case file, the great works and the lesser-known, the grand capers and the minor mysteries. They barely filled the single drawer.
Miss Burgrave watched attentively as Unwin drew out the file for The Oldest Murdered Man. A long card was fixed to the back of the file, covered with typed references to files elsewhere in the archives. Here was the original mystery, upstairs with Miss Benjamin, here the case files of other detectives overlapping with this one. And below them references to another archive, a third.
He said to Miss Burgrave, “These refer to files kept by Miss Palsgrave. What are they?”
Miss Burgrave winced. “For a Chief Clerk of Mysteries,” she said, “that Miss Benjamin has a great deal to say. How I long for the days of Miss Margrave, who preceded her in the position. Now, there was a woman who knew how to keep a thing to herself. She died just a few days after she retired. Nothing unusual in that. Some people have little in them except the work. But it’s something of a syndrome here at the Agency. Clerks and underclerks are immune, mind you. But anyone who knows anything about anything is granted a very short retirement. I will have my own before long, I suppose. And if laws of proportion apply, then my retirement shall be very short indeed. And your own watcher—which is to say your detective’s watcher—is due to retire soon. A nice man, Ed Lamech. I’ll miss him.”
Unwin understood then that Miss Burgrave knew nothing about his recent promotion. And why would she? His promotion was a mystery even to him, and Miss Burgrave knew only the solutions. So she had not heard of Lamech’s murder either.
“You hesitate to speak,” Miss Burgrave said, “and I warned you once about our tolerance for mysteriousness on this floor.”
He chose his words carefully. “It was the discovery of Lamech’s death, among other mysteries, Miss Burgrave, that brought me here.”
She covered her mouth with one small hand, steadying herself against the file drawer with the other. After a moment she said, “Now, Ed Lamech, he and I used to play cards together. That was before all this, of course. Miss Margrave and I shared a desk, and the archive was just two cardboard boxes at the back of the room: one for mysteries, one for solutions. Edwin Moore kept the files in order. There was a big table at the center of the room where the detectives would lay out mug shots and maps of the city. They smoked and talked big and planned stings; Ed was the loudest of the bunch, but he always had something nice to say. He knew how to make a person feel a little taller. Some nights we’d clear off the table and play a few hands, all of us together. Yes, I always thought Ed Lamech and I might sit down and play cards again, when we found the time.”
She switched off the light and said, “Help me down the stepladder, Mr. Unwin,” and he did, but when she reached the floor, she did not let go of his hand. “This way.”
Unwin’s eyes did not have time to adjust as Miss Burgrave pulled him more and more quickly through the darkness between the walls. When a drawer opened or closed, a band of light from the archive swept momentarily across the floor, but that was all, and Unwin knew he would not find his way back on his own. They came to a corridor that was almost entirely dark, from the walls of which no file drawers extended.
“You go that way,” Miss Burgrave said, “and you tell Miss Palsgrave that I sent you, though I doubt she cares anymore about what I have to say.”
She took her hand back and added, “She works here, but she’s never been like the rest of us; not really. Her curriculum vitae is a curious one, to say the least. Be wary of her. Be polite.”
Unwin said, “I will, Miss Burgrave. But please, tell me one thing. If you know your underclerks only by their coughs, how did you know me?”
“Oh, Mr. Unwin, don’t you know you’re one of my own children? Your work has given me some pleasure through the years. When you leave a thing, you leave it where no doubt can touch it. I will not wish you luck. Of your success or failure I will hear in due course.”
Unwin heard her footsteps receding, glimpsed the silver of her hair as