"Out of my way." Constable Evans held his breath as the 'gentleman' rudely shoved past Inspector Bradstreet to address him. He looked to Bradstreet for guidance, but the Inspector just flashed a smile that quickly disappeared and leaned against the wall lazily. The Inspector was amused by this!
"You. Constable." The gentleman said sharply, and Evans turned his attention to him. "I'm here to report a crime."
Evans' eyebrows went up. "What sort of crime, sir?" He asked uncertainly. He had heard about the nobility, though thankfully he had not had to have much to do with them himself.
The gentleman sniffed. "A crime of the worst sort." He declared, and Evans found himself racking his brains for what crime a nobleman would consider 'the worst.' Sadly, he was coming up with nothing. Seeing his blank look, the gentleman explained. "Murder."
"Oh." Evans was somewhat surprised. He really hadn't been expecting that. "I see-"
"Perhaps you'd better call for an Inspector. Someone who's actually qualified to deal with these sorts of things." The gentleman said impatiently. Bradstreet barely managed not to laugh.
"What sort of things?" Evans asked, wondering if he should be offended.
"Oh, you know, the serious crimes. I mean, you Constables are alright for minor offences, purse snatching and the like, but for murder-"
"Of course, sir." Evans had to cut him off. Bradstreet was about ready to go into a fit behind him. He shot the Inspector a look, and Bradstreet shook his head. "Just a moment…" He looked around, desperate. There!
"Inspector!" He called; Hopkins froze, then wheeled about. Evans knew then that calling him over had been a mistake.
"Constable?" Hopkins asked as he strode over. "Evans, is it?"
Evans nodded. "Yes, sir."
Hopkins then noticed the gentleman. "Is something the matter?" He asked shortly. Too late, Evans remembered the Inspector had been running all over London for the past several days looking for a pair of horses, and was likely short on sleep as a result.
"Are you an Inspector?" The gentleman asked. "You're rather young, aren't you?"
Hopkins was in no mood to bandy words with the nobility. "And rather busy as well, sir." He retorted. "Inspector Hopkins." He turned to Evans. "What is it?"
Evans swallowed. "This gentleman says he's here to report a murder." He said quickly. "He says he wants to speak with an Inspector."
It was then that Hopkins caught sight of Bradstreet. He stared for a minute at the other Inspector, then turned back to Evans. "And he couldn't take care of it?"
Bradstreet lost it. Inspector, Constable, and gentleman turned to stare at him, red faced and guffawing like a lunatic. Hopkins rolled his eyes and turned back to the gentleman.
"Sir, I regret that I am in the middle of a pressing case and cannot assist you. However, Inspector Bradstreet here would be more than happy to investigate your claim. Good day." He was across the room before his words registered with the gentleman.
The man's face went white as a sheet. "Inspector-?"
"Bradstreet." The Inspector finished cheerfully. He had managed to recover himself by this time. The gentleman's face went red, and he looked back and forth between the Inspector and the Constable, well aware that he had been made a fool of.
Bradstreet grinned and slapped the man on the shoulder as if he were an old comrade. "No harm done, sir. Let's go take a look at your murder victim, if you will."
He led the still red-faced gentleman across the room and out through the front doors. Evans breathed a sigh of relief.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and the boys at the Yard do not belong to me.
