Part 47 (1/2)

”Oh, the two sons-Toby and Michael-died, it's true enough, but this boy was found working in a slaughterhouse. He was unofficially adopted by the Swanscotts. They raised him as their own, sent him to school. Everything that parents could do.”

”Really?” Chapel drew closer, almost nose-to-nose. His eyes bored relentlessly into Matthew's.

”Yes sir. He's made quite a bit of money. He's disguised himself. I think he put it as...a high ball playing low.”

Chapel scratched his chin. ”Go on.”

”He made some inquiries in London. Put money on the street for information. He knows all about it. The poisoned wine, and all the rest.”

”Is that so?”

”Yes sir. He did give me the notebook. Wanted me to figure out the meaning of that page. What the grades meant. I mean, the numbers.”

”Very good.” A slight smile surfaced. ”They were grades. At least, from Ausley's limited point-of-view. He used them to d.i.c.ker over prices. I gave my own marks later.”

”He did hope that I might lead him to you. I told him he ought to give himself up, that he has a compelling story to tell.”

”And did he give himself up?” Chapel correctly read Matthew's expression. ”Of course he didn't. He's come all this way, he's probably near insane by now. Why should he give himself up? And you've told this story to who else? Hudson Greathouse and Mrs. Herrald, I presume?”

”Neither of them. This is my investigation.”

”But you and Greathouse dug up the body of Billy Hodges, didn't you? Why?”

”McCaggers told me about it. High Constable Lillehorne didn't want anyone else to know. I thought...it might have some bearing on the Masker.”

”In a roundabout way,” Chapel said. ”Poor Billy. An excellent forger, but unfortunately a weak mind. You know, he was the screever who forged the inspection label in Swanscott's warehouse. It's intriguing that very often a person who has to learn to write with an unnatural hand can more easily master the art of forgery. He was a wonder, that Billy. Did some work for us in Boston, as well, but just minor items on the order of deeds and such. He was an instructor for the younger lads for several years...then, sadly, he wished to leave us. Ah, that Billy.”

”I'd rather you not tell me, sir,” Matthew said.

”Oh, it's all right! I'm not angry with you!” Chapel slapped Matthew's left knee. ”Lord, no! I understand this is just business! You wished to make a name for yourself with the Herrald Agency, am I right? But tell me...how did you feel about helping a murderer plan a murder?”

”I suppose...” Matthew swallowed. ”It was just business.”

”There's the spirit!” Chapel smacked his hands together and looked at the others in the room, as Berry thrashed and writhed to no avail. He was beaming. ”True industry at work, friends! The ultimate commingling of what some would call the angelic and the demonic! He wants to get ahead in life, so he plots with an insane murderer! Can you beat it?”

”Very humorous,” said Lawrence Evans, with no trace of humor.

Chapel turned his face back toward Matthew, again almost nose-to-nose. His smile was gone. Matthew could see his own face, scared witless, in the lenses. ”The name.”

”His name is...” Matthew hesitated, his heart pounding. No one was going to save either Berry or him. He had to do what he could, to buy them some time and figure a way out of this.

”Mr. Ripley is waiting,” Chapel whispered.

Matthew said, ”His name is Dippen Nack. He's a constable.”

The room seemed frozen.

Chapel looked at Evans. ”Dippen Nack? What kind of name is that? Do you know him?”

”No sir.”

”Bromfield?”

”No sir,” said the hunter.

Chapel returned his attention to his prisoner and began to fidget with the silver b.u.t.tons of Matthew's waistcoat. ”Mr. Evans, get the census book and find out if indeed there's a Mr. Dippen Nack included on the list. Beautiful b.u.t.tons, by the way.”

Evans removed the eye clamp from Berry's...o...b.. which must have been nearly dried out. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to push it back into its socket without benefit of her fingers. Evans went to the desk and opened a drawer. He came out with a thin brown leather book. Matthew recognized it. A copy of the New York census, undertaken last year by order of the late lamented Mayor Hood. Matthew felt the sweat dripping under his arms. If Nack had a wife and a houseful of kids or lived with his mother, it was all up.

”Dippen Nack is an alias,” he said, to relieve his steam. ”I don't know his real name.”

Evans' index finger was searching. ”Here he is, sir. Dippen Nack. Lives on Na.s.sau Street.” He brought the book over to display the name and address.

”Very good. Well, there is such a man. No wife or children, I see. Tell me, Lawrence, do you recall the names of the Swanscott boys? Were they Toby and Michael?”

”I think they were, but it'll just take a moment to look up the file. I'm sure we have that jotted down somewhere.”

”Go ahead, then.”

Evans went to the file cabinet, opened a drawer, and began going through papers.

Matthew squirmed in his chair, as much as he was able. He heard Berry make a m.u.f.fled sound between a cry of pain and an oath. Her hair was still being gripped by Miss LeClaire's pitiless hands. ”Please, sir,” he said to Chapel, ”won't you let her go?”

”No,” came the reply. ”But I suppose we needn't be so harsh. Charity? One hand only.”

”Found it, sir!” Evans announced. He leaned forward, reading something. ”Yes, that was their names. But hold on!” He paused. ”Now that's interesting,” he said, in a voice that sent a coursing of fresh terror through Matthew. ”It seems the Swanscotts had-”

Matthew decided to take a chance, and if he was wrong it might be the last thing he ever spoke. ”A third son, yes I know. An infant who died right after birth.”

Evans was silent, still reading.

”Well?” Chapel asked.

”He's correct, sir. There's a small notation here. An infant who died soon after birth, according to the medical copy from London.” He held up the yellowed parchment. ”Care to see it?”

”No.” Chapel grinned. ”Dippen Nack, eh? The only way Matthew could have known about that dead infant was from a family member. A fourth son! Unofficial, of course. It makes sense, doesn't it? The Masker being a constable? He could creep around all night, stalk his victims, and then...” A finger across the throat completed his point.

Someone was climbing the stairs. It sounded like a pegleg. Matthew looked to the side as Carver, the sandy-haired, thick-set, and heavy-lidded second hunter and sometime stomperboy, limped into the room.

”Mr. Chapel!” he said. ”Pardon, but the fellas want to know if we're havin' a game today.”

”Yes, we certainly are.” Chapel stood up. ”Tell them, and tell Edgar and Hastings to get everything ready. Oh...wait. After you've done that, I want you and Mr. Bromfield to take your horses and ride back to town. Go to the stable there and secure a third horse. Then proceed to...” He checked the census book. ”Number Thirty-Nine Na.s.sau Street. Wait until dark if you have to, but bring back a man named Dippen Nack. Be careful, as he may be very dangerous and quite mad, but do not-I repeat-do not injure him in such a way that any further injury would be redundant and ineffective. All right?” He glanced at Evans. ”Who's on the gate today?”

”Enoch Speck, sir.”

”On the way out, tell Mr. Speck he may join in the game after he locks up tight. Go, the both of you!”