“Another murder?” Dumbfounded, I dropped my shrimp. “But we never properly solved the first murder!”

“Well,” Inspector No One Very Important put in, “we did arrest the brother.”

“Oh.” I waved a disgustedly dismissive paw at him. “Obviously, he didn’t do it.”

“Catson does have a point,” Bones said. “Although, while I usually deal in murders one at a time, I don’t suppose I mind taking them in bunches. So, who’s the new dead body?”

“I already filled them in on what we learned at the boardinghouse,” Inspector No One Very Important informed Inspector Strange.

“Fine, fine,” Inspector Strange said irritably. Who could blame him? Inspector No One Very Important seemed to have that effect upon people.

“Oh,” Inspector No One Very Important added, “by the way, we’ve all agreed to refer to the woman who runs the boardinghouse as Fifi.”

“Fine, fine,” Inspector Strange said again.

“The new dead body?” Bones prompted with an admirable degree of patience. “You were about to tell us about the new dead body?”

“Yes, and I would have right away if I hadn’t been sidetracked by—never mind. I was about to say that I tracked down the secretary of, er, John Smith.”

“Does the secretary have a name?” I asked.

“Of course he has a name!” Inspector Strange said. “Or I suppose I should say he had a name.”

Had—that sounded ominous, at least for the secretary.

“Do you think,” I suggested helpfully, “that we might simply refer to him as the secretary?”

“That’s exactly what I was doing!”

Grouchy, grouchy.

“And where did you track the secretary down?” Bones asked.

“In another boardinghouse,” Inspector Strange said. “Unfortunately, though, my timing was a bit off.”

“Off?” I asked. “How so?”

“Well, he was already dead, wasn’t he?” Inspector Strange snorted. “It would have been more convenient of him to wait until after I had a chance to speak with him before he went and got himself murdered.”

“Yes, I’m sure his murder was very inconvenient for you,” I said dryly.

Inspector Strange shot me a look.

What? I think I know when a little sarcasm is called for, which is almost always.

“When I arrived at the boardinghouse,” Inspector Strange said, “the owner told me that the secretary had said he was expecting a visitor. The owner assumed I was that visitor and I didn’t correct him. But when I got to the secretary’s door and knocked, there was no answer; when I tried the doorknob, it was locked from the inside. And, yet, the owner swore he hadn’t seen the secretary leave.”

“The plot thickens,” Bones said.

“Yes,” Inspector Strange said. “It has a bad habit of doing that, doesn’t it?”

“So what did you do?” I asked.

“I broke the door down, of course,” Inspector Strange said, clearly proud of his strength. “That’s when I saw the dead body, this one somehow killed in a locked room.”

Locked room? I’d encountered mysteries in my lives before, but I never thought I’d encounter one involving a locked room!

“But how did the murderer get in or out,” I asked, “if the door was locked from the inside?”

“Elementary, my dear Catson,” Bones said.

“It is?”

“Of course.” Bones regarded Inspector Strange. “After gaining entry to the room and finding the body, you noticed that a window was open. And looking out the window, you found evidence that a ladder had been used to reach it. Perhaps the ladder was even still in position there?”

Inspector Strange, Inspector No One Very Important, and I all stared at the dog in wonder.

“And how did you know that?” Inspector Strange demanded.

“Elementary,” Bones said again. “A dead body found on the second story; a door locked from within—what other explanation could there be?”

Huh.

“The murderer had to get in somehow,” Bones said. “After all, this isn’t some fairy story with magic and little elves, is it? If not by the door, then there must be a window. If the window is on the second story, there must be a ladder to get to the window; for, however tall our murderer might be, he can’t be that tall, not two stories’ worth.”

Huh again.

Inspector Strange shook his head in wonder, before continuing. “I leaned out the window and saw a boy down below, on the ground. I asked him if he’d seen a man on the ladder earlier. He said that, yes, that he’d seen a tall man with really tiny feet using it and had assumed him to be a worker. Seeing my expression, the boy said he hoped he hadn’t done anything wrong. I told him that, of course he hadn’t, not unless he included letting a murderer get away with murder.”

How sensitive.

“Next,” Inspector Strange said, “I investigated the body.”

“How had he been killed?” Bones asked. “Not another poisoning, I expect.”

“How did you know that this one hadn’t been poisoned too, Bones?” Inspector Strange asked.

“I’m educated.” The dog shrugged. “And I made a guess.”

“A good one at that.” Inspector Strange nodded firmly. “I found the body by the window. Unlike the body of, er, John Smith in the abandoned building, this one had been stabbed.”

Oh my. I’m not usually given to queasiness at the thought of death. I’d been through the Cat Wars after all. As a doctor there, I’d seen a lot. But stabbed? It was a bit much.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Inspector Strange said.

“Yes?” Bones asked.

“Much as it kills me to say it, you were right.”

“Obviously.” The dog snorted. “But about what exactly?”

“The motive,” Inspector Strange said, “it was revenge.”