CHAPTER 13: IN WHICH MR. TWEEDLE BEGS FOR A CELL WITH A VIEW AND OUR TITULAR PROTAGONIST MAKES A LEAP OF FAITH

~*~

Mr. Tweedle threw himself down at Miss Primrose's feet.

"Please, I beg of you," he said with a wet and sloppy sob. "I beg of you! Cease with your tireless interrogations, your endless questions! All I ask is that I be given a dry, warm cell. Perhaps one with a view—maybe where I can see a pretty bird once and a while. Maybe a tree?"

Miss Primrose scowled. "Mr. Tweedle, contain yourself. I haven't asked you anything yet."

"But you will!" Mr. Tweedle said. "And then you'll figure everything out. You detective types, you're all so desperately clever."

"Have some dignity, Mr. Tweedle!" Miss Primrose shoved the weeping bureaucrat back towards his desk with the tip of her foot. "Seat yourself at once."

Still cowering and whimpering, Mr. Tweedle crawled his way back to his chair.

"Now, Mr. Tweedle," she said, taking her seat. "Let us start from the beginning, shall we? And this time, try to have a little backbone, please?"

"I'll try," Mr. Tweedle said.

Miss Primrose gave him a polite smile. "Good evening, Mr. Tweedle. My name is Miss Primrose."

"Good evening, Miss Primrose," Mr. Tweedle said with a sniffle.

"I'm here on an investigation on the Steamwork's behalf.

Would you mind if I asked you a few questions—"

"I did it!" Mr. Tweedle cried, throwing his hands to the desk and dropping his head into his arms. "I admit to it! Please, just take me away—"

Miss Primrose scowled once again. "Mr. Tweedle!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just can't take it anymore. The terrible guilt, the horrible crushing despair—"

"What precisely is it that you're confessing to, then?"

Mr. Tweedle looked up with one glassy wet eye. "What is it you're investigating again?"

"Mr. Copper's recent demise."

"Oh yes, that. I killed him! I admit to it! Take me away!"

Mr. Tweedle shoved his wrists out in front of him, offering them to Miss Primrose. "Lock me up and throw away the key! Take me somewhere I'll never have to look at another bank figure again!"

"Stop being ridiculous," Miss Primrose said. "You couldn't have killed Mr. Copper."

"Why not? I'm perfectly capable."

"You're an idiot," Miss Primrose said. "And you don't have enough spine to murder a fly. What has happened, Mr. Tweedle?

Why is the bank in such a state of chaos? Why are you so desperate to enter into our prison system?"

"You're—you're not going to arrest me?" Mr. Tweedle asked.

"No, Mr. Tweedle. I am not."

"It's so awful," Mr. Tweedle said, sinking his face into his hands. "So wretchedly, terribly awful! I cannot take working at this bank for a day more."

Miss Primrose's hard glare softened a bit. "Why do you not simply resign, Mr. Tweedle?"

"Because I don't know where the resignation forms are! The investors have hidden them from me, the wretched monsters!"

Miss Primrose pursed her lips. "Why do you wish to leave the bank? Certainly, it cannot be that difficult."

"Ever since this whole Steamwork matter has started, it's constant stress," Mr. Tweedle said. "That and this awful Hemlock business. Before that, it was absolutely lovely." He lifted his head, his eyes getting a far-off look. "Every day, I'd come into the bank office, and the secretary would ask me—'One lump or two, Mr. Tweedle?'—and I'd say—'One lump, of course'—and then I would spend the rest of the day enjoying a cup of tea, reading my paper, and watching the birds in the tree from my window..."

"I don't quite understand, Mr. Tweedle. What has changed?"

"Now they expect me to make decisions!" Mr. Tweedle cried. "Big, important decisions! Every day—I have to decide this or that. And what's worse is that they took my window away!" He pointed to the side of the office, where a window had been recently bricked up. "My investors said it was 'distracting me from the important business of a bank'."

"I, er, see, Mr. Tweedle. Still, I only wanted to ask you about some curious matters that I discovered while investigating several of the Steamwork's patents. It seems you’ve cosigned several of the patent licenses, and I merely wanted some clarification as to why."

Mr. Tweedle wetted his lips. "Tell me something, Miss Primrose. Do you think—if someone does something illegal, and someone else helps them in a rather roundabout way, fully aware that the act is illegal—is that second person performing a crime?"

"In most cases, yes," Miss Primrose said. "They are an accomplice."

"And could they go to prison?"

"Perhaps, Mr. Tweedle." Catching on, Miss Primrose added: "In fact, I am quite sure of it."

"Hm. Interesting. Very interesting." Mr. Tweedle leaned back, twiddling his thumbs. "Well, if I tell you everything I know, and you discover that Mr. Eddington is doing something illegal, would it be too much to ask that you assume I knew about it all along?"

"I, er, that is," Miss Primrose said, trying to follow the man's runaway train of logic. "I suppose I could."

"Then it might be worth mentioning that Mr. Eddington is up to his ears in debt," Mr. Tweedle said, leaning back with a serene smile. "And that he is probably willing to do anything to escape."

~*~

Fire seeped up from beneath the floor, unfurling into tongues of flame that painted the walls black with their hungry licks. Snips and William gaped at the sight; Marge emerged from nowhere, carrying snot-nosed bratlings under either arm. She gave Snips and William a glare, then started firing off orders with all the bravado of a general on the front lines.

"Upstairs. More folks. Get 'em downstairs as fast as you can," she snapped. "I'll try to rustle up a bucket brigade."

She turned and crashed through the front door, leaving the two blinking. Slowly, their sense of obligation began to reassert itself.

"Upstairs, Miss Snips," William said.

"Right," Snips replied.

They turned and ran up the stairs. Men, women, and children were already tumbling out of their rooms, coaxed into the hallways by the sound of an explosion below. Several looked up at the scorched pair—William in particular, with his charred umbrella and clean suit—and gawked.

"Fire," Snips shouted, flinging her arms back the way she came. "Everyone out!"

Only later would Snips ponder the wisdom in shouting 'fire'

to a crowd of people as she stood between them and the nearest exit.

Both William and Snips fought their way through the retreating throngs, working to stay afloat and not be dragged out by the currents of fleeing families. They struggled to the next set of stairs, making their way step by step through the narrow halls.

The flow soon quieted to a trickle, leaving the task of gathering up what few people remained to Snips and William.

They knocked on doors, shoved through living rooms, and hollered into bedrooms; it soon became apparent that no one remained.

"Let's cut out," Snips said, eagerly heading to the exit.

William was sure to follow. But as they descended down, they found themselves confronted by a suffocating wall of smoke.

"The fire has already spread to the lower level," William remarked between coughs. "We must ascend."

They ran to the top of the apartment, briefly savoring the sweet aroma of air not choked with smoke, but this relief quickly faded with the realization of their situation.

The apartment roof was far above the roof of its neighbors.

The smoke that had run up the stairs was now emerging from all sides of the building, engulfing them in a growing shell of ash.

"Problem," Snips said, braving the smoke and scooting near the edge to peer down at the street below. "We may have to jump."

William tapped his umbrella against his palm. "How much do you weigh, Miss Snips?"

"Hundred and ten, maybe. What's it matter? We're likely to break a leg with this. Do you know much about—" Snips cut herself off at the sight of William licking his finger and holding it up to the air. "Uh."

"Miss Snips, could you please remove your belt?"

"Huh? Pardon?"

"Your belt," William asked, struggling to be as polite as a gentleman asking for a lady’s article of clothing could be. "Please, remove it and give it to me."

Snips glared, but did as he asked. She handed it over and watched with confusion as William wrapped it around his arm and buckled it into a loose loop.

"Your arm, if you would?"

"You know, I'm not sure what you're doing, but—"

"There isn't much time. Please, Miss Snips. Trust me."

Snips sighed. Something about his tone made her relent; she held out her arm. William fed it through the loop, tightened it until they were linked together snugly, then nodded in satisfaction.

He raised his umbrella over his head, stepped up onto the roof's ledge, and turned to Snips.

Snips balked. "You—you can't be serious."

"I am dead serious, Miss Snips."

He drew Snips close to him with a strength that took the thief entirely by surprise and then leapt off the building.

~*~