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Hugh Collins was fidgeting. Any detective worth his salary would be able to tell that he was nervous, but luckily there weren’t any of those about. Well, there was one, but he was in his office instead of looking at Hugh.
Which, of course, was the problem.
The Inspector had been back at City South for almost two hours, and Hugh’s nerves were getting perilously close to frazzled beyond repair.
He had a whole speech prepared, arguments about added responsibility, the pressure of the job, all that stuff. It had sounded pretty good this morning as he was rehearsing in front of the mirror after he cleaned his teeth, but it seemed that with every passing minute another word or point of logic would abandon him, and by this point he was fairly sure the best he’d be able to manage was a nervous stutter.
So, basically the opposite of the point he wanted to make.
Perhaps he should just go in there, confess his sins and take his punishment like a man? Was there not some merit in that?
He had very nearly decided that yes, there was, when he heard the telltale squeak of a reluctant filing cabinet drawer being pulled open.
His shoulders tensed in anticipation of what was undoubtedly coming.
“Collins!”
Inspector Robinson’s voice sounded stern, and even with the safety of the door between them Hugh could picture him, sitting behind his desk, back in that suit and tie, with a serious frown on his face.
“Yes, sir,” he called back, and got to his feet.
Damn it, he was a man. He straightened his back and opened the door with a hand that only shook a little bit. (A good detective would probably notice…)
“Collins,” the Inspector said without even looking up from the incredibly incriminating evidence laid out on his desk. “In my absence…”
He paused, and to Hugh that brief silence sounded terrifyingly ominous.
“Did Miss Fisher gain entrance to my office at all?”
Hugh blinked. “Uh.” He was a man. He was definitely a man. But also: “Yes, sir. Yes, she did. I’m sorry, I was on the telephone and…” he trailed off, reluctant to add any more detail than that. So far, everything he had said was actually, technically true.
And if he was going to get told off, did it really make a difference if it was for letting Miss Fisher get into the Inspector’s office or it was for eating his biscuits? Is one transgression really worse than the other? It is, of course, in that one of them would’ve been preventable: he could’ve just stayed away from those biscuits.
But in terms of punishment, did it make a difference? Hugh decided not, and straightened his back, ready to take his.
Except the Inspector just sighed and rubbed his temple, and then he held out the tin. “Biscuit, Collins?”
Hugh hesitated for a moment, but then the memory of their sweet crunchiness defeated the feeling that this thing hadn’t gone quite as it was supposed to, and he was probably going to regret that at some point. “Thank you, Sir.” He smiled nervously, grabbed a biscuit and made his way quickly out of the Inspector’s office.
*
Hugh left Dottie to discuss wedding plans with Cec, which apparently was what you did immediately after announcing your engagement. He had been eager to set a date, and he couldn’t wait to be married, but the details of the event itself were slightly beyond him. Surely they could sort that all out in time.
Besides, he had other things to worry about. The way yesterday had gone, it had completely slipped his mind. Dottie handing back the ring he had given her had crowded out any feelings of guilt and worry that might’ve lingered, but now they were back, turning into a knot in the pit of his stomach, making it all but impossible to relax.
The Inspector was going to mention the biscuits to Miss Fisher, and she’d deny having found them and the game would be up. He would be branded not just a thief but a liar as well. (The whole “technically true” argument had lost its shine somewhat; there really was no denying that what he had done had been untruthful.)
Confessing was really becoming a matter of some urgency.
He waited outside the parlour until they had stopped singing, the piano music turning into fingers wandering aimlessly over the keys as he took deep stealing breaths that weren’t particularly stealing at all, actually.
There was a loud tuneless noise, like someone slamming their fists on the piano keys, and words spoken too low for him to hear. Oh, dear God. Was the Inspector really that angry about the biscuits? Perhaps he should’ve spoken to Dottie first, so he could offer replacement biscuits in place of the ones he had stolen - and helped others to steal by leaving the box so carelessly out in the open. (And not that Hugh was biased or anything, but although the Inspector’s biscuits were very good, Dottie’s were better. So, really, that would be a good deal for the Inspector as well.)
But no, there was no more delaying. He straightened his back and walked through the open parlour door with determination.
“Sir, I’m very sorry but it was—” He stopped talking, stopped moving, stopped doing anything at all. Except stare.
No-one had slammed their fists on the piano keys. Not at all. Miss Fisher was… she was sitting on them, one foot on the piano bench to keep her balance, the other leg wrapped around the Inspector’s thigh as he…
Their lips broke apart and they both turned their heads to look at him. Their faces were flushed and it looked like the Inspector was wearing wearing about as much of Miss Fisher’s lipstick as she was herself. Some of it all the way down his jaw and a bit of it was smudged on the collar of his shirt. (Hugh felt suddenly grateful that Dottie didn’t wear makeup, even as he acknowledged to himself that there were perhaps more important things to be thinking about just now.
Like how to get out of this situation as quickly as possible. Preferably without staring too much at the way Miss Fisher’s dress was coming off her shoulder. Or the way it was riding really high up on her thigh. Really, really high. Hugh’s eyes went saucer-wide and he could feel his cheeks burning.)
“Collins.” Hugh could tell that the Inspector was trying very hard to sound the same as he did when they were at the station, but also that he was aware that he wasn’t quite managing it.
“Hugh.” Miss Fisher, on the other hand, sounded exactly the same as she often did, friendly and like something very funny had just happened.
“Sorry, Sir. I didn’t see—” That was another lie, of course. They all knew exactly what he had seen. To stop the lie getting any bigger he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “Sorry, Sir.”
He backed out of the room, his eyes still closed. Bumping into the doorframe and slowly edging his way through the opening, his hands feeling their way behind him. Once he made it to the safety of the hallway he leaned against the wall and slowly opened his eyes one at a time. Phew. All he could see was a small table with an elaborate flower arrangement on it.
He hesitated for half a second, then pushed away from the wall to get back to the safety of the party where everyone was wearing their clothes properly and only their own makeup, but then he stopped. He came down here for a reason, after all. And Hugh Collins was a man and he was going to say what he came here to say. “It was me, Sir. I stole your biscuits. Miss Fisher just found them on your desk. I knew you kept them in the filing cabinet because I can hear it creak when you open it,” he said quickly, determined to get his full confession out before he lost his nerve.
He paused, waiting for a reply. But instead of the Inspector he heard Miss Fisher, and her voice was coming closer. “The filing cabinet. That’s very interesting, Jack.”
Her head and part of her body popped out through the doorway and she smiled briefly at Hugh, who was relieved that her dress was now more or less covering what dresses were traditionally meant to cover.
The last thing he heard before she closed the door on him was the Inspector saying, “He’s lying.”
Which was a point Hugh didn't really feel inclined to argue about just now.