Detective Nosegoode and the Music Box Mystery Read online

  Mr Nosegoode lit his pipe, which had gone out during the course of his tale, and took a few puffs.

  “What if the test hadn’t gone as planned?” the chemist asked matter-of-factly. “What if Ben hadn’t confessed? What would you have done? After all, my wife’s gloves could have easily been stolen by someone else, and Ben isn’t the only person who goes to Duckfield.”

  “Please don’t forget that I had two other pieces of evidence up my sleeve: the shoe print and a handwriting sample on the matchbox. If Ben hadn’t confessed, I would have used them.”

  Mrs Swallowtail couldn’t contain herself any longer.

  “You’re a miracle worker!” she declared.

  “I’m just an old detective, Mrs Swallowtail!” Ambrosius corrected her modestly.

  At that moment, Ben came back holding the music box. He put it down on the table without a word.

  All eyes were immediately drawn to it – this old family keepsake that was supposed to show the way to a treasure.

  THE TREASURE

  Silence filled the room once more. The small box, with its porcelain dancer and its mysterious secret, had them all in its power. A little key for winding the mechanism stuck out of an opening on the side. A few turns of the key and the music box would break its silence. But what would it say? Would it really show the way to the treasure? These questions were on everyone’s mind.

  Mr Swallowtail turned to Ben.

  “Have you tried winding it yet?” he asked, pointing to the box.

  Ben shook his head.

  “I was afraid,” he blurted out. “I was afraid that someone would hear.”

  “So why did you steal it?”

  “I was going to take it home. I’d wind it there and come back for the treasure…”

  The chemist nodded. “I should really punish you severely,” he declared.

  He picked up the music box and said, “Let’s hear this dancing girl! It’s time to find out if what my grandfather wrote is true.”

  The room was filled with a rasping sound as he wound up the mechanism. There was a tense pause – and then they heard the first silvery tones of a lively melody. The porcelain ballerina spun into action. They all listened intently to the tune, waiting for some hint as to where the treasure was hidden – but in vain. There was nothing to be guessed from the melody.

  “So?” Mrs Swallowtail asked with disappointment in her voice.

  “So nothing,” her husband answered in the same tone.

  Only Mr Nosegoode was of a different opinion.

  “It seems to me,” he said, “that the melody contains a clue…”

  “What!” Mr and Mrs Swallowtail cried out together.

  “It contains a clue,” the detective continued. “But to decipher it you need to know the words to the song. I’m guessing you’re not familiar with them?”

  “This is the first time I’ve heard this melody,” Mrs Swallowtail admitted.

  “Luckily, I know this song. I remember it from my childhood. My mother would often sing it. Here’s how it begins:

  What’s inside the fireplace

  going crick-crick-crick?

  Look carefully for a cricket

  And you’ll find it quick.

  “Inside the fireplace,” Mr Nosegoode repeated emphatically. “Does that not tell you something?”

  All eyes fell on the corner of the room, where there was an elaborate antique fireplace.

  “You think it’s in there, Inspector?” the chemist asked.

  “Yes. If the treasure exists, that’s where it must be hidden.”

  The two of them went up to the fireplace and looked at it in silence.

  “I have no idea how a treasure could be hidden in there,” Mr Swallowtail said, scratching his head.

  “These old fireplaces often have a secret compartment that nobody even suspects exists,” Ambrosius said and looked inside. “It’s so dark in here! I can’t see any opening at all. I wonder how the smoke got out?”

  “There was an opening once,” the chemist explained, “but it’s been blocked up. That was during my grandfather’s time. Ever since, the fireplace has just been for decoration.”

  “All the better,” the detective muttered and began thoroughly examining the outside of the fireplace. He knocked on one brick after another, he listened, he looked into every little nook and cranny…

  He paused at one particular brick. At first glance it didn’t seem any different from the others. It was just a bit larger and a shade darker and – most crucially – it made a hollower sound when struck.

  When Ambrosius leant down and looked at it from below, he noticed something the others couldn’t see: a small dark button that blended in well with the deep-red colour of the brick. He pressed it, and something unexpected happened. There was a grating noise and the brick rotated on its axis, revealing a dark cavity.

  “A secret compartment!” Mrs Swallowtail blurted out.

  “You’re right!” the chemist exclaimed.

  “Open Sesame,” the detective said with a bow.

  Mr Swallowtail understood that Mr Nosegoode was waiting for him. As the descendant and rightful heir of his grandfather, he should be the first to examine the contents of the compartment. He cast a quick glance at his wife and children and, seeing encouragement in their eyes, stepped towards the hole. He put his hand inside and rummaged around for a long time – an awfully long time, it seemed. At last, he pulled his hand back out, clutching something. It was a small metal box. He opened it easily. And inside was…

  “A bottle!” He let out a stifled cry.

  Indeed. The chemist took out what looked like a little medicine bottle. It had a small label on the outside, and inside was a cloudy liquid.

  Mr Swallowtail set it down on top of the fireplace and reached into the compartment once again. This time he pulled out a small glass jar with a piece of paper rolled up inside it.

  “That’s everything,” he declared, wiping his hands.

  His voice betrayed neither joy nor disappointment. He said it as if he were saying, “It’s raining,” or “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  “What’s in the bottle?” his wife asked uneasily.

  The chemist held the bottle up to his eyes and read out the faded inscription, syllable by syllable: “For-get-ful-ness po-tion.

  “Forgetfulness potion!” he repeated in astonishment.

  “Forgetfulness potion!” his son echoed.

  “A potion!” his daughter exclaimed.

  Everyone was stunned. Could it be that Mr Swallowtail’s grandfather, well known for his mischievous nature, had decided to play another wicked joke on his family?

  They all turned their eyes to the jar containing the rolled-up note. Perhaps it held the answer to this very question? Mr Swallowtail nervously removed the lid, pulled out the piece of paper, unrolled it and read out loud:

  for many long years. I discovered it only in the autumn of my life. It has the very special power to erase unpleasant or painful events from memory. If you carry inside you something which you would rather forget, concentrate all your thoughts on it and take three drops of this potion. Whatever has pained you like a splinter will disappear without a trace, and the cause of your distress will never again be repeated. I command you, however, to use my invention honestly and wisely.

  Your forebear

  Mr Swallowtail finished reading. Holding the open letter in his hands, he looked at the others. They all had expressions of disbelief painted on their faces.

  Only Ben’s eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope.

  “I’m sure your grandfather has made fools of us all,” said Mrs Swallowtail, clearly the most disappointed among them. “There’s a good reason why his family thought he was an ill-tempered crackpot.”

  “People often label as crackpots those whom they can’t understand,” Mr Nosegoode replied.

  “You believe in this potion?” Mrs Swallowtail asked, surprised.

  “I wasn’t talking about the poti
on. I was talking about an old man who was considered to be an eccentric by his family.”

  Mrs Swallowtail wanted to add something, but Ben interjected.

  “Dear Uncle,” he said quietly, “if you would just allow me to test this potion…”

  “You’d like to try it out?”

  “Yes. I don’t think three drops can hurt.”

  The chemist was undecided. He looked at his wife and then at Mr Nosegoode.

  “Well, if he wants to…” Mrs Swallowtail shrugged.

  “I don’t have anything against it either,” the detective added.

  The chemist picked up the bottle containing the miraculous potion and carefully pulled out the stopper.

  “It smells nice,” he remarked. He turned to Ben. “Come here with a teaspoon.”

  Ben grabbed a teaspoon off the table and ran up to his uncle.

  “Do you know what you want to forget?” Mr Swallowtail asked him.

  “Yes.”

  There was so much shame and remorse in that one word that everybody instantly guessed exactly what Ben wanted to erase from his memory.

  Three drops of the potion dripped down into the spoon.

  “Go ahead,” the chemist said solemnly.

  Ben closed his eyes, concentrated for a moment and swallowed the drops. He stood motionless for a few seconds before opening his eyes and looking all around.

  “And?” his uncle and aunt asked at the same time.

  Ben tried to remember something, but from his helpless expression it was clear that he couldn’t.

  “So, have you forgotten about the theft?” Mrs Swallowtail got impatient.

  “What theft?” Ben asked, perplexed.

  “Don’t you pretend!” his aunt warned him.

  “I’m not pretending. Auntie, I really have no idea what you mean.”

  He sounded so sincere that Mrs Swallowtail seemed to lose her confidence. She pondered something briefly and then turned to her husband.

  “Bonnie! Give me three drops! I have to see for myself.”

  The chemist obliged. Mrs Swallowtail swallowed the potion and ran a hand over her forehead.

  “Just a minute… Just a minute… I wanted to forget about something, but what? How funny! I forgot what I wanted to forget about. What was it?… No, I can’t remember…”

  “So it’s true!” Mr Swallowtail said and carefully put the bottle down on the fireplace.

  *

  Ambrosius sensed that it was time to say goodbye. He had played his role. He had unmasked the thief, recovered the music box and found the treasure. Now all that remained was to notify Mr Blossom of the successful resolution of the case – and then he could turn his attention back to his radishes.

  “Please stay a while longer, Inspector!” Mr and Mrs Swallowtail pleaded when he got up from his chair. “We’re in your debt! We’d like to pay you back somehow.”

  “A kind word is all I need,” Mr Nosegoode replied with a smile. “I’m very happy I could help you.”

  “What about a few drops of the potion?” the chemist suggested.

  “No, thank you. I want to remember everything I have lived through. Both the good and the bad.”

  Mr and Mrs Swallowtail were downcast.

  “We’ll never forget this good turn you’ve done us, Inspector!”

  Mr Nosegoode kissed Mrs Swallowtail’s hand, said his goodbyes to the other members of the family and left.

  It was nearly dark outside in the street, where an elderly man was lighting the old gas lamps. The windows of houses lit up one by one as night enveloped the town.

  “Ambrosius!” Cody said. “I bow my nose to you. You are the most brilliant detective and I’m the stupidest of all dogs. But is it my fault that there are more things on earth than are dreamt of by dogs?”

  “You are the nicest of all dogs,” Ambrosius said, rubbing Cody’s back.

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  COPYRIGHT

  Pushkin Press

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  London, WC2H 9JQ

  Original text © Maria Orłoń 2013

  Illustrations © Piotr Flisak and Mikołaj Flisak 2013

  English translation © Eliza Marciniak 2017

  Detective Nosegoode and the Music Box Mystery was first published as Ostatnia przygoda detektywa Noska in 1968

  First published by Pushkin Press in 2017

  Published by arrangement of Wydawnictwo Dwie Siostry, Warsaw (Poland)

  ISBN 978 1 782691 56 3

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