THE TIBBETTS WERE due to leave the next morning. At the Anchorage Inn, a happy evening was in progress—a private dinner cooked by John Colville and his wife, served to a group of guests made up of Sir Alfred and Lady Pendleton, Inspector and Mrs. Ingham, Mr. and Mrs. Bob Harrison, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Tibbett, and Ebenezer Prout, otherwise known as Shark Tooth.
Dinner was over, and John had just proposed a toast to Miss Betsy Sprague, when the telephone rang. Margaret went to answer it.
“Yes…wait a minute while I get a pencil…yes…yes…I have that… ”
The party at the table waited expectantly. At last, Margaret came back with a notepad in her hand. She said, “That was a telegram from London for Henry Tibbett. It reads: ‘YOUR RESIGNATION ACCEPTED WITH GREAT REGRET STOP WILL NOT GAZETTE UNTIL CONFIRMED IN WRITING STOP HOPE YOU MAY RECONSIDER SIGNED ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER.’”
There was a moment of absolute silence. Then Henry said, “What in God’s name—?”
Emmy was giggling hopelessly. “I forgot to tell you, darling. You don’t remember now, but you sent a telegram resigning from Scotland Yard. You set up a company called the Henry Tibbett Investigation Bureau in St. Mark’s, and you were going to live here and be a private eye… ”
Henry said, “I see. So the recent case was not in the hands of Scotland Yard, but of the Tibbett Investigation Bureau, was it? Well, I think the sooner the bureau goes out of business, the better. After all, consider. It investigated the murder of a woman who was alive and well in her own home. It tracked down four criminals, two of whom escaped and two of whom killed each other. It—”
Sir Alfred Pendleton said, “It also just happened to save the Seaward Islands.”
“For the moment,” said Henry. “I wonder for how long.”