A Riddle in Bronze

from the tray and held it to the professor's lips. "Here, drink deep," she muttered. "This will aid you, if nothing else."
Until this point, I'd been rendered speechless by the professor's appearance, but now I finally gathered my wits. A stiff drink wouldn't be enough to revive the old man, I was sure of that. "I shall fetch a physician," I declared.
"No!" Roberta grabbed my arm. "No earthly medicine will heal this wound. Instead, I will ask you to watch over him while I devise a method of extracting…" Her voice tailed off.
"Extracting what?" I demanded.
"I—I cannot explain right now."
"But… what happened? What manner of illness is this?"
Roberta dashed a lock of hair from her eye. "A piece of equipment malfunctioned, that is all."
If the words were meant to be reassuring they failed dismally, for I could see how worried she was. Then the professor coughed, and we turned to see him reaching for the brandy glass. Roberta pressed it into his hands, and the professor drained the glass before coughing once more. Finally, he opened his eyes, and to my surprise there was no sign of the earlier darkness, his eyes now being normal aside from the tears brought on by the brandy. I recalled his earlier appearance, and wondered whether I'd been mistaken. Had it had been a trick of the light, perhaps exaggerated by my experience with the ghastly writing in the ledger upstairs?
"Father?" asked Roberta in concern. "Do you know where you are?"
The professor was looking wistfully at the empty glass. "A little more brandy, I think, and then I will remember for certain."
"Oh, you old goat!" cried Roberta, and she hugged him where he sat. Her face was turned towards me, her eyes closed tight, and I saw tears of relief running down her cheeks. "I thought you were dead!"
"There there," said the professor, patting her awkwardly on the head. "Don't fuss now. Don't fuss."
I felt entirely out of place witnessing this tender scene, and I turned away, intending to leave them in peace. Then I saw the maid with her tray. "Come, Elsie. Fetch the professor another glass, if you please."
She hurried away, and I followed her from the room. Here I encountered Mrs Fairacre, who was coming towards me from the kitchens. "What's happened now?" she demanded. "Why all the fuss?"
"An accident, by all accounts, but the professor is recovered," I said, and I laid a hand on her sleeve as she made to enter the lounge. "I would leave them be for the time being."
"Oh, that foolish old dear," muttered Mrs Fairacre. "He will meddle with things he doesn't understand. I warned him it would lead to no good, I swear I did!"
I was tempted to enquire further, but the housekeeper was almost as upset as Roberta and it would have been unseemly to press her for information in that state. Then Elsie returned with a glass of brandy on her tray, only for Mrs Fairacre to take the tray and send the maid back to the kitchens. "Go on, back to your work," she said, and I wasn't sure whether she was addressing Elsie… or me. Before I could say anything, the housekeeper bustled into the lounge room carrying the brandy.
I did not want to return to my office, not after Roberta had indicated I might be needed, and so I waited in the hallway. The three in the lounge were talking in low voices, and I decided to move down the hall a little way to avoid overhearing their conversation. Had I been lacking in morals I would have listened to every word, but I consoled myself with the thought that the truth would come out eventually.
As I neared the front door I noticed a pair of haversacks leaning against the wall. I could see the legs of two metal tripods protruding from the nearest, and I wondered what cache of intriguing equipment was causing the bags to bulge in such an interesting fashion.
"Mr Jones?"
The housekeeper's voice made me jump, even though I had been doing nothing wrong. Reluctantly, I turned away from the haversacks, any chance of exploring further now lost. "Yes, Mrs Fairacre?"
"Miss Twickham asks if you would mind the professor."
"Of course." I hurried down the hall and entered the lounge, where I found the professor much recovered. He was sitting up, he looked brighter and he'd managed to empty the second glass of brandy… a fact which I suspected largely responsible for the ruddy colour now present in his cheeks. "Sir, how are you feeling?"
"Ver' good, ver' good indeed," said the professor. "Take more than a stray ghostie to knock me down, eh?"
I turned to Roberta, concerned that the shock had unhinged the professor's mind, but she merely smiled. "He's just a little merry," she said. "Be a dear and watch him for me, will you? I must go and prepare."
She got up and left, and after a hurried conversation with Mrs Fairacre in the corridor, I heard both of them departing. As for me, I set the side table back on its legs and gathered the items which had been knocked all over the rug earlier, placing them anyhow on the polished wooden surface. Then I drew up a nearby armchair and sat facing the professor.
The elderly gentleman was showing no signs of his earlier distress. Rather, he was sitting in his chair and smiling at nothing in particular. I decided not to speak with him, preferring to leave him be and not risk agitating him. Instead, I gathered what clues I had and tried to set them in order.
I guessed that the professor and his daughter had paid a visit to the customer who'd written to them that morning. Furthermore, from the professor's obvious malaise, their visit had been less than successful. Were there clues in the haversacks full of equipment? Oh, how I wished I could inspect them more closely!
I glanced at the professor. Dare I leave him, even for a moment? He ought