Junior Detective, Junior Detective with three demerits that is, Pertwee tried to remain out of the way as the catalog of the macabre basement was completed. His head swam with the dichotomy of the house, this gruesome scene contrasted against the austere and rather Victorian upstairs.

“Ah, now I remember,” he said, though Detective Miller didn’t even acknowledge the statement. Pertwee wasn’t surprised. No one listened to him. But he talked anyway, “It’s like ‘Arsenic and Old Lace’...the play. Upstairs is all nice, like a tea party. But there are bodies in the basement.” He smiled, rather pleased with himself not only for making a connection but also for not puking yet.

Miller peeled his eyes off the disturbing dioramas, “There’s a play…like this?” He gestured about the room.

“Well no,” Pertwee said, a little red in the face, a welcome change from the pallor that appeared in the room with the limbs. “They just bury them in the basement. No posing. And no orchids.”

“Orchids?”