tBBT: The Game's Afoot 1/1, T
The title's a little gross, really, when you think about it.
Based on the prompt: "Detective Sheldon Cooper"" - who would do for Sheldon but the most famous detective in the world?
The Cheese and Anvil was quiet that evening as Penny Bailey efficiently polished pint glasses and wiped tables clean. She paid particular attention to the table in the back, against the wall. It was situated in such a way that allowed the guest a perfect view of all the patrons in the pub, as well as being close enough to the fire to keep it warm during the winter, and far enough away from the kitchens to prevent any untoward odors from assailing the person who sat on the rough-hewn stool.
Penny looked quickly about to make sure no one was watching, rubbed a bit of lye soap on the fresh rag she’d grabbed from the pail behind the bar, and scrubbed the table off. It was highly unusual for a barmaid to be so attentive to cleanliness, and she’d surely be sacked if Mister Higgs found out. But it was Thursday night, and Thursday night meant that Mister Cooper would be popping in for his customary kidney pie and cider at six o’clock on the dot. The gentleman liked a clean table, and paid well for it.
Penny checked the tiny lapel watch on the front of her dress. It had been a gift from her grandmother before that old woman’s death, and Penny was never without it. Penny also checked to make sure everything was tucked in as it should be - she may have been a barmaid but she was no bar wench. Mister Cooper - Detective Cooper, rather - was a proper gentleman, and she had no wish to be giving him an eyeful of anything he hadn’t asked for.
She felt in her apron for the small bundle of items that he had asked for. It was still there, solid and heavy. Penny had felt as if it had been burning a hole through her pocket all afternoon. She swallowed hard and tried to remind herself that she was brave - she’d proven that time and again - and she was doing this for the sake of those poor girls. No one should have to die as they did, and tonight she was doing her bit to make sure no-one else did.
It had been Penny’s idea, in fact. She’d cleaned herself up and taken herself over to the famous consulting detective’s rooms after he’d mentioned the case in passing one evening. Why he’d brought it up to her, a poor, uneducated barmaid, Penny had no idea. Nor did she know why, after months of cruel, cutting comments, the detective had taken to asking her questions about her upbringing, job, and current pub gossip. He’d even asked about her dreams of acting in theater. In fact, Detective Cooper had not only asked, but listened attentively to her replies. It was strange, and it annoyed her a little that she felt flattered by the attention.
She was also annoyed that what he’d mentioned about those girls went ‘round and ‘round in her head until she felt she would scream.
But then she’d had the idea. The surprise on his face as she entered his rooms that Monday morning had been worth the raking glance she’d received from his shorter, bespectacled companion. Of course, that surprise had quickly given way to his usual condescending air as he listened to her plan. But it had been there, and Penny decided she like surprising the famous detective. She also fancied that her plan had also impressed him, although all he’d said was that her mind showed some promise.
It had been a long while since anyone thought Penelope Bailey had promise.
The door opened long enough to admit a hunched, drably dressed individual and a measure of thick fog. The fog dissipated in the warm room; the little man did not. He shuffled to the back table and rested his bones on the stool with a relieved sigh. He did not unwind his muffler; merely pushed it down so his mouth was visible. Penny hardly glanced up, pouring a pint of cider. She placed it on a tray and walked evenly across the bowed floor. “Evenin’, Jack,” she said, placing the mug before him. He responded with a hacking, phlegmy cough, and looked at her from under his bushy grey eyebrows.
“Evenin’ Miz Penny,” he responded, revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth. “You’re lookin’ prettier every times I see ya.”
She smirked. “Oh, you’re a smooth one, you are. Look a bit rough, though. Fancy somefin’ to warm you up?”
Beneath the distracting and nearly ridiculous eyebrows, blue eyes twinkled away merrily. Those eyes never twinkled like that when their owner came in dressed smartly in a fine wool suit and houndstooth coat. It was delight at being embroiled in a challenging case that made them shine, that was what it was. She smiled at him, trying not to be too familiar, but was pleased to see him.
“What ya have in mind, love?” he asked leeringly, his rough hand reaching for her hip.
Penny rolled her eyes and shoved the hand away. “We’ve got a fine kidney pie with spuds and baked apples. And that’s all you’ll be getting from me, Jack,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Sounds grand. And another of these while you’re at it.” He downed the contents of his mug quickly as his character would but, Penny was amused to note, couldn’t quite bring himself to belch.
The rest of the evening passed with agonizing slowness. The figure at the back table appeared to settling into his cups for the night; he was so convincing that for a while Penny worried he wasn’t seeing what was going on in the pub, what she was trying to show him.
But she had to follow this through. She’d come too far to let the killer slip away now. The old man looked blearily in her direction, waving the mug for another. As she replaced it, he whispered in his own voice, “Never fear, Penelope. You’re doing splendidly.”
She sighed shakily, and nodded. It was almost last call, and that meant it was time to finish her performance.
~*~
In the end, Detective Cooper’s faith in Penny had been well-placed. She’d had to unlace her bodice, pinch her cheeks and bite her lips for extra color, and giggle so inanely she’d given herself a headache, but it had worked. The attention of Mister Cavendish was completely secured; so much so that one of the working girls, Alicia, had shot her an annoyed look before stalking out to the street to look for easier prey. Penny just smirked and made sure Cavendish got a good long look at her dainty ankles and feet.
When Cavendish’s arm had wrapped around her waist Penny had to fight down a shudder of revulsion and horror. When he’d pulled her into his lap, only an enormous effort had kept her from looking to Detective Cooper in alarm. When she had caught a glimpse of him over Cavendish’s shoulder, she saw he’d hunched down into his muffler, but his eyes were piercing and his knuckles white around his mug of cider. He didn’t look at her.
“That’s all, lads!” Mister Higgs said, stepping out from the kitchens. “Time to shuffle off home.”
He spotted Penny perched on the wealthy merchant’s lap, and his rummy eyes bulged out of his head. “Penny! Damn it girl, I told you I’ll have none of that here! This is it! You’re done!”
She immediately tried to clamber off Cavendish’s knee, but his arm held her tightly and she felt small spasms she knew was laughter. The bastard. “But, Mister Higgs, I really--”
“Aw, bad luck, sweetling,” Cavendish said, not sounding remotely sympathetic. “You heard the man. You’re done. However,” he continued, leaning close enough that Penny nearly gagged on his reeking breath, “I happen to know another place where you can earn a few bob, if you’re interested.”
“Um…” she tried to look vacantly confused. Fortunately, Cavendish seemed to buy it, for he learned forward to throw some coins on the table and finish his drink. Penny glanced at the back table, where blue eyes blazed back at her.
Her confidence rose. She gave Cavendish a pretty smile, and slid off his lap. In doing so, she carefully dropped the little parcel she’d been carrying around, making sure Detective Cooper saw where it landed. He disguised his nod with another hacking cough.
“As long as this place ain’t another pub…” Penny started, pouting playfully. Cavendish gave her a wolfish smile.
“No, not a pub, sweetling.”
After she grabbed her cloak, Penny allowed Cavendish to tow her out of the Cheese and Anvil and into the murky London night.
“I’ll just hail a cab, shall I?” he asked, without really expecting an answer. Oh, no. Detective Cooper had been very clear and insistent on this point. Stay on the street.
Penny tugged at Cavendish’s arm. “Oh, no. Let’s walk a bit, yeah? S’nice after being all shut up in that pub all day.”
The older man faltered. “But…your feet. We wouldn’t want to harm your poor little feet.”
Bile rose in Penny’s throat, but her horror didn’t show on her face. In fact, she decided to further her case a little. “Oh, no, sir - I may have dainty little feet, but I have very strong arches. And you know, in all my years of serving, I’ve never had a blister?”
Cavendish was staring at the foot she extended gracefully in front of her. He swallowed hard.
Penny swallowed as well, for a very different reason. She accepted the arm Cavendish proffered, and listened carefully for other footsteps on the cobblestones. There were none. Her palms began to sweat.
They passed through the rows of shops, past a block of tenements, and down towards the wharf. Penny knew this area - it was where Cavendish Exports was located. And the murdered girls had been found in the river.
Penny wondered if it were too late to run.
It was. Cavendish grabbed her roughly by the arm and pushed her up against a warehouse wall. She was too winded from the impact to scream.
‘Sheldon Bloody Cooper - where are you?’ Penny thought.
Cavendish slapped a hand over her mouth, and she bit down as hard as she could before kneeing him where she knew it would hurt. With an outraged howl Cavendish staggered back…directly into the weaving path of an old man clutching a bottle and reeking of gin. He spun around and shoved the drunk away from him. “Get along with you, fool!”
The old man teetered, but managed to retain his footing. He muttered something so extraordinarily crude that Penny’s mouth actually dropped open in impressed shock. The he shook his bottle at Cavendish and shuffled off.
Penny took advantage of her attacker’s distraction to dart off along the wharf, but she wasn’t fast enough. Cavendish was quick for someone with a desk job, grabbing her by the cloak and tossing her to the ground. Her head hit the ground hard enough to make her ears ring. “Oi!” she protested. “What’s wrong with you, mister?”
“Take your shoes off,” he demanded.
“What?” Penny said, outraged. “I will not!”
“Take your shoes and stockings off or I will cut them from you.” He revealed a long, wicked looking knife.
Wide eyed, Penny began to unlace her boots.
“Oh, come now,“ said an educated, sardonic voice from the fog. “That’s hardly the way a gentleman behaves.” She and Cavendish froze. “Even someone with your questionable intellect and tenuous hold on sanity must understand that.”
Cooper, with his usual flair for the dramatic, stepped from the fog and flipped the muffler over his shoulder. The need for disguise was over now, and his natural height combined with the ancient beaver felt hat caused him to tower over the portly businessman.
Cavendish gaped. “Who the hell are you?”
The detective tsked. “You have frightful manners, but what else could one expect from such a man? To answer your question, I,” he said, sweeping the hat from his head, “Am Sheldon Cooper. I am the detective who was hired to find you and stop your dastardly deeds from continuing.”
“Dastardly deeds? What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Cooper shook his head. Penny decided that whatever was about to happen, it was probably a good idea to be on her feet for it. She double knotted her bootlace, and jumped to her feet. She was about to move to Sheldon’s side when she spotted something through the fog and tiptoed off to retrieve it.
“It’s too late, Cavendish. We have all the evidence needed to prove that you assaulted and killed those young women, and mutilated the bodies. You were careless, sir, which is to be expected of the criminal element. Your shoes, Mr. Cavendish, show a distinctive wear pattern on the left side; the sole is worn in a manner that indicates an old injury to your leg. It is common knowledge you were stationed and wounded in India twenty three years ago. Such tell-tale footprints were found on the bank where Roberta Jenkins was discovered.”
“You talk nonsense, Mr. Cooper. I’ve had quite enough of this.”
“But I haven’t even reached the truly interesting aspect of this case, Mr. Cavendish. It has to do with my associate - the woman you were only moments ago trying to harm. Miss Bailey.”
“That tart! I did nothing to her! She led me on, made me think she was…”
“Choose your words carefully,” Cooper’s voice lowered dangerously, a burr betraying his upbringings. “Miss Bailey is truly the most remarkable development of these proceedings.”
Penny listened with baited breath as she crept closer to the men, her prize in hand.
“She--“ The words seemed to pain the great detective, but he forced them out. “She put the puzzle together before I did. She is uneducated, frequently unladylike, and unrefined, but she has an unquestionable talent for observation.”
Penny set her jaw at Sheldon’s comments. He never could just give a girl a compliment.
“She did precisely what was necessary to gather information from you. For instance, these were in your pockets three days ago. Not your size, I should think.” He removed two darned stockings from his pocket and held it up. “I’ve examined the room of your first victim, Mary Paul, and can say with absolute certainty that she is the mender of these stockings. Stockings darned in a similar manner were in her sewing basket.”
Cavendish was sputtering. “They belong to my wife. They must have been placed in my pocket by mistake.”
“Mister Cavendish, I am one of the greatest detective minds in the world. Your pointless protestations are wasting my valuable time and, quite frankly, trying my patience. Put the knife down and come peacefully. You are caught, sir.”
She was unsure if Detective Cooper had said that to draw out a response from Cavendish, or if he genuinely believe the murderer to be swayed by logic and fact. Based on the outcome, Penny believed the latter was true.
Cavendish lunged at Sheldon with the knife. The detective dodged to the side and the blade slashed a rent through his patched and grimy waistcoat. Sheldon looked outraged.
Cavendish attacked again; this time Sheldon spun away and brought his clasped hands down hard at the base of the villain’s meaty neck. It staggered him, causing him to collapse to his knees and drop the knife. Sheldon kicked it neatly over the side of the wharf and into the river. Cavendish grabbed the detective around the legs and brought him down, hard.
But Cooper was long and gangly, and Cavendish simply didn’t have the strength to restrain all of his flailing limbs. Penny, watching from the sidelines, decided she hadn’t seen such undignified brawling since her days at the village school.
Sheldon finally succeeded in freeing a foot and kicked Cavendish in the belly. It was too well padded, however, and Cavendish retaliated by smashing fist into his face.
“Ow!” Sheldon yelled, clasping a hand to his nose and climbing to his feet. Cavendish grinned evilly, and slowly stood as well. He must have thought he well and truly had the detective, Penny thought, because he certainly wasn’t expecting the right hook Sheldon threw at him.
It had little effect. Cavendish looked dazed for a second. Cooper yelled “Ow” again, and cradled his hand. “That bloody hurts!”
Cavendish approached the detective, pulling his hand back for another punch. Penny rolled her eyes and decided this had gone on long enough. She raised the gin bottle and brought it down hard on Cavendish’s head. He fell like a tree. It was a pity the bottle shattered, she thought, examining the broken bottle neck in her hand. She would have really enjoyed hitting him again.
“You had a weapon the entire time, you dreadful woman, and you didn’t use it?” Detective Cooper exclaimed, still cradling his right hand.
Penny blinked at him. “You’re the detective. I didn’t want to interfere.”
He looked apoplectic. “Interfere? For God’s sake, woman, always interfere if you see me being pummeled! Look at my hand!” He held the body part in question before her eyes. It was long-fingered and, Penny noticed, starting to swell. “I’m performing very delicate chemical experiments! I need my hands for my work!”
This was the Great Detective, Penny thought fondly. She ignored his frustrated pontificating and began to unwind his muffler from around his neck. It was rather like a Maypole dance. Sheldon didn’t notice, and she began tying Cavendish up firmly and unmercifully with the article of clothing.
“--of course!” Sheldon finished. Penny nodded, and finished the final knot.
“Of course,” she agreed, to something.
“So I’ll expect you tomorrow at eight. Please be punctual; it is the sign of an ordered intellect.”
“I beg your pardon, Mister Cooper?” she asked.
“Punctuality, Miss Bailey. It’s very important to me. I feel that if you are going to be essentially employed by me, it is vital that I outline some basic instructions. We will review the contract tomorrow morning.”
“…employed by you?” Penny inquired weakly.
Sheldon raised his eyebrows in a supercilious manner. The effect was ruined by the fact that they were gray and bushy, and one was beginning to droop. “Or with me. Mainly the former, I imagine, as I do possess the greater intellect and experience.”
“But I don’t--”
“You are currently unemployed,” he cut in. “And it would be criminally negligent for me to allow you to continue wasting your talents by serving ale to drunkards.”
Well, that was probably the best she was going to get. “Eight o’clock tomorrow. I will be on time.”
They shook hands (gingerly), and after a constable had been located to apprehend the murderer, went their separate ways. The detective did not ask to escort her home, and Penny was slightly befuddled to realize she felt more complimented by this than anything else.
Based on the prompt: "Detective Sheldon Cooper"" - who would do for Sheldon but the most famous detective in the world?
The Cheese and Anvil was quiet that evening as Penny Bailey efficiently polished pint glasses and wiped tables clean. She paid particular attention to the table in the back, against the wall. It was situated in such a way that allowed the guest a perfect view of all the patrons in the pub, as well as being close enough to the fire to keep it warm during the winter, and far enough away from the kitchens to prevent any untoward odors from assailing the person who sat on the rough-hewn stool.
Penny looked quickly about to make sure no one was watching, rubbed a bit of lye soap on the fresh rag she’d grabbed from the pail behind the bar, and scrubbed the table off. It was highly unusual for a barmaid to be so attentive to cleanliness, and she’d surely be sacked if Mister Higgs found out. But it was Thursday night, and Thursday night meant that Mister Cooper would be popping in for his customary kidney pie and cider at six o’clock on the dot. The gentleman liked a clean table, and paid well for it.
Penny checked the tiny lapel watch on the front of her dress. It had been a gift from her grandmother before that old woman’s death, and Penny was never without it. Penny also checked to make sure everything was tucked in as it should be - she may have been a barmaid but she was no bar wench. Mister Cooper - Detective Cooper, rather - was a proper gentleman, and she had no wish to be giving him an eyeful of anything he hadn’t asked for.
She felt in her apron for the small bundle of items that he had asked for. It was still there, solid and heavy. Penny had felt as if it had been burning a hole through her pocket all afternoon. She swallowed hard and tried to remind herself that she was brave - she’d proven that time and again - and she was doing this for the sake of those poor girls. No one should have to die as they did, and tonight she was doing her bit to make sure no-one else did.
It had been Penny’s idea, in fact. She’d cleaned herself up and taken herself over to the famous consulting detective’s rooms after he’d mentioned the case in passing one evening. Why he’d brought it up to her, a poor, uneducated barmaid, Penny had no idea. Nor did she know why, after months of cruel, cutting comments, the detective had taken to asking her questions about her upbringing, job, and current pub gossip. He’d even asked about her dreams of acting in theater. In fact, Detective Cooper had not only asked, but listened attentively to her replies. It was strange, and it annoyed her a little that she felt flattered by the attention.
She was also annoyed that what he’d mentioned about those girls went ‘round and ‘round in her head until she felt she would scream.
But then she’d had the idea. The surprise on his face as she entered his rooms that Monday morning had been worth the raking glance she’d received from his shorter, bespectacled companion. Of course, that surprise had quickly given way to his usual condescending air as he listened to her plan. But it had been there, and Penny decided she like surprising the famous detective. She also fancied that her plan had also impressed him, although all he’d said was that her mind showed some promise.
It had been a long while since anyone thought Penelope Bailey had promise.
The door opened long enough to admit a hunched, drably dressed individual and a measure of thick fog. The fog dissipated in the warm room; the little man did not. He shuffled to the back table and rested his bones on the stool with a relieved sigh. He did not unwind his muffler; merely pushed it down so his mouth was visible. Penny hardly glanced up, pouring a pint of cider. She placed it on a tray and walked evenly across the bowed floor. “Evenin’, Jack,” she said, placing the mug before him. He responded with a hacking, phlegmy cough, and looked at her from under his bushy grey eyebrows.
“Evenin’ Miz Penny,” he responded, revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth. “You’re lookin’ prettier every times I see ya.”
She smirked. “Oh, you’re a smooth one, you are. Look a bit rough, though. Fancy somefin’ to warm you up?”
Beneath the distracting and nearly ridiculous eyebrows, blue eyes twinkled away merrily. Those eyes never twinkled like that when their owner came in dressed smartly in a fine wool suit and houndstooth coat. It was delight at being embroiled in a challenging case that made them shine, that was what it was. She smiled at him, trying not to be too familiar, but was pleased to see him.
“What ya have in mind, love?” he asked leeringly, his rough hand reaching for her hip.
Penny rolled her eyes and shoved the hand away. “We’ve got a fine kidney pie with spuds and baked apples. And that’s all you’ll be getting from me, Jack,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Sounds grand. And another of these while you’re at it.” He downed the contents of his mug quickly as his character would but, Penny was amused to note, couldn’t quite bring himself to belch.
The rest of the evening passed with agonizing slowness. The figure at the back table appeared to settling into his cups for the night; he was so convincing that for a while Penny worried he wasn’t seeing what was going on in the pub, what she was trying to show him.
But she had to follow this through. She’d come too far to let the killer slip away now. The old man looked blearily in her direction, waving the mug for another. As she replaced it, he whispered in his own voice, “Never fear, Penelope. You’re doing splendidly.”
She sighed shakily, and nodded. It was almost last call, and that meant it was time to finish her performance.
~*~
In the end, Detective Cooper’s faith in Penny had been well-placed. She’d had to unlace her bodice, pinch her cheeks and bite her lips for extra color, and giggle so inanely she’d given herself a headache, but it had worked. The attention of Mister Cavendish was completely secured; so much so that one of the working girls, Alicia, had shot her an annoyed look before stalking out to the street to look for easier prey. Penny just smirked and made sure Cavendish got a good long look at her dainty ankles and feet.
When Cavendish’s arm had wrapped around her waist Penny had to fight down a shudder of revulsion and horror. When he’d pulled her into his lap, only an enormous effort had kept her from looking to Detective Cooper in alarm. When she had caught a glimpse of him over Cavendish’s shoulder, she saw he’d hunched down into his muffler, but his eyes were piercing and his knuckles white around his mug of cider. He didn’t look at her.
“That’s all, lads!” Mister Higgs said, stepping out from the kitchens. “Time to shuffle off home.”
He spotted Penny perched on the wealthy merchant’s lap, and his rummy eyes bulged out of his head. “Penny! Damn it girl, I told you I’ll have none of that here! This is it! You’re done!”
She immediately tried to clamber off Cavendish’s knee, but his arm held her tightly and she felt small spasms she knew was laughter. The bastard. “But, Mister Higgs, I really--”
“Aw, bad luck, sweetling,” Cavendish said, not sounding remotely sympathetic. “You heard the man. You’re done. However,” he continued, leaning close enough that Penny nearly gagged on his reeking breath, “I happen to know another place where you can earn a few bob, if you’re interested.”
“Um…” she tried to look vacantly confused. Fortunately, Cavendish seemed to buy it, for he learned forward to throw some coins on the table and finish his drink. Penny glanced at the back table, where blue eyes blazed back at her.
Her confidence rose. She gave Cavendish a pretty smile, and slid off his lap. In doing so, she carefully dropped the little parcel she’d been carrying around, making sure Detective Cooper saw where it landed. He disguised his nod with another hacking cough.
“As long as this place ain’t another pub…” Penny started, pouting playfully. Cavendish gave her a wolfish smile.
“No, not a pub, sweetling.”
After she grabbed her cloak, Penny allowed Cavendish to tow her out of the Cheese and Anvil and into the murky London night.
“I’ll just hail a cab, shall I?” he asked, without really expecting an answer. Oh, no. Detective Cooper had been very clear and insistent on this point. Stay on the street.
Penny tugged at Cavendish’s arm. “Oh, no. Let’s walk a bit, yeah? S’nice after being all shut up in that pub all day.”
The older man faltered. “But…your feet. We wouldn’t want to harm your poor little feet.”
Bile rose in Penny’s throat, but her horror didn’t show on her face. In fact, she decided to further her case a little. “Oh, no, sir - I may have dainty little feet, but I have very strong arches. And you know, in all my years of serving, I’ve never had a blister?”
Cavendish was staring at the foot she extended gracefully in front of her. He swallowed hard.
Penny swallowed as well, for a very different reason. She accepted the arm Cavendish proffered, and listened carefully for other footsteps on the cobblestones. There were none. Her palms began to sweat.
They passed through the rows of shops, past a block of tenements, and down towards the wharf. Penny knew this area - it was where Cavendish Exports was located. And the murdered girls had been found in the river.
Penny wondered if it were too late to run.
It was. Cavendish grabbed her roughly by the arm and pushed her up against a warehouse wall. She was too winded from the impact to scream.
‘Sheldon Bloody Cooper - where are you?’ Penny thought.
Cavendish slapped a hand over her mouth, and she bit down as hard as she could before kneeing him where she knew it would hurt. With an outraged howl Cavendish staggered back…directly into the weaving path of an old man clutching a bottle and reeking of gin. He spun around and shoved the drunk away from him. “Get along with you, fool!”
The old man teetered, but managed to retain his footing. He muttered something so extraordinarily crude that Penny’s mouth actually dropped open in impressed shock. The he shook his bottle at Cavendish and shuffled off.
Penny took advantage of her attacker’s distraction to dart off along the wharf, but she wasn’t fast enough. Cavendish was quick for someone with a desk job, grabbing her by the cloak and tossing her to the ground. Her head hit the ground hard enough to make her ears ring. “Oi!” she protested. “What’s wrong with you, mister?”
“Take your shoes off,” he demanded.
“What?” Penny said, outraged. “I will not!”
“Take your shoes and stockings off or I will cut them from you.” He revealed a long, wicked looking knife.
Wide eyed, Penny began to unlace her boots.
“Oh, come now,“ said an educated, sardonic voice from the fog. “That’s hardly the way a gentleman behaves.” She and Cavendish froze. “Even someone with your questionable intellect and tenuous hold on sanity must understand that.”
Cooper, with his usual flair for the dramatic, stepped from the fog and flipped the muffler over his shoulder. The need for disguise was over now, and his natural height combined with the ancient beaver felt hat caused him to tower over the portly businessman.
Cavendish gaped. “Who the hell are you?”
The detective tsked. “You have frightful manners, but what else could one expect from such a man? To answer your question, I,” he said, sweeping the hat from his head, “Am Sheldon Cooper. I am the detective who was hired to find you and stop your dastardly deeds from continuing.”
“Dastardly deeds? What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Cooper shook his head. Penny decided that whatever was about to happen, it was probably a good idea to be on her feet for it. She double knotted her bootlace, and jumped to her feet. She was about to move to Sheldon’s side when she spotted something through the fog and tiptoed off to retrieve it.
“It’s too late, Cavendish. We have all the evidence needed to prove that you assaulted and killed those young women, and mutilated the bodies. You were careless, sir, which is to be expected of the criminal element. Your shoes, Mr. Cavendish, show a distinctive wear pattern on the left side; the sole is worn in a manner that indicates an old injury to your leg. It is common knowledge you were stationed and wounded in India twenty three years ago. Such tell-tale footprints were found on the bank where Roberta Jenkins was discovered.”
“You talk nonsense, Mr. Cooper. I’ve had quite enough of this.”
“But I haven’t even reached the truly interesting aspect of this case, Mr. Cavendish. It has to do with my associate - the woman you were only moments ago trying to harm. Miss Bailey.”
“That tart! I did nothing to her! She led me on, made me think she was…”
“Choose your words carefully,” Cooper’s voice lowered dangerously, a burr betraying his upbringings. “Miss Bailey is truly the most remarkable development of these proceedings.”
Penny listened with baited breath as she crept closer to the men, her prize in hand.
“She--“ The words seemed to pain the great detective, but he forced them out. “She put the puzzle together before I did. She is uneducated, frequently unladylike, and unrefined, but she has an unquestionable talent for observation.”
Penny set her jaw at Sheldon’s comments. He never could just give a girl a compliment.
“She did precisely what was necessary to gather information from you. For instance, these were in your pockets three days ago. Not your size, I should think.” He removed two darned stockings from his pocket and held it up. “I’ve examined the room of your first victim, Mary Paul, and can say with absolute certainty that she is the mender of these stockings. Stockings darned in a similar manner were in her sewing basket.”
Cavendish was sputtering. “They belong to my wife. They must have been placed in my pocket by mistake.”
“Mister Cavendish, I am one of the greatest detective minds in the world. Your pointless protestations are wasting my valuable time and, quite frankly, trying my patience. Put the knife down and come peacefully. You are caught, sir.”
She was unsure if Detective Cooper had said that to draw out a response from Cavendish, or if he genuinely believe the murderer to be swayed by logic and fact. Based on the outcome, Penny believed the latter was true.
Cavendish lunged at Sheldon with the knife. The detective dodged to the side and the blade slashed a rent through his patched and grimy waistcoat. Sheldon looked outraged.
Cavendish attacked again; this time Sheldon spun away and brought his clasped hands down hard at the base of the villain’s meaty neck. It staggered him, causing him to collapse to his knees and drop the knife. Sheldon kicked it neatly over the side of the wharf and into the river. Cavendish grabbed the detective around the legs and brought him down, hard.
But Cooper was long and gangly, and Cavendish simply didn’t have the strength to restrain all of his flailing limbs. Penny, watching from the sidelines, decided she hadn’t seen such undignified brawling since her days at the village school.
Sheldon finally succeeded in freeing a foot and kicked Cavendish in the belly. It was too well padded, however, and Cavendish retaliated by smashing fist into his face.
“Ow!” Sheldon yelled, clasping a hand to his nose and climbing to his feet. Cavendish grinned evilly, and slowly stood as well. He must have thought he well and truly had the detective, Penny thought, because he certainly wasn’t expecting the right hook Sheldon threw at him.
It had little effect. Cavendish looked dazed for a second. Cooper yelled “Ow” again, and cradled his hand. “That bloody hurts!”
Cavendish approached the detective, pulling his hand back for another punch. Penny rolled her eyes and decided this had gone on long enough. She raised the gin bottle and brought it down hard on Cavendish’s head. He fell like a tree. It was a pity the bottle shattered, she thought, examining the broken bottle neck in her hand. She would have really enjoyed hitting him again.
“You had a weapon the entire time, you dreadful woman, and you didn’t use it?” Detective Cooper exclaimed, still cradling his right hand.
Penny blinked at him. “You’re the detective. I didn’t want to interfere.”
He looked apoplectic. “Interfere? For God’s sake, woman, always interfere if you see me being pummeled! Look at my hand!” He held the body part in question before her eyes. It was long-fingered and, Penny noticed, starting to swell. “I’m performing very delicate chemical experiments! I need my hands for my work!”
This was the Great Detective, Penny thought fondly. She ignored his frustrated pontificating and began to unwind his muffler from around his neck. It was rather like a Maypole dance. Sheldon didn’t notice, and she began tying Cavendish up firmly and unmercifully with the article of clothing.
“--of course!” Sheldon finished. Penny nodded, and finished the final knot.
“Of course,” she agreed, to something.
“So I’ll expect you tomorrow at eight. Please be punctual; it is the sign of an ordered intellect.”
“I beg your pardon, Mister Cooper?” she asked.
“Punctuality, Miss Bailey. It’s very important to me. I feel that if you are going to be essentially employed by me, it is vital that I outline some basic instructions. We will review the contract tomorrow morning.”
“…employed by you?” Penny inquired weakly.
Sheldon raised his eyebrows in a supercilious manner. The effect was ruined by the fact that they were gray and bushy, and one was beginning to droop. “Or with me. Mainly the former, I imagine, as I do possess the greater intellect and experience.”
“But I don’t--”
“You are currently unemployed,” he cut in. “And it would be criminally negligent for me to allow you to continue wasting your talents by serving ale to drunkards.”
Well, that was probably the best she was going to get. “Eight o’clock tomorrow. I will be on time.”
They shook hands (gingerly), and after a constable had been located to apprehend the murderer, went their separate ways. The detective did not ask to escort her home, and Penny was slightly befuddled to realize she felt more complimented by this than anything else.