparently finished, or nearly, with his own work, for as soon as he arrived within earshot of the gatehouse he heard Percy speaking.
     "Just one more question, then, Mr. Reinholt.  Did the driver act intoxicated at all?  I mean, did you get the impression he had been drinking a little?"
     Reinholt, presumably the guard on duty at the gate that night, responded in a strained voice that kept threatening to squeak.  "I don't know.  I suppose he might have had a few, but he wasn't drunk.  He got loud, as I said, but he didn't stumble or slur.  Why don't you ask him?"
     "I will, thank you.  And now, that will be all.  Please try to enjoy your day; none of this is your fault, whatever your employer may say."  Percy walked into view out the gatehouse door as he spoke, his head still turned in to face the guard.  "I doubt there are many beasts in Azaria who would have been prepared for a job of thieving as carefully planned and well-executed as this one, but rest assured – I will find them."  He turned to face forward and saw Jenkins.  "Ah, there you are.  You took longer than I thought you would.  I now know every move the criminals made from the moment they passed the gates.  Follow me to the barn just down yonder."  Percy aimed a paw past Jenkins, but the Lieutenant was watching Reinholt exit the gatehouse.  He was a thin, tired-looking weasel, and without so much as a glance in the Watchbeast's direction he walked in the opposite direction toward the open gate and disappeared through it.
     "Ah," spoke Percy, turning his head to follow Jenkins' eyes.  "I can hardly blame him, really.  It may not be his fault, but there is no question that the thieves gained admittance to the grounds from him, so he will be a convenient scapegoat.  I could scarcely suggest anything better than a quick retreat for him at the moment.  Nothing remains for him here.  Now please, follow me, Jenkins.  I have answered my other two questions now, and a full account is in order, if you are still curious."
     "Actually," said Jenkins, "I think I can guess at least the earlier parts of it.  Let me try.  The thieves entered the grounds hidden on a hay cart, perhaps hiding on the undercarriage, and when it entered the barn yonder-" he indicated the squat building south on the path, nearly but not quite adjoining the main hallway "-they slipped out and scaled the building from it.  I would guess that they then scaled the watchtower, though I don't know how, and knocked out the guards with poisoned darts, then went back down to the mansion's roof to secure the objects they were after.  How's that?"
     Percy actually smiled, an occasion usually reserved for the unlucky criminals he had in his sights.  This smile was a little less predatory, and as he spoke his tone was almost friendly.  "Very good, Jenkins.  Very good indeed.  I don't suppose the tower guards told you all that directly, so you must have worked it out for yourself.  You're nearly right.  They were hiding inside the bales of hay, for one thing, which you would see if you walked in the barn, which I did on my way to the gatehouse.  I rather suspect only one of them scaled the watchtower, which would be easy for a skilled climber if he stuck to the south face, not visible from the ground.  The brickwork there is much older and there are deep crevices where the mortar has worn away.  I had surmised that something like poisoned darts had been used to subdue the guards, but it is good to know for sure.  Assuming that isn't merely a guess on your part as well?"
     "No sir," said Jenkins, "the doctor found entry wounds.  Also they had hangovers.  One of them is still out cold."
     "Still," replied Percy thoughtfully, "it was quite kind of them not to use lethal toxin, don't you think?  There are many available to the casual buyer, difficult to trace, and it would have been much safer."
     "I suppose it was.  And there they go avoiding murder again."  Jenkins grinned.  "They must be doing it to annoy you, sir."
     Percy frowned and shook his head.  His tail was twitching again.  "No, that's not what I was thinking about, Jenkins.  It doesn't matter for now, I think, but you really should see the significance."
     "An inside job, maybe?" Jenkins asked.  "They didn't want to kill their friends?"
     "No, of course not.  Use your head, Jenkins!"  It always irritated Percy to have to correct somebody.  "If it were an inside job, why the elaborate effort to conceal their entrance?  I said it doesn't matter.  You were describing the heist to me.  Please continue."
     "No, sir.  That's as far as I can go.  You said you knew how they escaped before we did these interviews, so you didn't learn it from them, and neither did I.  I'm still waiting to hear it from you."
     "Oh, that's easy."  Percy waved the matter away with a paw.  "They flew."
     Jenkins watched as Percy stood there.  The morning was wearing on, and the sun was bright enough that it almost shone clear through the haze that perpetually lay over the city of Azaria.  It was early spring and birds were chirping in the trees that lined the path to the gatehouse.  A warm southerly breeze was washing the winter chill from the air.
     If only a great big rock would fall from the sky and smash his smug face flat, Jenkins thought, it would be absolutely beautiful out here.  From hard experience he knew to let the Inspector wallow in it for a moment, then he spoke.  "But really, sir."  It paid in the end to be diplomatic, no matter what words were really fighting their way out.  "I want to know.  You're being mysterious just for the fun of it."
     Percy smiled again.  It had been months since Jenkins had seen him smile twice in one day.  Clearly the Inspector was enjoying himself enormously.  "No, Jenkins," he said, "not this time.  Come this way please."
     He led Jenkins in silence east to the far end of the manor grounds, nearly up to the outer wall.  During the long walk, Jenkins tried to think what Percy could be getting at.  The Inspector was never frivolous – he took himself far too seriously for that.  There had been no report of breaking in or out at any of the gates, and the hay cart had left long before the alarm bell sounded.  Escape on foot was out, then.  There were no signs of digging, and anyway it would have taken too long to tunnel under the wall.  The wall could possibly have been scaled, but it was smooth and topped with iron spikes that faced down and up.  It would have been difficult and dangerous, especially carrying the heavy golden statue the burglars had stolen, and also it would have made them visible.  The streets around Palace Circle were lit for much of the night with gas-lamps on poles, one of President Barran's many civic improvements in the civic reconstruction after the war.  The light from them would have silhouetted the thieves sharply, a big risk in an otherwise tight operation.
     "I see," Jenkins said as they neared the wall.  "There really isn't any other way, is there?"
     "Yes.  I realized that as soon as I heard the initial report, but the full implications were as absurd to me then as they are to you.  I accepted it as an initial surmise with reservations, until I learned more.  As it happened, what I found validated it, in a surprising way.  Look up there."  Percy pointed to a large oak tree growing on the other side of the wall, outside the manor grounds.
     "It's a tree," Jenkins said.
     "Yes, I know, Lieutenant," Percy said patiently.  "I am not challenging your horticultural knowledge.  Look up in the topmost branches.  It's hard to see from the ground, but from the roof of the East Wing's Ballroom it is much clearer.  The manor comes very close to the outer wall here, only about thirty feet."
     Jenkins squinted.  The sun was behind the tree, and even diffused as it was the light made it hard to make out, but he could just see what looked like a patch of red cloth stuck in the upper part of the tree.  After a few seconds the significance hit him with great force.
     "Wait," he cried, "you're not suggesting they flew out on kites!"
     "I won't know for sure until our men get them down," said Percy, unruffled by Jenkins' surprise, "but it appears they did.  I have read of something like it once before, but it was in an account of a foreign land and I suspected exaggeration.  Now I am not so sure.  In any case, it was lucky their devices are still here for us to trace them by.  I suspect it was not their intention to get stuck in that tree.  As it is, they have left us with a marvellous lead to follow, unless I am much mistaken"

     About five minutes later Lieutenant Jenkins was concerned.  He had followed Percy around the lower floors of the manor, and it seemed the Inspector was bored again.  He was pacing slowly down the halls with his head and tail drooping slightly, and only his eyes darting and his ears twitching at the slightest noise gave any indication he was aware of his surroundings.  It could be that he had hit a snag, which always ruined his focus, or he might have accomplished all he thought possible for the morning.  It was impossible to tell without asking him, but Jenkins stayed silent, thinking he knew what Percy was trying to do.  It was a delicate situation, and would require careful handling if he wanted to get the moody cat to cooperate.  Letting no suspicion sound in his tone, he began talking.
     "Okay, sir, I see what you meant about 'distinct lines of inquiry' now.  I've already got two of them – tracing those kites or whatever they used to fly over the wall and the cart that brought the hay.  It was clever of you to work backwards like that instead of trying to find traces of their escape, as any normal detective would have done.  There probably aren't any."
     "You know how I detest flattery, Jenkins," muttered Percy without looking up.
     "Of course, sir.  It's one of your most remarkable virtues.  You know how much I admire it."  Jenkins was afraid to slow down for fear of losing his approach, but Percy cut in.
     "Also, you're wrong again, on one count."  The Inspector's voice was not a mutter now.  "The agricultural supply company is so unlikely to prove helpful that I will waste my time on it only if every other lead proves fruitless.  That the thieves could have infiltrated that facility and secreted themselves ahead of time in the exact two bales of hay which were brought that night into the manor grounds is so implausible as to be unworthy of consideration, unless I am forced.  No, I rather suspect they were responsible for the unexpected delivery – a mere forged note would have accomplished that much, and untraceably – but I am only just short of certain that they inserted themselves in the cargo en route.  That would require at least twenty minutes if they were to render themselves fully undetectable, which they surely did, and so the only possible surmise is that the driver stopped on the way.  Now, where do you suppose a hay cart driver, tasked with an after-hours delivery, might stop on the way to his destination?"
     Jenkins thought a bit.  "Oh," he said, "now I get it.  That's why you asked the gate guard if the driver might have been drinking!  He stopped at a tavern for a drink or three.  But how could the thieves have known he would do that?"
     "Impossible to say; either they manipulated him without his knowledge or they simply knew he would.  That is one of the questions I am hoping the driver can answer for me.  My hope is that some beast at whatever tavern it was saw the thieves nearby.  It is only a small chance, but faced with preparation as thorough as this, I will try anything.  For that reason I intend to get started immediately.  Tell the Captain I will be leaving now, and then meet me at our carriage."
     Jenkins resisted the urge to swear.  Percy had cut off his approach!  The situation called for direct action, and Jenkins took two jumps ahead and about-faced in front of Percy, blocking him mid-stride.
     "No, sir," he said, much more sternly than a subordinate ought to speak to his commander, "not before you give a full report to Mrs. Buford.  She requested it, and it's the Captain's orders."
     Percy glared up at Jenkins.  "We agreed that would be a waste of time, Jenkins," he said icily.  It was a lie, of course, but Jenkins had expected it.
     "We did not.  Not only is it the Captain's orders, but I promised her myself that I would send you to her.  My word as an Officer of the Watch is at stake."
     "Grrrrhharrgh," Percy said.
     "I agree, sir, but there's no helping it."  Jenkins was firm, speaking as if to an errant pup.  "Get it over with now, and we can move on."
     "That female is going to cost us hours of precious time.  The burglars might escape Azaria before I escape her."  Percy turned down a passage into the main hall and began walking toward the West Wing as he spoke.  With an inward sigh of relief, Jenkins followed.  The most unpleasant task would be finished, and after that it would be smooth sailing, he was sure.  Surely no mere housebreakers could escape Inspector Percival Legreave for long.

Description
1: Law

Chapter 1

     Inspector Percival Legreave paced slowly down the path, the click of his polished boots sharply audible in the early morning quiet.  His heavy-lidded green eyes would have looked sleepy if they were not darting from side to side, and Lieutenant Neal Jenkins, who walked beside him, knew they were keenly alert.  Notwithstanding, Jenkins could see nothing special about the scenery just south of the manor, near the very center of the estate.  To their right there was a wide swath of neatly-clipped grass dotted with small patches of garden and a few trees.  To their left the manor itself sat about thirty feet away.  They were walking slowly toward the east side of the estate, but Jenkins didn't know if Percy actually wanted to go there or not.  He had known Percy to wander aimlessly on duty before.
     "The investigation of a burglary poses several difficulties not often present in the more personal crimes, Jenkins," the Inspector drawled in a quiet voice.  "As you know, I am fond of any puzzle which offers a unique and interesting challenge, but the peculiar difficulties of burglary – and indeed of most merely mercenary crimes – are rarely stimulating.  I will be glad when this is over."
     Obviously Percy was bored, and would probably talk merely to hear the sound of his own voice until he fixed upon something to occupy his mind.  In the meantime it would be up to him to try to keep the eccentric detective focused, a daunting task at times.
     Percy continued.  "Murder, for example, can stem from any number of motives; profit, of course, but also vengeance, security, convenience, jealousy, or any number of more interesting and investigatively useful ends."  From his tone the Inspector might have been discussing gardening or pottery.  "It provides a wonderful opportunity to study the mind of every beast involved.  The skilled detective has a complex and nuanced situation to master, and may test assumptions, set traps, use pure deduction, or engage in more, ah, pedestrian methods of investigation, on the prompting of circumstance.  There is call for careful observation, meaningful interview, fine judgment, swift and skilful strategy, and all the higher enjoyments of the intellect."
     "A fine thing, murder.  Shame there isn't more of it," Jenkins remarked drily.
     "Burglary, on the other hand," Percy continued, ignoring Jenkins completely, "is dreadfully linear.  In all but a precious few cases the motive is purely financial, and therefore of no use as a starting point for an investigation, nor a window into the criminal mind.  Mere information-gathering is far the most useful tool in catching a burglar: seeking and questioning witnesses, paying underworld informants, even searching pawn shops for contraband."  Percy crinkled his nose, wrinkling his short muzzle.
     "Darned inconsiderate of those burglars, not committing a murder instead.  To think, now you might have to work, and not just have fun psychologizing.  When we catch them I'll be sure to tell them to try harder next time."  Jenkins glanced down at his superior's face, but after the spasm at the thought of routine detective work had subsided it remained impassive, save for the eyes.
     "I should have adjusted that sarcastic streak of yours long ago, Lieutenant: it is too late now."  The eyes flitted over to Jenkins for half a second, then resumed their roving.  "Ah well, I suppose I need the occasional pinprick to remind me that I am not here solely for my own amusement.  Since nearly all the city's difficult cases would go unsolved but for me, it might almost justify that badge of yours by itself."
     "I do my best, sir."  Jenkins suppressed a grin; the Inspector's enormous arrogance was at least partially justified.  He was the most highly regarded detective in the whole City Watch, with a near-perfect record.
     "As a matter of fact," Percy said, "I have been thinking of several features in this particular case that deserve my attention.  Consider what we learned from the initial report alone, before we ever set foot on the Buford Manor grounds.
     "I submit: Chairman Buford is the wealthiest and most influential citizen of Azaria next to President Barran himself.  This is the first burglary his property has suffered since it passed to him after the revolution.  The building was not ransacked; on the contrary, there seems to be no substantial damage, and the burglars, or, less probably, burglar, certainly knew the estate's layout before they had so much as trespassed.  The security here is the finest of any private residence in Azara, and apart from the two guards stationed in the tower, all reported that they saw and heard nothing unusual before the alarm sounded.  There are no signs of forced entry at either of the gates in the outer wall, which is tall and topped with iron spikes.
     "All of these facts are suggestive, and I expect to have more before we leave this morning.  I fear there will be routine to endure ere we finish, but our thieves have left us with distinct lines of inquiry to pursue, so the case is not completely without promise.  I was merely discussing generalities a moment ago, as should have been plain from my phrasing."
     "It was a carefully planned job, I'd say," replied Jenkins.  "A simple break-in would never have worked, and of course everyone knew that gold sculpture was here.  That would be motivation enough by itself, but the lady's jewelry was famous in its own right.  Well worth taking the time to make a plan, if you're into that sort of thing."
     The golden sculpture to which Jenkins was referring was a priceless artifact from the continent across the southern sea, largely unexplored but legendary in wealth, and also peril.  Cecil Tremain, the famous explorer, had called it the Calmayan Sun when he returned with it from an expedition, and for it Chairman Buford had paid him enough to retire.  From either magnanimity or vanity – opinions diverged – the wealthy official had lent it to the Azarian Municipal Gallery for three months before installing it in his private collection.  Therefore, its existence, value, and owner were all public knowledge.  By comparison, the theft of the Chairman's wife's jewelry was a mere detail, though she had not said so herself.
     "'Carefully planned' is a way of putting it, to be sure," said Percy.  "I should say the work began as soon as the thieves learned of the Sun's existence three months ago, else this endeavor would have been suicidal, even supposing we are dealing with prodigy, which I do.  Such extensive planning must have left traces for us to find, and I am hoping to find them before I leave these grounds today, else I would already have left.  Stop here."
     Percy halted.  The two Watchbeasts were standing just south of the servants' quarters.  The captain of the house guard had shown Percy and Jenkins a detailed map of the building and grounds when they had first arrived.  The mansion consisted of two wings, with the living quarters and guest rooms on the west facing Palace Circle and a great hall on the east.  Connecting the two was a long hall with two floors, and south of that on the first floor were the servants' and guards' quarters, the kitchen, the larders, and other practical rooms.  These were only one story, and rose only about six feet above Jenkins' head.  Jenkins was a retriever with golden fur, tall and broad.  Percy, by contrast, was small and slender even for a cat, and stood two feet shorter.  He had ginger fur with a darker patch around his left eye, and his ears were particularly large and active.
     "Give me a boost, Lieutenant," Percy said, turning his head back to face Jenkins.
     "Up to the roof, sir?"  Jenkin frowned as Percy glared up at him.
     "Don't ask questions just to stall," the cat snapped.  "It's a bad habit.  That was an order, if you insist."
     Jenkins shrugged.  "Yes, sir."  He stepped forward and bent over, cupping his large paws to give Percy a step.  The Inspector placed his boot there and the big dog stood and raised his arms with little effort.  Percy reached up and grabbed the eaves, then pulled himself up.  Turning back to look down at Jenkins, he spoke quickly.
     "When the Captain comes, tell him I suggest interviewing the guard stationed at the north gate and the one in the tower who sounded the alarm.  They are the only beasts here likely to have anything useful for us."  Without waiting for a reply he vanished from sight.
     "Jenkins!  What the blazes!"  The shout came from the west and Jenkins turned to see its source, though he already knew Captain Strong's voice.  Off in the distance he could see the stout figure running down the path.  He was a bulldog, old and grizzled, and quite as broad as he was tall, taking up by himself the narrow lane which Percy and Jenkins had walked side by side.  When he had got within ten feet of Jenkins he stopped and puffed for a few seconds before barking at him.  "Blast it, Lieutenant, didn't you hear me?"
     Jenkins saluted his commander smartly.  So that was why the Inspector had been in such a hurry.  "No, sir.  I was assisting the Inspector with something, as you could see.  I'm sorry."  It would do no good to say what he felt like saying.
     The Captain glared at him.  "I bet you are.  That smug cat looked straight at me before you hoisted him up to that rooftop.  I need him."
     "Well, sir, if you shout he might hear you."  Jenkins didn't bother faking an earnest tone; the Captain knew Percy as well as he did.
     "Fat chance of that, when he can pretend he didn't.  If I had my way he'd have been decommissioned years ago."  Captain Strong scowled at Jenkins as if it were his fault.  "Well, you're the next best thing.  Come with me.  Now."  He turned back the way he had come, motioning for the Lieutenant to follow.
     "If I may ask, sir, what's the emergency?" Jenkins asked after the two had gone some distance.  "The Inspector wants me to conduct a couple of interviews while he investigates the roof."
     The Captain replied without bothering to turn his head back.  "If he's not just taking a nap in the sun, you mean.  Why they let a cat serve in the City Watch is beyond me.  Well, you can conduct those interviews when you're finished with what I have for you.  The lady of the house is throwing a fit.  Says if someone don't tell her how we're proceeding she'll have the whole Watch abolished.  She won't talk to me, and anyway I haven't got anything to tell her.  I'm just a dignitary."  He paused and turned his head to give Jenkins his profile.  "That's what she said, a dignitary.  I wanted the Inspector to deal with her, but he tells you everything, so you'll do."
      Percy would be far less irritating if only that were true, Jenkins thought.  What he said was "Yes, of course, sir.  Unfortunately, by his own account he has nothing to tell right now except that he's working on it.  In his own way, you understand, sir."  That was a lie.  Percy had said no such thing, but what else could he tell the Captain?
     "Yeah, I understand alright.  Well, figure out how to make that sound reassuring to the Chairman's wife, or she'll make this even more of a nightmare for us than it already is.  When I get my hands on whoever did this I'm going to rip his whiskers off and strangle him with his own tail.  Prison's too good for them.  If we don't bring this to a successful end fast there's no telling how many Watchbeasts will lose their jobs, or worse.  The Chairman's own mansion, robbed!"  The Captain shook his head disparagingly.

     "I'm afraid that's all I can tell you for now, ma'am.  I'm not keeping anything from you, I promise.  We simply haven't had time to find out anything else, yet."
     It had been twenty minutes since the Captain had escorted Jenkins into Mrs. Buford's chambers.  She was a middle-aged pug, and the years had not treated her kindly.  Her upturned snout gave her mouth a perpetual scowl that her beady black eyes simply couldn't enforce, and the result would have been repellant were it not faintly amusing.  She sat in a large cushioned chair fanning herself with an embroidered silk device that must have cost at least ten Stars, wearing a dress that must have cost over two hundred, but for all the good it did she ought to have saved her money, Jenkins thought.  He had stuck strictly to business.
     Or rather, for fifteen straight minutes he had merely invented thirty different variations of "Yes, ma'am," while the Chairman's wife had lectured him on the sorry state of security in Azaria, the inefficiency of the City Watch, and the importance of recovering her stolen jewels before the whole city fell into anarchy, which was surely the next logical step if such a vicious and brazen crime were left unpunished.  When she had thoroughly explained her views and admitted that the topic was exhausted, she paused and looked the Lieutenant over.
     "Well," she demanded, "what have you to say?  How is the investigation proceeding?"
     It had taken only a few minutes for Jenkins to convey what he knew.  Seeking to escape, he added hopefully, "With all due respect, ma'am, the sooner I can conduct one or two interviews at the Inspector's request, the sooner we can move forward with the investigation.  On his behalf I promise you he will give you a full account of his progress before we leave today."
     "Very well, then.  You may leave.  I trust you will use all possible haste in your efforts."  Her tone indicated it would have gone the worse for him if she didn't.  He left her chamber, which was on the second floor of the east wing, and had just walked past a window in the hallway when he heard a tapping noise.  Percy was standing on the roof outside the window.  Jenkins stepped back to it and, after unlatching it, opened it inward.  There were no bars on any of the second-floor windows, only small brass latches, a fact which Percy had pointed out to Jenkins almost as soon as they had arrived at the mansion, though he did not guess why at the time.
     "Thank you, Jenkins," said the Inspector, climbing through the window.  "If you hadn't been passing by, I would have had to circle around to the guest room down the hall, which is where one of the thieves forced his way in last night."  He aimed a paw down a passage.  "Just north of here is the study, where another window was forced.  The conservatory, where the Sun was on display, is on the other side of that.  So much for access.  Now the only questions are how they managed to get inside the wall without being caught, how they attained the roof without the tower guards seeing them, and how they escaped.  I suspect the first answer will lead us to the second, and I already know the third.  Have you interviewed the guard at the north gate yet?"
     "I'm afraid not, sir.  I was detained against my will.  The lady of the house is on the warpath, and wants to speak with you.  It's only thirty feet to her room now, if you have time."
     "She can wait.  Blasted female, wasting our precious time.  I don't suppose she had anything useful to say?"  Percy scarcely tried to conceal his disdain of females, especially wealthy ones.  Jenkins had heard many a lecture on the wasteful and insupportable nature of the ornamental classes.
     "Well, sir, if her predictions are correct, the city should be in ruins in a few days.  I very much hope that before the axe falls you'll find time to explain how they escaped.  The Captain thinks you tell me everything you know, and it would be a shame for him to be wrong right to the bitter end.  At his rank."
     "Please, Jenkins," said Percy, showing a pad to Jenkins, "the lady has already held us up enough.  Don't make it worse.  There will be opportunity for that after I have answered my other questions.  Since I've finished on the roof, we'll split the work.  I think the tower guards will be the less important of the two, so please take them.  I'll head to the north gate."  He started down the stairs, and Jenkins followed.  They walked quickly together in silence until they reached the archway that led to the hall connecting the two wings.  As they passed under it, Percy remarked "The tile in this hallway hasn't been changed since the revolution.  See the Foxfire pattern running down the center."
     The Foxfire pattern, green flames taking the shape of a fox's head, had been a common theme in design and architecture from the Imperial days under the Fox King, who had been deposed and executed along with most of his government after President Barran's revolution ended in victory twelve years ago.  No one had used it since then, and it survived only in places that had seen no civic improvement since that time.  There were not many such places, especially as near to Palace Circle as the Chairman's mansion.
     "You would think Chairman Buford would have had it redone," said Jenkins.
     "The Chairman is one of the few beasts in the city who can safely afford to appreciate Imperial art in these times of cultural revision," replied Percy darkly.  "I suppose there is no doubting his sympathies, since he made his fortune riding the President's coat-tails."  He knelt down to examine the close-fitting tiles.  "The craft is superb by today's standards, however much the President may have done to improve things since those times.  But now we part ways."  They were standing by a small door in the north wall.  Through the large window beside it Jenkins could see the north gate in the distance.
     "Am I trying to find out anything in particular from the tower guards?" he asked.
     Percy closed his eyes and hesitated for a few seconds before answering.  "I don't think they can help much," he said finally, "but I want to know what they saw and heard.  You recall from the guardmaster's report that they were found unconscious and bound after the alarm bell sounded.  I assume, defensibly, that one of the burglars scaled the tower from the outside, but I want to know for sure.  Beyond that I trust you to use your own judgment to determine what they have to contribute, if anything."  With that, the Inspector opened the door and left.
     Jenkins walked down the hall until he came to the door to the barracks on the south wall.  Percy and he had gone there as soon as they arrived early that morning to hear the head guard's report, and the guardmaster was still there now, sitting writing in front of a large oak desk covered with circular mug stains.  He was a tall, handsome dog with fur in patches of black and orange.  When Jenkins entered he stopped to glance up.  "More questions.  Or are you here to take me in?" he growled.
     "I would like to speak with the two guards who were on duty in the tower," said Jenkins.  "If you don't mind."  The guardmaster had not been cordial so far in dealing with the City Watch, but that was perfectly understandable, Jenkins thought.  His position was probably the worst of any beast involved in the whole mess, at least until the thieves were caught, and there was certainly no point in antagonizing him.
     The guardmaster jerked his head toward an open door to his right.  "Wittier's awake now.  He's drinking coffee in the barracks.  Carson is still out cold.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to finish writing my letter of resignation.  I'll be lucky if I can get hired as a bar bouncer after this."  He resumed his writing with an air of finality.
     "Best of luck."  Jenkins said sympathetically, and passed through the open door.  The guards' quarters were plain and spare but clean, with bunk beds lining the walls in recessed alcoves and three round tables occupying the center of the room.  At one of these a black Alsatian dog was sitting with one paw to his brow and another grasping a steaming clay mug.  He didn't look up until Jenkins pulled up a chair and sat across from him, but when he did, Jenkins was surprised to see no sign of drowsiness or confusion in his eyes.  They were red, but not tired.
     "Headache, much?" he asked the guard with friendly concern.
     "Oh, only like the whole bloody Victory Week parade was marchin' in circles on my poor noggin.  I'm perfectly sure but what I'd be fine again in a sennight if I could just sleep through it, but I couldn't sleep right now anywise, what with the grounds in an uproar and the chief prob'ly not even goin' to have a neck to hang himself by when the master's through with him.  I ask you, have you ever heard of anything to match it?"  Wittier's voice was a little hoarse, but genial and pleasant.
     "Only about once a month or so," replied Jenkins, "but I admit the newsletters will probably make this one worse.  The victim's standing certainly doesn't help.  May I ask you a few questions about your experience last night, or is the horror still too near?"
     "I suppose I can do that, for a fellow dog like yourself.  Is it true what my mates say, there's a cat leading the investigating here?"  He cocked his head at Jenkins.
     Jenkins leaned back a little.  "It's a little backwards for the interviewee, that's you, to start the interview by questioning the interviewer, which is me, but I suppose I can answer one, and one only, for a fellow dog like yourself.  Yes, a cat is heading up the investigation here, although he isn't the ranking Watchbeast, since Captain Strong himself is also present.  May I begin my questioning now?"  He tilted his muzzle down a little to aim his eyes up at the black shepherd.
     "Of course, officer.  I didn't mean no harm by it, I just thought it were a little strange.  You don't see many catkin in the Watch, or much of anywhere, really, that's all.  On my honor, I didn't mean nothin' by it.  I hope to heaven he catches the bastards, I really do, and more to the good if he does.  Now, Nigel Wittier at your service."  The guard extended a paw, and Jenkins took it.  "What were you wanting to know?"
     Even with the guard's goodwill and attention thus secured, the interview took almost half an hour.  The story Jenkins pieced together from the guard's wandering and unfocused answers was interesting, but not especially helpful as far as he could see, just as Percy had predicted.
     The evening had passed uneventfully, to the best of Nigel's knowledge.  At eight o'clock he and Carson had relieved the evening shift in the tower.  Shortly thereafter the two guards had observed a slight commotion at the north gate, but since it had ended in the admittance of a cart which they recognized as belonging to the Chairman's longtime stable supply company, they had thought nothing of it.  Absolutely nothing of note had occurred from then until shortly after two o'clock, at which time Nigel had been startled from his watch by the noise of Carson collapsing behind him.  Naturally he had hastened to investigate, but as he stooped over his fallen comrade whatever had claimed Carson got him as well, for between that and his coming painfully awake in the barracks just an hour before Jenkins began the interview, there were only hazy snatches, though he vaguely remembered stumbling to the bell rope and ringing it with his paws tied behind his back.  It must have happened some time after, since the alarm sounded shortly before three o'clock, according to the chief's report.  The doctor who had been called in to inspect the two guards had found a small puncture wound in the neck of each guard, so it was being assumed they had been drugged.
     "It must have been a nasty concoction, to keep you out so long," remarked Jenkins after he had the full picture.  "I see Carson is still out, even."
     "Yes, well, officer, between you and myself," Wittier replied, "I think he may have been dozing on his paws already when the filthy brutes got him.  He does, sometimes, does Carson, on the night watches."
     "Well," Jenkins said, pushing his chair back and rising, "even so, it was an impressive performance, ringing that alarm in spite of the drug.  I'll be sure to mention it in my report, and I think if you decide to leave your employment here the City Watch might find room for you somewhere.  Get some rest now."
     "Oh, you needn't worry much on that," the guard replied, yawning.  "I'll manage myself somehow, if only I can keep my back straight.  I wouldn't miss the next few hours here for a month's pay, and that's the truth, on my poor mother's honor it is."
     "May they not disappoint," said Jenkins, and left.  After the strain of keeping the garrulous sheepdog on topic, he felt a little tired himself, but at the moment he wanted to know how the Inspector was getting on with his end.

     Jenkins found Percy apparently finished, or nearly, with his own work, for as soon as he arrived within earshot of the gatehouse he heard Percy speaking.
     "Just one more question, then, Mr. Reinholt.  Did the driver act intoxicated at all?  I mean, did you get the impression he had been drinking a little?"
     Reinholt, presumably the guard on duty at the gate that night, responded in a strained voice that kept threatening to squeak.  "I don't know.  I suppose he might have had a few, but he wasn't drunk.  He got loud, as I said, but he didn't stumble or slur.  Why don't you ask him?"
     "I will, thank you.  And now, that will be all.  Please try to enjoy your day; none of this is your fault, whatever your employer may say."  Percy walked into view out the gatehouse door as he spoke, his head still turned in to face the guard.  "I doubt there are many beasts in Azaria who would have been prepared for a job of thieving as carefully planned and well-executed as this one, but rest assured – I will find them."  He turned to face forward and saw Jenkins.  "Ah, there you are.  You took longer than I thought you would.  I now know every move the criminals made from the moment they passed the gates.  Follow me to the barn just down yonder."  Percy aimed a paw past Jenkins, but the Lieutenant was watching Reinholt exit the gatehouse.  He was a thin, tired-looking weasel, and without so much as a glance in the Watchbeast's direction he walked in the opposite direction toward the open gate and disappeared through it.
     "Ah," spoke Percy, turning his head to follow Jenkins' eyes.  "I can hardly blame him, really.  It may not be his fault, but there is no question that the thieves gained admittance to the grounds from him, so he will be a convenient scapegoat.  I could scarcely suggest anything better than a quick retreat for him at the moment.  Nothing remains for him here.  Now please, follow me, Jenkins.  I have answered my other two questions now, and a full account is in order, if you are still curious."
     "Actually," said Jenkins, "I think I can guess at least the earlier parts of it.  Let me try.  The thieves entered the grounds hidden on a hay cart, perhaps hiding on the undercarriage, and when it entered the barn yonder-" he indicated the squat building south on the path, nearly but not quite adjoining the main hallway "-they slipped out and scaled the building from it.  I would guess that they then scaled the watchtower, though I don't know how, and knocked out the guards with poisoned darts, then went back down to the mansion's roof to secure the objects they were after.  How's that?"
     Percy actually smiled, an occasion usually reserved for the unlucky criminals he had in his sights.  This smile was a little less predatory, and as he spoke his tone was almost friendly.  "Very good, Jenkins.  Very good indeed.  I don't suppose the tower guards told you all that directly, so you must have worked it out for yourself.  You're nearly right.  They were hiding inside the bales of hay, for one thing, which you would see if you walked in the barn, which I did on my way to the gatehouse.  I rather suspect only one of them scaled the watchtower, which would be easy for a skilled climber if he stuck to the south face, not visible from the ground.  The brickwork there is much older and there are deep crevices where the mortar has worn away.  I had surmised that something like poisoned darts had been used to subdue the guards, but it is good to know for sure.  Assuming that isn't merely a guess on your part as well?"
     "No sir," said Jenkins, "the doctor found entry wounds.  Also they had hangovers.  One of them is still out cold."
     "Still," replied Percy thoughtfully, "it was quite kind of them not to use lethal toxin, don't you think?  There are many available to the casual buyer, difficult to trace, and it would have been much safer."
     "I suppose it was.  And there they go avoiding murder again."  Jenkins grinned.  "They must be doing it to annoy you, sir."
     Percy frowned and shook his head.  His tail was twitching again.  "No, that's not what I was thinking about, Jenkins.  It doesn't matter for now, I think, but you really should see the significance."
     "An inside job, maybe?" Jenkins asked.  "They didn't want to kill their friends?"
     "No, of course not.  Use your head, Jenkins!"  It always irritated Percy to have to correct somebody.  "If it were an inside job, why the elaborate effort to conceal their entrance?  I said it doesn't matter.  You were describing the heist to me.  Please continue."
     "No, sir.  That's as far as I can go.  You said you knew how they escaped before we did these interviews, so you didn't learn it from them, and neither did I.  I'm still waiting to hear it from you."
     "Oh, that's easy."  Percy waved the matter away with a paw.  "They flew."
     Jenkins watched as Percy stood there.  The morning was wearing on, and the sun was bright enough that it almost shone clear through the haze that perpetually lay over the city of Azaria.  It was early spring and birds were chirping in the trees that lined the path to the gatehouse.  A warm southerly breeze was washing the winter chill from the air.
     If only a great big rock would fall from the sky and smash his smug face flat, Jenkins thought, it would be absolutely beautiful out here.  From hard experience he knew to let the Inspector wallow in it for a moment, then he spoke.  "But really, sir."  It paid in the end to be diplomatic, no matter what words were really fighting their way out.  "I want to know.  You're being mysterious just for the fun of it."
     Percy smiled again.  It had been months since Jenkins had seen him smile twice in one day.  Clearly the Inspector was enjoying himself enormously.  "No, Jenkins," he said, "not this time.  Come this way please."
     He led Jenkins in silence east to the far end of the manor grounds, nearly up to the outer wall.  During the long walk, Jenkins tried to think what Percy could be getting at.  The Inspector was never frivolous – he took himself far too seriously for that.  There had been no report of breaking in or out at any of the gates, and the hay cart had left long before the alarm bell sounded.  Escape on foot was out, then.  There were no signs of digging, and anyway it would have taken too long to tunnel under the wall.  The wall could possibly have been scaled, but it was smooth and topped with iron spikes that faced down and up.  It would have been difficult and dangerous, especially carrying the heavy golden statue the burglars had stolen, and also it would have made them visible.  The streets around Palace Circle were lit for much of the night with gas-lamps on poles, one of President Barran's many civic improvements in the civic reconstruction after the war.  The light from them would have silhouetted the thieves sharply, a big risk in an otherwise tight operation.
     "I see," Jenkins said as they neared the wall.  "There really isn't any other way, is there?"
     "Yes.  I realized that as soon as I heard the initial report, but the full implications were as absurd to me then as they are to you.  I accepted it as an initial surmise with reservations, until I learned more.  As it happened, what I found validated it, in a surprising way.  Look up there."  Percy pointed to a large oak tree growing on the other side of the wall, outside the manor grounds.
     "It's a tree," Jenkins said.
     "Yes, I know, Lieutenant," Percy said patiently.  "I am not challenging your horticultural knowledge.  Look up in the topmost branches.  It's hard to see from the ground, but from the roof of the East Wing's Ballroom it is much clearer.  The manor comes very close to the outer wall here, only about thirty feet."
     Jenkins squinted.  The sun was behind the tree, and even diffused as it was the light made it hard to make out, but he could just see what looked like a patch of red cloth stuck in the upper part of the tree.  After a few seconds the significance hit him with great force.
     "Wait," he cried, "you're not suggesting they flew out on kites!"
     "I won't know for sure until our men get them down," said Percy, unruffled by Jenkins' surprise, "but it appears they did.  I have read of something like it once before, but it was in an account of a foreign land and I suspected exaggeration.  Now I am not so sure.  In any case, it was lucky their devices are still here for us to trace them by.  I suspect it was not their intention to get stuck in that tree.  As it is, they have left us with a marvellous lead to follow, unless I am much mistaken"

     About five minutes later Lieutenant Jenkins was concerned.  He had followed Percy around the lower floors of the manor, and it seemed the Inspector was bored again.  He was pacing slowly down the halls with his head and tail drooping slightly, and only his eyes darting and his ears twitching at the slightest noise gave any indication he was aware of his surroundings.  It could be that he had hit a snag, which always ruined his focus, or he might have accomplished all he thought possible for the morning.  It was impossible to tell without asking him, but Jenkins stayed silent, thinking he knew what Percy was trying to do.  It was a delicate situation, and would require careful handling if he wanted to get the moody cat to cooperate.  Letting no suspicion sound in his tone, he began talking.
     "Okay, sir, I see what you meant about 'distinct lines of inquiry' now.  I've already got two of them – tracing those kites or whatever they used to fly over the wall and the cart that brought the hay.  It was clever of you to work backwards like that instead of trying to find traces of their escape, as any normal detective would have done.  There probably aren't any."
     "You know how I detest flattery, Jenkins," muttered Percy without looking up.
     "Of course, sir.  It's one of your most remarkable virtues.  You know how much I admire it."  Jenkins was afraid to slow down for fear of losing his approach, but Percy cut in.
     "Also, you're wrong again, on one count."  The Inspector's voice was not a mutter now.  "The agricultural supply company is so unlikely to prove helpful that I will waste my time on it only if every other lead proves fruitless.  That the thieves could have infiltrated that facility and secreted themselves ahead of time in the exact two bales of hay which were brought that night into the manor grounds is so implausible as to be unworthy of consideration, unless I am forced.  No, I rather suspect they were responsible for the unexpected delivery – a mere forged note would have accomplished that much, and untraceably – but I am only just short of certain that they inserted themselves in the cargo en route.  That would require at least twenty minutes if they were to render themselves fully undetectable, which they surely did, and so the only possible surmise is that the driver stopped on the way.  Now, where do you suppose a hay cart driver, tasked with an after-hours delivery, might stop on the way to his destination?"
     Jenkins thought a bit.  "Oh," he said, "now I get it.  That's why you asked the gate guard if the driver might have been drinking!  He stopped at a tavern for a drink or three.  But how could the thieves have known he would do that?"
     "Impossible to say; either they manipulated him without his knowledge or they simply knew he would.  That is one of the questions I am hoping the driver can answer for me.  My hope is that some beast at whatever tavern it was saw the thieves nearby.  It is only a small chance, but faced with preparation as thorough as this, I will try anything.  For that reason I intend to get started immediately.  Tell the Captain I will be leaving now, and then meet me at our carriage."
     Jenkins resisted the urge to swear.  Percy had cut off his approach!  The situation called for direct action, and Jenkins took two jumps ahead and about-faced in front of Percy, blocking him mid-stride.
     "No, sir," he said, much more sternly than a subordinate ought to speak to his commander, "not before you give a full report to Mrs. Buford.  She requested it, and it's the Captain's orders."
     Percy glared up at Jenkins.  "We agreed that would be a waste of time, Jenkins," he said icily.  It was a lie, of course, but Jenkins had expected it.
     "We did not.  Not only is it the Captain's orders, but I promised her myself that I would send you to her.  My word as an Officer of the Watch is at stake."
     "Grrrrhharrgh," Percy said.
     "I agree, sir, but there's no helping it."  Jenkins was firm, speaking as if to an errant pup.  "Get it over with now, and we can move on."
     "That female is going to cost us hours of precious time.  The burglars might escape Azaria before I escape her."  Percy turned down a passage into the main hall and began walking toward the West Wing as he spoke.  With an inward sigh of relief, Jenkins followed.  The most unpleasant task would be finished, and after that it would be smooth sailing, he was sure.  Surely no mere housebreakers could escape Inspector Percival Legreave for long.