The Big Over Easy

At that moment one of the dogs got out of its basket, pushed forth its front legs and stretched. The hamstrings in its hind legs quivered with the effort, and at the climax of the stretch the dog lowered its head, raised its tail and farted so loudly that the other dogs glanced up with a look of astonishment and admiration. The dog then walked over to Mrs. Hubbard, laid its nose on her lap and whined piteously.

“Duty calls,” said Mrs. Hubbard, placing a wrinkled hand on the dog’s head. She heaved herself to her feet and shuffled over to a small cupboard next to the fridge. Even Jack could see from where he was standing that it contained nothing except an old tin of custard powder and a canned steak-and-kidney pie. She searched the cupboard until satisfied that it was devoid of bones, then turned back to the dog, which had sat patiently behind her, thumping its tail on an area of floor that had been worn through the carpet and underlay to the shiny wood beneath.

“Sorry, pooch. No bones for you today.”

The dog strode off and sat among its brethren, apparently comprehending every word. Mrs. Hubbard resumed her seat.

“Now, young man, where were we?”

“What sort of person was he?”

“Nice enough, I suppose,” she said grudgingly, the same way a Luddite on dialysis might react to a kidney machine. “Never any trouble, although I had little to do with him.”

“And did he often sit on the wall in the yard?”

“When he wasn’t working. He used to sit up there to—I don’t know—to think or something.”

“Did you ever see him with anyone?”

“No. I don’t permit callers. But there was a woman last night. Howling and screaming fit to bring the house down, she was. Really upset and unhappy—I had to threaten to set the dogs on her before she would leave.”

He showed her the photo of the woman in Vienna. “This woman?”

Mrs. Hubbard squinted at it for a few moments. “Possibly.”

“Do you know her name?”

“No.”

Another dog had risen from the basket and was now whimpering in front of her like the first. She got up and went to the same cupboard and opened it as before, the dog sitting at the same place as the first, its tail thumping the area of shiny wood. Jack sighed.

“Sorry, dog,” she said, “nothing for you either.”

The bull terrier returned to its place in front of the fire, and Mrs. Hubbard sat back in her chair, shooing off the tomcat, which had tried to gain ascendancy in her absence. She looked up at Jack with a puzzled air.

“Had we finished?”

“No. What happened last night after the woman left?”

“Mr. Dumpty went to a party.”

She got up again as another dog had started to whimper, and she looked in the cupboard once more. Considering the hole in the carpet and the area of shiny wood that the dogs’ tails had worn smooth, Jack supposed this little charade happened a lot.

“When did he get back?” asked Jack when she had returned.

“Who?”

“Mr. Dumpty.”

“At about eleven-thirty, when he arrived in the biggest, blackest car I’ve ever seen. I always stay up to make sure none of my lodgers bring home any guests. I won’t have any sin under this roof, Inspector.”

“How did he look?”

“Horribly drunk,” she said with disgust, “but he bade me good evening—he was always polite, despite his dissolute lifestyle—and went upstairs to his room.”

“Did he always spend the night here?”

“Sometimes. When he did, he slept on the wall outside. The next time I saw him, he was at peace—or in pieces, to be more precise—in the backyard when I went to dump the rubbish.”

She had expected Jack to laugh at her little joke, but he didn’t. Instead he sucked the end of his pencil thoughtfully.

“Do you have any other lodgers?”

“Only Prometheus upstairs in the front room.”

“Prometheus?” asked Jack with some surprise. “The Titan Prometheus? The one who stole fire from the gods and gave it to mankind?”

“I’ve no concern with what he does in his private life. He pays the rent on time, so he’s okay with me.”

Jack made several notes, thanked Mrs. Hubbard and beat a grateful retreat as she went to the same cupboard for the fourth time.

5. Prometheus