Part 53 (2/2)
”I'll say I'll let you try. Someday.”
”A fair enough bargain.” She searched his face; he let her at least do this, though he did not know what she was searching for. Whatever it was, he could tell she didn't find it. ”Oh...what did you mean to ask me?”
”You know,” he said, ”I'm so tired I fear it's slipped my mind. Must not have been very important.”
”Perhaps you'll think of it later.”
”I probably will,” he agreed.
She nodded, and a breath of wind stirred her hair and brought to him its faint aroma of-what was that? The gra.s.sy scent of wildflowers? She motioned with a tilt of her head toward the house. ”I'd best get to bed.”
”Yes. Me too.”
”Goodnight, then. Breakfast tomorrow?”
”Bright and early,” Matthew said.
Berry retreated from the door and started to walk away. He watched her go, and wondered if a rapier through the heart felt like this. But why? They were friends, and that was all. Just friends. Only.
She turned toward him again. ”Matthew?” she asked, her voice concerned. ”Are you sure you're all right?”
”I am,” he replied, and kept his own voice steady with supreme effort. ”Sure.”
”I just wanted to make certain. Goodnight and sleep well.”
”You too,” he said, and watched her return to the house before he closed the door. And locked it.
Matthew retrieved the box, went back to his leather chair before the window and the candle, and opened it.
Within was an object about eight inches long, wrapped in blue velvet. A letter was included.
Matthew, There is in the Herrald Agency a time-honored tradition. Richard created it, and so shall I keep it. If you are reading this, then you have pa.s.sed your initial trial. You have successfully solved one problem of the first three a.s.signed to you. I welcome you fully and completely no longer as a junior a.s.sociate but as a full investigator with all the respect and strength of my husband's name at your command. With this name and the value you have displayed, doors will open for you that you have never dreamed existed. Now take this gift as a measure of my confidence in you, and know that through this the world may be seen more clearly than before.
With All Respect and Admiration, KATHERINE HERRALD.
He opened the blue velvet and found a magnifying gla.s.s. Its crystal clarity reminded Matthew of Mrs. Herrald's purpose, while its handle of rough-hewn wood reminded him that tomorrow he was going to be sword-fighting with Hudson Greathouse again. He was reminded also of a small bit of windowgla.s.s given to him by the aged Headmaster Staunton, who had originally brought him into the orphanage and taught him the wonders of reading and education, and the disciplines of self-control and self-knowledge. Then as now, the gift was a clear view unto the world.
It was time for rest, but first there was the other thing.
Matthew got up, went to his writing desk, and opened the first drawer. From it he withdrew the blood card that had been slipped under his door three nights ago in a plain white envelope sealed with a dab of red wax. Then he took it with him to the chair, sat down once more, and turned the card between his hands.
The envelope was not from Mr. Ellery's stock. He'd gone there first. Did not care to show him the card, but he was sure it had likewise not been purchased from Mr. Ellery.
A plain, elegant white card with a single b.l.o.o.d.y fingerprint at its center.
A death vow.
Whether it takes one week, or one month, or one year or ten years...
Professor Fell never forgets.
He continued turning the card between his hands. A small thing. A trifle, really.
The question was: who had slipped it beneath his door? If not the professor, then someone acting on the professor's authority. A surrogate son? Or daughter? Who?
Matthew had known, really, what Berry had been searching his face for. It had been there, hidden all the time. But he couldn't let her see it. No. Never. For if he let himself care about anyone, if he dared to care...then two might die as cheaply as one, for a soul could be murdered as well as a body. Ask Katherine Herrald to talk about Richard.
She had come close to being killed at Chapel's estate. He wouldn't let that happen, ever again. She would be kept at arm's length. A friend. That only.
That. Only.
Matthew picked up the magnifying gla.s.s, and through it by candlelight examined the fingerprint.
He wondered if he compared it to the print on the blood card possessed by Magistrate Powers, would it be the same? No, this was his chain to drag. The magistrate was in the Carolina colony now, with his wife Judith and younger son Roger, getting settled in the town near Lord Kent's tobacco plantation to work with his elder brother Durham. G.o.d guide him in his progress, and G.o.d protect a good man.
But Professor Fell, the deadly hand, never forgets.
Matthew held the gla.s.s close to the fingerprint and narrowed his eyes.
How like a maze a fingerprint was, he thought. How like the unknown streets and alleys of a strange city. Curving and circling, ending here and going there, snaking and twisting and cut by a slash.
Matthew followed the maze with his gla.s.s, deeper and deeper, deeper still.
Deeper yet, toward the center of it all.
The End
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