'Anything that's missing, sir,' said Carrot conscientiously.
'I mean,' said Vimes, patiently, 'anything not here which you'd expect to find.'
'Well, he's got – he had - all the usual tools, sir. Nice ones, too. Shame, really.'
'What is?'
'They'll be melted down, of course.'
Vimes stared at the neat racks of hammers and files.
'Why? Can't some other dwarf use them?'
'What, use another dwarf's actual tools?' Carrot's mouth twisted in distaste, as though someone had suggested he wear Corporal Nobbs' old shorts. 'Oh, no. that's not . . . right. I mean, they're . . . part of him. I mean . . . someone else using them, after he's used them all these years, I mean . . . urrgh.'
'Really?'
The clockwork soldier marched under the bench.
'It'd feel . . . wrong,' said Carrot. 'Er. Yukky.'
'Oh.' Vimes stood up.
'Capt—'
'Ow!'
'—mind your head. Sorry.'
Rubbing his head with one hand, Vimes used the other to examine the hole in the plaster.
'There's . . . something in here,' he said. 'Pass me one of those chisels.'
There was silence.
'A chisel, please. If it makes you feel any better, we are trying to find out who killed Mr Hammerhock. All right?'
Carrot picked one up, but with considerable reluctance.
'This is Mr Hammerhock's chisel, this is,' he said reproachfully.
'Corporal Carrot, will you stop being a dwarf for two seconds? You're a guard! And give me the damn chisel! It's been a long day! Thank you!'
Vimes prised at the brickwork, and a rough disc of lead dropped into his hand.
'Slingshot?' said Carrot.
'No room in here,' said Vimes. 'Anyway, how the hell could it get this far into the wall?'
He slipped the disc into his pocket.
'That seems about it, then,' he said, straightening up. 'We'd better – ow! – oh, fish out that clockwork soldier, will you? Better leave the place tidy.'
Carrot scrabbled in the darkness under the bench. There was a rustling noise.
'There's a piece of paper under here, sir.'
s aware of eyes on him. He looked across the table into the face of a man who was watching him intently and whose last contribution to the conversation had been 'Could you be so kind as to pass me the seasonings, captain?' There was nothing remarkable about the face, except for the gaze – which was absolutely calm and mildly amused. It was Dr Cruces. Vimes had the strong impression that his thoughts were being read.