A Proposal to Die For by Vivian Conroy Page A

the basement door. He immediately marched up the stone steps of the house in question and rang the doorbell.
    Cringing, Alkmene waited at the foot of the steps, clenching her hands at this potentially disastrous turn of events.
    Nobody came to answer the door.
    Moustache rang once more and then came back down to her. He cast a suspicious look at the basement door, then went down the steps to study it up close. ‘There are footprints here,’ he called out. ‘In coal.’
    Alkmene smiled nervously. ‘My dog’s?’
    â€˜No, of a man.’ Moustache reached for the short stick attached to his belt and with this assault weapon in hand, he disappeared into the darkness.
    Alkmene waited a moment for an anguished cry of pain as the determined sergeant hit an innocent coal delivery man over the head with his stick only to find he had business there and the allegedly missing dog was nowhere in sight.
    But there was no sound of grunting, or a struggle, coming from the basement door.
    Alkmene paced up and down the pavement, smiling innocently at the passers-by who slowed their steps to stare at her. She wished Moustache wouldn’t take for ever searching that basement. Judging by the time he took, it had to run all the way under the house to the other side, where there might be a backyard. If there was an open door there as well, Moustache might conclude the dog had run out and continue searching on the other side.
    Not bad maybe. After all, Dubois needed his time with the constable, to get the information he needed about the murder case. She was curious what the latest might be.
    For a moment Alkmene’s thoughts swerved to India where her father would be yelling at his native servants to hold the parasol over his head while he scoured some jungle patch for poisonous plants, having absolutely no idea of the antics of his only daughter whom he believed to be writing some letters or visiting with an innocent female friend.
    A sound of heavy metal clattering came from the basement. A voice, suspiciously like that of gruff Moustache, called out in surprise and pain.
    Alkmene froze and stared. Had the unsuspecting Moustache run into someone with evil intentions who was now trying to knock him down to flee?
    If this attacker appeared from the basement door, could she stop him?
    Should she call for more police?
    A huffing sound, coughing…
    Then Moustache appeared covered in coal dust. He rubbed at his face, leaving stains everywhere.
    Alkmene suppressed a burst of laughter to ask demurely, ‘Did you see my dog?’
    â€˜If he is in there, my lady, he will need a bath.’ Moustache coughed again, panting for breath. ‘The place is full of coal like somebody dumped a ton into it.’ His eyes went wide. ‘I do hope they did not do that after your little dog went in. He might have been uh…’
    Alkmene forced another smile. ‘My dog is very smart. I am sure he would have run out before he got…into a tight spot. I assume he is on his way home now. I am so sorry for your trouble.’
    Moustache tried to dust off his uniform, creating large clouds of black dust in the air. Passers-by shrank into the street or even crossed to the other side to get away from him.
    Alkmene said quickly, ‘Thank you. Good day,’ and marched off in the direction of Meade Street. She had her fingers crossed Dubois would not still be sitting there with the constable when Moustache came back into the coffee house.
    Although she didn’t doubt he would have laughed his head off if he could have seen his old enemy this way.

Chapter Ten
    When Alkmene trotted up the stairs of Meade Street 33, a delicious scent of something baking wafted towards her. Her stomach growled and she realized she had had nothing since breakfast and running out of the door with the incriminating blackmail letter in her purse.
    Instead of Dubois revealing to her which bugger in the Tar Street slums was the alleged