The Adventure of the Travertine Nose... Part V

The Proposal

“A painter? Shite!”
You nearly fall off the back of your stool, terrified by his outburst.
“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it quite like that,” he bumbles. “A painter?” His face is twisted in disgust.
You nod uncertainly.
“A painter,” he repeats, his brow clearing. “A painter…” He’s clearly rethinking his position, his brain trying to spin a booger into gold somehow. “Well, you’ll do,” he says unsurely. You can paint. That’ll help. I assume you can draw too?”
You nod. “Of course.”
Basil sighs with relief. “Righty ho then, we can go now.” He stands suddenly, tosses a handful of pound coins onto the table and reaches for his tweed jacket.
“What?” you ask, wondering is Basil is not only eccentric, but insane. “What do you mean we can go now?”
“Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry,” he says nervously, reclaiming his seat and reaching across the table for your hand. “Please forgive me. This whole thing has been a terrible shock. Not that you’re terrible,” he qualifies.
“Yeah, it has been a little shocking. Maybe surreal is a better word,” you suggest. “I just came to tell you your note was waylaid. I’m just a girl who checked into her hotel a few hours ago and found a very weird note.” You glance up and find Basil’s eyes on you, warm and full of good humor.
“I understand. I do. But, Margaret, I mean Darby,” he squeezes your hand, “I need you. How can I convince you to come with me?” He consults his watch and appears all the more panicked as a result.
“Where am I expected to go?” you ask with some amusement.
“To the noses, of course.” Your eyebrows dance sarcastically and Basil revises his answer. “To the Royal Museum… they’re closing at 8:00 and then we’re going into the sculpture wing to study some noses. It’s all arranged.”
“Noses?” you laugh.
“Yes,” Basil nods, looking most earnest. “Noses that have cracked off statues, and statues that have lost they’re noses.”
“Are we matching noses to statues?” You ask, trying hard to bring the conversation to a boil.
“Sort of. We’re studying noses and noselessness in general, because first thing tomorrow, we have to leave for Rackrent Castle and try to figure out where Lady Rackrent’s nose belongs.”
The expression on your face must be reflecting your absolute stupor because Basil responds by burying his face in his hands.
“Is Lady Rackrent’s nose currently someplace other than the center of her face?” you ask.
Basil bursts into a peel of laughter and rocks back in his booth. “Blimey! Why does this have to be such a mess?” Once he recovers himself, he swigs down the last of his lager and pushes the remains of his pastry across to you. “Okay. Lady Rackrent found a travertine nose under a loose stone in the Castle. She has no idea how and when it got there, but she’s hired me, on a lark, to solve the mystery of this thing. It is, indeed, by all accounts a very fine nose, and might be of some importance.”
“Where is this Castle Rackrent?”
“In the Highlands, of course.”
“Can you stop saying ‘of course’ as if any of this is logical or intuitive? And what exactly are you asking me to do?”
“Help me. Document the noses we find study, and the statues without noses. Draw them-- paint them, or what have you. We can document them that way, and try to figure this thing out. Your artistic ability may prove to be just as useful as another archeologist’s opinion. Darby, we stand to make some real money. What do you say?”


You would really rather keep your nose out of Basil’s problems, and sniff out a good Cornish Pasty instead. How will you ever get your medieval moats, sparkling lakes, and tea rooms if you’re off larking around some drafty castle in the Highlands? Chose 'A' for goodness sake.

And yet, the idea of being allowed inside the Museum after closing to sniff out some stone noses has a certain charm. And nobody will elbow-patches as scuffed as Basil can be a confidence trickster. At the very least, you might end up with an exhibit of nose studies for your next show. Chose 'B'.