Riot Most Uncouth by Daniel Friedman Read Free Book Online Page B

and so snug around his emaciated, cadaverous form that I was surprised the man could draw breath. In his hands, he held a wide-brimmed black rabbit-felt hat, and a long-handled umbrella hung by its curved handle from his forearm, though it had not been raining. Joe Murray would certainly have offered to take charge of such objects upon a guest’s arrival. I assumed Knifing had refused to relinquish his accouterments, which was curious.
    â€œWhere did you get that?” he asked.
    â€œGet what?” I asked in as nonchalant a manner as I could.
    â€œThe chair.”
    â€œOh,” I said. “I got it at the store.”
    â€œWhat store?”
    I knit my brow and let my mouth hang slack, in an expression of baffled innocence. “Well, the chair store. Obviously.”
    He stared at me with his dead eye. “You don’t have the furniture you purchase delivered to your residence?”
    I paused. I should have recognized the flaw in my explanation. But I was a poet, and possessed of uncommon mental agility. “Vigorous exercise is beneficial to a gentleman’s health,” I said.
    He frowned and didn’t say anything.
    â€œSo, Mr. Knifing, that’s a fascinating name you’ve got,” I said, trying to control my heavy, ragged breathing. “Where does that come from? Is it Welsh?”
    â€œI am here from London, at Lord Whippleby’s considerable expense, to investigate the murder of his beloved daughter, Felicity,” he said, curtly ignoring my question.
    â€œIs it ordinary for knights to be engaged in the investigation of crimes?”
    The corner of his mouth twitched with irritation. “I don’t concern myself with the ordinary,” he said.
    â€œWhat should I call you, then? Sir Archie?”
    â€œMr. Knifing suits my purposes.”
    â€œVery good, Mr. Knifing. You may refer to me as the Honorable George Gordon, Sixth Lord Byron.”
    â€œI’d like to ask you some questions about the murder.”
    â€œLeif Sedgewyck sent you, didn’t he?” I asked. “He’s the one who you should arrest.”
    â€œI’ve spoken to Mr. Sedgewyck, and he told me about your strange preoccupation with this matter. I’m also aware of his interest in the decedent; an interest in her continuing to be alive. Angus the Constable mentioned you as well, and I’d like to know why you were loitering around my murder scene this morning.”
    â€œI was feeling heroic, and thought I might catch the killer.”
    â€œYou don’t catch killers,” Knifing said. “I catch killers.” As he said this, he pointed, for emphasis, at his concave chest.
    â€œI see.” I decided not to explain to this gentleman that I was the world’s most gifted poet and, thusly, skilled at nearly every intellectual pursuit. He’d learn this for himself, soon enough.
    â€œYour intrusion into this matter is unwelcome. Now the task has fallen upon me to figure out whether you are merely a dilettante, or something more sinister.”
    â€œI quite hope it’s the latter,” I said.
    â€œIf it is, you’ll have a date with the noose.”
    I stuck a finger in my shirt collar. “That would be unpleasant.”
    â€œNot for me,” he said. A tight-lipped smile creased Knifing’s sepulchral features.
    I leaned back against the velvet upholstery of the big chair. “Surely, you don’t think I killed the girl?”
    â€œYou’re as good a suspect as any. People tell me you made a crass and explicit sexual proposition to Felicity a couple of months ago, and responded with anger when she rejected you. Is that true?”
    I rubbed my fingers across a carved armrest. “I don’t recall.”
    â€œLying to me is a futile enterprise, Lord Byron. I’m difficult to deceive, and I’m smarter than you.”
    I shifted my weight, and crossed my legs in what I thought was a rakish manner.