domed.
"It's a beauty, isn't it?" Constable Bhatti breathed. "Look here, in the small of the back. You see this hole? That's where the key goes."
"The key?" Burton asked.
"Yes! To wind it up! It's clockwork!"
"Bhatti, here," Detective Inspector Trounce put in, "is the Yard's amateur Technologist. Of all the policemen in London, he's certainly the right chap to have found this contraption."
"A happy coincidence for the constable," Swinburne observed glibly.
"It's my hobby," the young policeman enthused. "I attend a social club where we tinker with devices - trying to make them go faster or adapting them in various ways. Great heavens, the fellows would be beside themselves if I turned up with this specimen!"
Burton, who'd started to examine the brass figure with a magnifying glass, absently asked the policeman what he'd done after discovering it.
"The crowd was swelling - you know how Londoners flock around anything or anyone unusual - so I whistled for help. After a few constables had arrived, I gave the mechanism a thorough examination. I must admit, I got a little absorbed, so I probably didn't alert the Yard as quickly as I should have." He looked at Trounce. "Sorry about that, sir."
"And what is our metal friend's story, do you think?" asked Burton.
"Like I said, Captain, it's clockwork. My guess is that it's wound down. Why it was out walking the streets, I couldn't venture to guess."
"Surely if it was walking the streets, it would have attracted attention before it got here? Did anyone see it coming?"
"We've been making enquiries," Trounce said. "So far we've found fourteen who spotted it crossing the square but no one who saw it before then."
"So it's possible - maybe even probable - that it was delivered to the edge of the square in a vehicle," Burton suggested.
"Why, yes, Captain. I should say that's highly likely," the detective inspector agreed.
"It could have made its way through the streets, though," Bhatti said. "I'm not suggesting it did - I simply mean that the device is capable of that sort of navigation. You see this through here?" He tapped a finger on the top porthole at the front of the machine's head. "That's a babbage in there. Can you believe it? I never thought I'd live to see one! Imagine the cost of this thing!"
"A cabbage, Constable?" Trounce asked.
"Babbage," Bhatti repeated. "A device of extraordinary complexity. They calculate probability and act on the results. They're the closest things to a human brain ever created, but the secret of their construction is known only to one man - their inventor, Sir Charles Babbage."
"He's a recluse, isn't he?" Swinburne asked.
"Yes, sir, and an eccentric misanthrope. He has an aversion to what he terms 'the common hordes' and, in particular, to the noise they make, so he prefers to keep himself to himself. He hand-builds each of these calculators and booby-traps them to prevent anyone from discovering how they operate. Any attempt to dismantle one will result in an explosion."
"There should be a law against that sort of thing!" Trounce grumbled.
"My point is that when wound up, this brass man almost certainly has the ability to make basic decisions. And this here - " Bhatti indicated the middle opening on the thing's head " - is, in my opinion, a mechanical ear. I think you could give this contraption voice commands. And these - " he flicked the projecting wires " - are some sort of sensing device, I'd wager, along the lines of a moth's antennae."
Trounce pulled off his bowler hat and scratched his head.
"So let's get this straight: someone drops this clockwork man at the edge of the square. The device walks as far as Nelson's Column, then its spring winds down and it comes to a halt. A crowd gathers. According to the people we've spoken to, the machine got here just five minutes or so before you arrived on the scene, Constable. And you've been here - ?"
"About an hour now, sir."
"About an hour. My question, then, is why hasn't the owner come forward to claim his property?"
"Exactly!" Bhatti agreed. "A babbage alone is worth hundreds of pounds. Why has it been left here?"
"An experiment gone wrong?" Swinburne offered. "Perhaps the owner was testing its homing instinct. He dropped it here, went back to his house or workshop or laboratory or whatever, and is waiting there for it to make its way back. Only he didn't wind the blessed thing up properly!"
Burton snorted. "Ridiculous! If you owned - or had invented -