Please read Disclaimer in Chapter One.

Title: Elementary, My Dear Hiei (C6: The Butler Did It?)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: General, Mystery

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: The monster has been vanquished, but there is still the small matter of the missing tiara.

A/N: But what about the accursed tiara, and how indeed does Delamont know so much? Read on. And thanks!

Or did he...

Elementary, My Dear Hiei (C6: The Butler Did it?)

by

Kenshin

With Merope wrapped in a cozy blanket and on her way to recovery, and Thrustlewood handing out hot tea and brandy, the family settled down a bit. Even the chill seemed to be easing.

"You've done us a great service," said Pudge, and they all joined in, thanking the botanist and Hero: Pudge and Merope from the sofa, Dumpy and the others from chairs crowded round the coffee table, which held the rapidly-disappearing dregs of cake.

M. Delamont waved away their thanks as he made a leisurely circuit of the room.

M. Hero remained near the fireplace, his arms folded, looking almost asleep, but yet watchful.

Pudge thought they were so un-alike, Delamont charming and eloquent, Hero taciturn, almost sullen, yet they made a good team. Rather like this family of mine, she reflected.

"Well?" said Dumpy. "How is it you two come to be here

tonight, and how did you know about-"

"-your daughter?" M. Delamont began. "It is elementary."

M. Hero snorted derisively.

"A-hem!" Clearing his throat, M. Delamont continued: "Merope was the only one among you both weak enough to allow the demonic possession in the first place-and the only one strong enough to resist killing you all."

"Killing?" Smarmy's eyes flew open in shock.

Merope gave a low moan and covered her face.

"Kill us? But why?" Pudge shivered. "What had we done?"

"Almost nothing," continued Delamont. "We will get to the 'almost' in due time."

Pudge said, "Oh, I wish we'd never won that Sweepstakes!"

"Remember those words," muttered Hero.

"You'll often find," added Delamont sagely, "that what you want isn't always the same as what you need."

Hero snorted again. "That girl has some backbone, though, or you'd all be dead, even if it was a low-level demon."

"D-d-emon?" Smarm's teeth were chattering.

"Here," M. Delamont said, "they're known as youkai."

M. Hero elaborated. "This particular type gains control by entering the ear canal, then taking up residence in the folds of the brain."

Mopey gave a mew of shock. "Horrible," whispered Pudge.

For being M. Hero, he was positively chatty now. "You saw what it looked like. Part solid, part liquid, it's able to settle a while inside the human body but-"

M. Delamont's eyes flashed angrily. "Your daughter was yet in grave danger-as were you all."

"My friend here has had experience with that kind of demon," said Hero. "He knew it could be driven from its victim by Holy Water, and then we could easily dispatch it."

"Yes," said Dumpy, shrewd now. "Too bad you couldn't have questioned it beforehand."

"He's right," Twitchy's gaze swept the room. "The tiara-"

"Hero, the game's afoot!" As M. Hero rolled his eyes, M. Delamont settled into an armchair, steepled his fingers, and began: "Of course, there is the curious incidence of the phone lines being cut-"

"Cut?" said Dumpy. "I had thought the storm knocked-"

"Cut," said Hero succinctly.

"As with a sword?" Smarmy flared. Hero merely chuckled.

"Not with a sword, but by someone of this household."

"Well, I suppose the butler did it!" cried Twitchy.

Thrustlewood did not even blink.

"He could have done," agreed Smarmy. "In books the butler always does it!"

"But if that's so," wondered Pudge, "and Thrustlewood had the tiara, why did he remain here?"

"Then doesn't that leave you, dear sister?" asked Smarmy.

Dumpy did not like that. "You keep my Pudge out of this. After all you're the one who's mad for money."

"And you, brother-in-law?" countered Smarmy. "You don't like it here, wanted to leave from day one!"

"How would stealing the tiara accomplish that?" Twitchy put in. "Besides, we searched-"

"Oh, stop it, please!" Pudge begged. "Stop it, all of you!"

M. Hero took a single step forward. "Enough," he said.

All fell silent.

"I'll continue then," said Delamont. He took their silence for assent. "First, the butler:

"Of course Thrustlewood didn't 'do it.' He has a long and sterling history of service to an aristocratic family, and when the last heir of that family died, Thrustlewood took his excellent references to work for an, er, employment agency."

Thrustlewood inclined his head. "Thank you, sir."

"Not at all." Leaving the comfort of his chair, M. Delamont prowled the room. He stopped, facing the fire.

"Now, the father:

"Mr. Puffington did not steal the tiara. Why would he? A working man, he despises freeloading, has always paid for what he gets, and this windfall of the sweepstakes, while seeming to be a boon, has been bothering him all along."

"It has been," admitted Dumpling, turning to Pudge. "And he's right, dearest. I didn't take the tiara."

"I never for a moment thought you did," Pudge said fondly.

M. Delamont plucked a box of tissues from a side table, then stopped in front of Pudge. "Now as for the mother:

"Poor Mrs. Puffington's been trying to keep up a brave front, but she's been missing her homeland, and on top of that, the storm and the arrival of two strange and threatening men has brought her close to the edge."

Delamont offered the box of tissues. Taking a tissue, Pudge dabbed her eyes.

"Mrs. Puffington hiding the tiara herself? Absurd. Her entire life has been one of striving to make her home a peaceful and harmonious place." Delamont stayed at her side while her sniffles subsided, then turned to Smarmy. "Now, the brother."

Smarmy set his brandy down with a clatter. "I know everyone thinks I stole it but I didn't!"

"Smarmy's right," said M. Delamont.

Dumpy rose, too. "How do you know that?"

"In due time, Mr. Puffington, in due time. Here we have a man too, er, sensitive to work, who has finally landed in the gravy, so to speak. He can philosophize in great comfort to the end of his days. What reason would he have to put his newfound position in jeopardy?

"For in spite of his work-related allergies, Mr. Smarmy has behaved like a doting uncle toward his nephew and niece, advising Twitchy on the matter of, er, sporting events, encouraging Merope to continue with her love of watercolor painting."

Embarrassed by a compliment as he had never been by an insult, Smarmy went beet red.

Placing his hands behind his back, Delamont continued. "Finally, the son. How ironic it must have seemed when the father's sole venture into gambling yielded such a windfall, while the son-"

Twitchy gulped audibly.

"Of everyone in this room, young Twitchy had the best and most compelling reason to steal the tiara."

Twitchy's face turned paper-white. "You can't prove that!"

"He has no income, yet carried heavy gambling debts-"

"Oh, Twitchy," Pudge sighed. She had suspected as much.

"Fond as he may be of his kin," said Delamont, "Uncle's wagering advice isn't of the best caliber."

"That's no crime!" protested Twitchy.

"Perhaps not. But no wonder you have a case of nerves, for your creditors are the type who believe a broken kneecap or two works wonders as a gentle reminder."

"Twitchy dear?" Pudge repeated sadly.

Twitchy had the decency to hang his head.

"But why didn't you ask for the money when we won the 'stakes? Surely you must know we would have paid off the debts?"

Twitchy studied his shoes. "I never wanted you to know."

"Not a bad boy," Delamont continued, "not an altogether stupid boy, but it would be well for him to remember that Japan does regrettably contain its own brand of leg-breakers, who would not hesitate to demand that a debt be repaid."

Everyone's gaze inevitably fell upon M. Hero.

"Don't look at me," Hero said.

M. Delamont continued. "Now as for the daughter..."

Pudge's arm tightened around Mopey's shoulder.

"Poor gentle Merope." Delamont smiled upon her kindly. "She won't remember, but she took the tiara."

The girl grasped her mother's hand. "Not my Mopey," protested Pudge. "Not ever!"

"Not under normal circumstances, I quite agree. A girl not given to care for outward appearances, shy and bookish, not that those are bad qualities... but she took it nonetheless."

"Why?" whispered Pudge, as Mopey too hung her head.

"The demon. Under its control, she took the Tredmonton Tiara. Merope was undoubtedly directed to hide the tiara behind a secret panel, where later, after the family had been disposed of, the prize could be recovered by the demon or its cronies."

Pudge noticed Mopey noticing M. Delamont, which warmed the cockles of her heart.

"Truly I don't remember." Mopey turned her face up to Delamont's. "It's like some sort of nightmare, all muddled up."

"That's to be expected," said M. Hero.

"And believe it or not," said Delamont, "it wasn't Hi-er, Hero from whom she shied away at the dinner table. It was his Rosary. Its touch would have burned the demon badly."

"How do you know all this?" Dumpy demanded.

M. Delamont took his seat again and steepled his hands. "Let me apologize for our deception."

Pudge felt the return of a slight chill. "Deception?"

"Yes, alas," said Delamont. "Deception. You see, we are not who we claimed to be."

"Who, then?" Dear Dumpling was resolute. "Out with it!"

Pudge feared some further trouble, some scheme or extortion, but was so exhausted she could hardly think straight.

Besides, M. Delamont was speaking again. Explaining that he had been sent by an insurance company to investigate the theft. This forced him to assume a false identity. His explanation was helped out here and there by M. Hero.

Well then, she thought, that's that. Delamont, Hero. Those are nicknames of a sort, too, if you think of it that way.

"Then you're not really a botanist," Pudge said a bit wistfully, thinking of roses.

Delamont inclined his head. "In a loose sense, I am. I do make a study of plants. For instance, the Rosa Rugosa-where we get those famous rose hips for tea-was native to Japan, introduced from this land to Europe in the 19th century. If you should decide to remain, I suggest growing Gekkyuden, or Palace of the Moon. It's known as LaMarque in-"

"Why yes!" Pudge exclaimed in delight. "An old variety, a climber. We have it in England."

"Well, there you are. They do very well in this climate."

During M. Delamont's discourse, the fire had gone out, and the candles had burned down to stubs. Pudge feared they would have to sit in the dark. But just as the first candle died, the lights came back on, flooding the drawing room with brightness.

"Our luck's turning at last, seems like," said Twitchy.

Merope put a hand to her face. "Oh, I must look a fright," she worried, but Pudge smiled; it was the first time in recent memory Mopey'd paid any heed to her appearance.

"You look fine," M. Delamont assured her, and she flushed with pleasure.

"My baby's back," murmured Pudge. "And nothing else matters. Oh, I don't know how to thank you!"

"I do," said M. Hero. Seating himself at the writing desk, he took from his jacket a cheque-book and black fountain pen.

Everyone apart from Merope got up and crowded around the desk. "What's this about?"

Monsieur Hero wrote in his cheque-book; he tore off a cheque and offered it to Dumpy, along with a set of keys.

"So you're the moneybags as well as the muscle, eh?" Smarmy winked at him.

"And I am not your new best friend," said Hero. "Keep that foremost in mind."

Dumpy squinted at the amount, hesitating, while Smarmy looked over his shoulder.

"Amount seems a bit low," said Smarmy.

"It's every penny I'm authorized to spend," said M. Hero. "And the motor home comes with it."

"Caravan," corrected Twitchy.

"The one you arrived in?" asked Merope.

Hero nodded. "The same."

"I don't know..." Dumpy screwed up his mouth.

"You'll get back the price of this house," said Hero. "Consider yourself lucky."

"But the Tredmonton Tiara," Pudge said. "Cursed or no, it did cost rather a lot..."

"The tiara has been recovered," said Delamont.

There were gasps of surprise all around, not counting Hero.

"It was the realtor who did it," added Hero.

"What?" Pudge looked at Hero and Delamont in shock.

"Indirectly, that is." said Delamont. "You asked before what you had done to merit the demonic attack, and I had replied, 'almost nothing.' Here then is the 'almost.'

"Miss Joan Beame, who sold you the manor, was an accomplice of a man who knew the former owner. He is a notorious creditor, looking to collect his money, like the legbreakers from whom Twitchy managed to hide. And Tarukane had numerous creditors, each a worse sort than the last."

"But how could they have known about us?" wondered Pudge.

"It's their business," said Delamont. "People like that pay attention to lottery and sweepstakes winners, and when you kindly stood your friends and neighbors to a round at the local pub, word of your good fortune spread like wildfire."

"And then she persuaded you to buy the tiara," Hero added. "There was no way it could be stolen from where it was stored in London. Security was too tight, so it had to be taken by a legitimate buyer-you."

"She did rather talk me into it," admitted Pudge.

"Miss Beame then contacted her minions here to await your arrival," said Delamont.

"But why?"

"For the tiara, of course, quite apart from the handsome commission she got for the manor's sale. Miss Beame had planned for her minion at the manor-the one we recently dispatched-to orchestrate the theft smoothly."

Hero said, "But no one counted on Merope's resistance."

"How was everything to be worked out?" said Dumpy.

"When the staff had gone," said Delamont, "courtesy of the demon's 'haunting,' you were to be run off as well. Failing that, killed."

"By God!" said Dumpy.

"Killed," echoed Pudge dully. "I suppose we've been lucky at that."

Smarmy ventured, "You said the tiara was recovered...?"

"A maid," said Delamont, "a girl of particular honesty, found the tiara on unpacking, and notified the employment agency. It was Merope, knowing the maid's character even from so brief an acquaintance, who defied the demon's attempt to secrete the tiara on the premises, and hid it in the girl's luggage."

"That tiara..." Pudge shivered. "It's unclean. I don't want it now."

"Then donate it to a museum," advised Delamont.

M. Hero rose. "We'll be waiting for you in the motor home."

"Caravan," corrected Twitchy weakly.

"Whatever."

"Do not linger over your packing," warned Delamont. "Simply throw together an overnight bag. The rest of your things will be sent on to you."

But Pudge was still trying to take it all in. "Whatever shall we do with a caravan that size?"

"That is up to you," Delamont said. "You may drive straight to the city, or another part of the countryside and camp out, or put it up for sale and fly back to England."

"We just CAME from a one-room flat," protested Smarmy.

"Leave all this?" Pudge wondered aloud. But only last hour, you had been crazy to get out of here. Yet it might be fun at that, motoring about Japan in grand fashion, then returning to their homeland to settle into something a bit more modest.

What matters is that we'll be together.

"But look here," said Smarmy, "now that we know it's one of those, what do you call them..."

"Youkai," supplied Delamont.

"...right, one of those," continued Smarm, "perhaps we could charge admission, you know, a haunted manor sort of thing."

M. Hero fixed him with a stare of ice-pick intensity, which made Smarmy backpedal a step or two. "You're meddling in things you don't understand." The calm, quiet voice only added menace to his words. "If you knew what took place in this house it would freeze your bones."

Delamont agreed. "I'd do as he says."

Pudge thought: it was an unsuitable grandeur she had wanted, when what they really needed was just a bit more privacy and space. This isolated house of sorrows was the last place they belonged. "As long as my baby girl's all right," said Pudge, "I know we shall all be happy."

Hero nodded. "Meet us at the motor home in twenty minutes."

Being a sensible sort, Dumpy took the check and keys.

After Thrustlewood saw the two men to the door, Pudge went to oversee the packing up.

-30-

(To be concluded: Hero and Delamont head for home.)