A Riddle in Bronze

at this, because my room had no fireplace and I'd feared it would be unpleasantly damp and cold in the depths of winter. Now, it seemed, I would have no cause for complaint.
Dressing quickly, I left the room and made my way downstairs. Passing the sitting room, which I recognised from the day before, I followed my nose beyond, to the dining room. A small fire crackled in the grate, but it was the smell of food which had tempted me.
The professor was seated at the head of the table, almost hidden behind the pages of an enormous newspaper.
"Good morning sir," I called.
"Hrmph."
I guessed this was either the professor's usual greeting, or a comment on the state of the nation. When the pages rustled and another snort met my ears, I decided it was the latter.
The professor had a plate before him, containing a single slice of toast. He hadn't touched it, nor the gently steaming teacup sitting on the saucer nearby. I looked around for a breakfast of my own, and my spirits rose as I saw the feast laid out on the sideboard, with slices of fried potato, kidneys, a tureen of poached eggs, an entire platter of glistening sausages and a rack full of toast. I was already pleased with my pleasant room at the top of the stairs, and my dinner the night before had been excellent. Now, it seemed, breakfast was also a meal to be reckoned with.
Filling my plate, I returned to the table and sat down.
"Tea, sir?" said a low voice, barely more than a whisper.
I looked round and saw the Twickhams' maid at my elbow, holding a tray. Elsie was a skinny, nervous-looking girl of fourteen or fifteen, and I tried to set her at ease by affecting a bonhomie which was alien to me. "Why yes, thank you. And just a dash of milk, if you please."
"Hrmph," muttered the professor, and he shook his paper again.
Having poured my tea, Elsie left with her tray, and I set about the food on my plate, enjoying the excellent cooking. I glanced around the room as I ate, eyeing the rather severe portrait above the fireplace, and the heavy drapes drawn back on either side of the bay windows. As with the sitting room, there was a tangle of rose bushes just outside, these lending a greenish cast to the room as they filtered the light.
After twenty minutes I had no further room for eggs, nor toast, nor the tiniest sip of tea, and I sat back in my chair, replete. By my estimate it had just gone nine in the morning, and I was a little surprised there'd been no sign of Roberta at the breakfast table. I wondered whether she was a late riser, but she didn't seem the sort to waste the best part of the day in bed. I glanced at the professor, but decided not to trouble him. He was holding the newspaper like a defence against stubborn invaders, and I suspected this to be part of his morning ritual.
Then Elsie returned with her tray, only this time it bore a slim envelope. She didn't speak to the professor, just took the missive and laid it on the table next to the untouched breakfast things, before retreating once more.
Eventually, the professor lowered his paper and opened the letter, scanning the contents quickly. Then he took out a pocket watch, much like the one in my dreams, and there was a distant ringing noise as he touched something inside the lid.
I recalled something similar happening when I'd activated the metal cube the day before. I was not versed in physics, nor chemistry, nor any of the branches of science connected with the natural world, but even I knew that such a thing was unheard of, and yesterday I'd put the simultaneous ringing of a distant bell down to pure coincidence.
Now, though, I was forced to accept the truth, for impossible though it seemed, the professor's watch was somehow linked to a bell in another part of the house. I'd seen him press a contact, and I'd heard the bell at the same instant. There could be no coincidence, only a mystery yet to be explained.
I wanted to quiz the professor about his watch and its curious power, but at that moment I heard footsteps approaching. Not the light tread of Mrs Fairacre, nor the near-inaudible footfalls of the maid, but the thump of solid work boots. My spirits rose, for this could only be Roberta putting in an appearance at last.
She came in wearing the same outfit as the day before, possibly with even more of the sooty dust around her person. There was a streak of the stuff down one side of her face, and her ruddy cheeks looked like they'd been exposed to a substantial heat source. Meanwhile, the professor had returned to his newspaper, and he said nothing as his daughter entered the dining room.
"Good morning," I said, getting up.
"Are you leaving already?"
I'd always been taught to stand for a lady, but as I'd discovered the day before, Roberta didn't set much store by the customs of polite society. "I, er—"
She smiled. "Relax, Mr Jones. I'm teasing you."
"Ha-rumph," muttered the professor from behind his paper.
"And a good morning to you too, father," called Roberta. "Are you not rising to greet me too?"
The paper rustled, but from the professor there was no reply but a stony silence.
"He's such a grump in the mornings," said Roberta conversationally, and having fired this broadside at her father she strode to the sideboard to assemble her breakfast.
When she returned she sat alongside me, and then she tackled the food as though she hadn't had a solid meal for the past three days. As for myself, I wanted to ask her something, but I didn't want to interrupt her breakfast. I was also conscious of the raised newspaper at the head of the table, which looked like the prow of a ship aiming