Part 20 (1/2)

”Good news, Bill,” he said. ”Finn and Clara and their lot are free of Klingheimer's house. A knot of villains was chasing them, but I put paid to their capers. Two notches on my stick, and a third man sent packing. A good afternoon's work, although I learned nothing of Klingheimer, nothing at all. It was dumb luck that I came along when I did.”

With that, Tubby turned away and mounted the stairs, keeping his head judiciously turned away from the patrons, who in fact paid him no mind.

In the silence that followed, Hasbro considered what Kraken and Mother Laswell had told him about the dead house, about Shadwell driving the cart away with a coffin in the back, about the man nailed into what might be his own coffin if he weren't set free, and his freedom dependent upon his honesty. ”We must a.s.sume that they have taken St. Ives,” he said, looking at Kraken, who still hadn't touched his food.

”Or maybe this Klingheimer means to draw all of us into his web now that we know enough to be a danger to him,” Mother put in.

”Possibly,” Hasbro said to her, ”but we must find out in any event. There is no choice. What do you know of Wimpole Street, Bill? I can picture the surgeries and the general lay of things. Most of the buildings are fenced a broad, open street, as I recall.”

He watched as Kraken rubbed his chin with his fingers and stared into his ale gla.s.s. Bill Kraken had lived on the streets of London for years, and he knew every inch of it. He fairly loathed the city, however, for what it had done to him driven him mad for a time.

”Posh houses out that way,” he said after thinking for a moment, ”and the medicos, like you spoke. There's an alley runs along behind it, the back way into doctors' houses, deliveries and such. All sorts coming and going, early and late. Corpses in and out, greengrocers and fishmongers....”

Tubby reappeared wearing a fresh s.h.i.+rt and vest, his face washed clean. His hat still stood atop his head, pulled down tightly. ”By G.o.d this is food to set a person up,” he said, plunging his fork into his portion of pie and hacking up the crust. In a lower voice, he said, ”Here's the way of it: Finn and his lot came out of a door in Klingheimer's house and made away toward the river. Miss Bracken was with them, along with a dwarf in a beaver hat.”

”Lord have mercy,” Mother Laswell said. ”I saw the Bracken woman through a high window, and I knew it was no good that she was there a prisoner, I thought. It's a blessing she's out.”

”What manner of dwarf?” Kraken asked, narrowing his eyes.

”Smallish,” Tubby told him, ”but a game dwarf. He gave me a fierce look as he pa.s.sed me. If Finn had not called out my name, I'm certain the dwarf would have savaged me. Pardon me if I don't remove my bowler, Mother. It's currently holding my head together.”

”You'll want a doctor,” Mother Laswell said.

”To the contrary, I want nothing more than my share of this capital pie, two gla.s.ses of ale, and to know what's up. Where are Alice and St. Ives?”

”Missing,” said Hasbro. ”The both of them.”

”Neither returned?”

”No, sir,” Kraken said.

While they ate, making a job of it but wasting no time, they caught each other up. Kraken told what happened to Alice, and Mother showed Tubby the missive from Finn welcome evidence that they might yet find a way into the underworld to search for Gilbert.

”Now that we're all a.s.sembled,” Hasbro said, ”I can think of no better plan than to proceed to Wimpole Street, Bill leading the way. Tubby and I will approach from the street, and Mother and Bill from the alley front and back, and no hullabaloo. Whoever succeeds first will let the others in. And mark me, the asylum is full of innocents. We cannot be careless.”

”And yet we must a.s.sume that no one is innocent,” Tubby said. ”Klingheimer's house is full of cutthroats. The same must be true of Peavy's.”

”I'll attend to the boarders,” Mother Laswell said. ”Hereafter Farm has seen its share of those who have been touched. It's them who first called me mother, aside from my own sons. I have a way with them.”

”Well then,” Tubby said. ”Death or glory, I say. More notches for my stick, if my luck is in.”

”I counsel a quiet glory,” Hasbro said. ”Our friends are in a precarious way. These men mustn't know of our existence until we're upon them.”

”Agreed,” Tubby said, ”but they'll know of it then, by G.o.d.”

THIRTY-FIVE.

THE MADHOUSE.

So this is how it ends, St. Ives thought, and it came into his mind that he had never in his life done anything more suicidally foolish than he had today looking into the asylum alone, betting his life on the kindly demeanor of the old gatekeeper. When Pule had locked the gate, trapping him inside, the tale had been told, all but the epilogue.

But was that true, or was there a larger, more d.a.m.ning truth? He thought about the murder of Sarah Wright and his saying that he would ”look into it.” He had visited Pullman and learned the details of the woman's death. He had visited the icehouse and had his suspicions verified, or something near to that. He had pa.s.sed the false policemen on the road, and he had known that there was something wrong with them. He had been happy with the notion that Clara's problem could be solved by whisking her away to Yorks.h.i.+re, and had left for London without a backward glance in order to take a scientific ramble that had come to nothing beyond ruination. Klingheimer was forthright in his self-regard and his contemptible undertakings, but St. Ives had believed in himself no less in his own rationalizations and not in the apparent truth.

The squeaking of wheels interrupted his thinking. He could see nothing of what was transpiring behind him, although he knew that the door was still open could smell the fresh air blowing in. He was unable to turn his head, however. Then a rolling table came into view, followed by Shadwell, who was pus.h.i.+ng it, Klingheimer following. On top of the table lay a simple wooden coffin.

St. Ives's mind went dark with fear. He had no doubt, no doubt at all, that Alice lay in the coffin, but whether alive or dead...

”Your face tells the tale, Professor,” Klingheimer said. ”You a.s.sume correctly. I told you that you would soon be reunited with Alice, and I have kept my promise. She is perfectly well, however. I am told that chloroform often makes the head ache when the effects of the drug diminish, but the pain pa.s.ses away quickly.”

”Open it,” St. Ives said in a voice that cracked.

”In the fullness of time, sir. We will open it when she stirs. I am told that she was very gallant in her efforts on your behalf, Professor. She put the wind up our man Lewis at the Board of Works. She brazenly accused him of blowing up the entrance to the sink-hole in an attempt to murder you and Mr. Frobisher, which was near enough to the mark to paralyze Mr. Lewis with fear. I can a.s.sure you that Mr. Lewis was guilty of stupidity, however, rather than attempted murder. I care nothing for Gilbert Frobisher, dead or alive, but I was positively elated when you appeared here at the asylum today, demanding to see Dr. Peavy. If you had died in the explosion, I would have been compelled to dispose of Mr. Lewis. But the man has redeemed himself by contriving to send Alice to me.”

There was a rustling in the coffin now and a knocking against the side. Klingheimer nodded to Shadwell, who prised off the lid with a crowbar and then carried it out of sight.

”She's a great beauty, sir,” Klingheimer said, gazing into the box. ”I congratulate you on the several years that the two of you shared.”

Alice sat up, holding her head and looking about her, mystified. Her eyes focused on St. Ives, and after a moment of evident confusion, a look of horror crossed her features, followed by something more calculating. Shadwell returned then and stood nearby.

St. Ives shook his head slightly. Peavy's was a madhouse in every sense of the word, and Alice was in mortal danger something that she appeared to be increasingly aware of. She mustn't do anything rash, or even think of doing so. She was staring past St. Ives now at the heads in the basins, no doubt. She looked at him again, at the device that encircled his neck. Shadwell placed his hands upon her shoulders. If he had the power to murder the man, St. Ives would have done so in an instant, but he willed himself to keep his composure to watch for his chance, although he knew he had no chance at all.

”Be at ease, ma'am,” Klingheimer said. ”You are powerless here. You wonder where you are, no doubt, and I can tell you. You have made your way to the center of a grand experiment in the science of human ascension.”

Hasbro and Tubby crossed Wimpole Street just up from the gatehouse, not showing any undue haste. The window shutter slid along a track, and was half closed against the wind. There was an old gentleman within the lamplit interior, his magazine turned toward the light, his spectacles reflecting the glare. The door in the side of the gatehouse stood open three or four inches, and Tubby planted himself very near it, ready to step inside in order to beard the old man in his den. Through the open door Tubby saw that a drawer stood open near the man's left hand, a small pistol lying within.

Hasbro rapped twice on the shutter, leaned his head into the hut, and said, ”I am Detective Newnes of Scotland Yard.”

”A pleasure to meet you, sir,” the old man said, making no move toward the pistol. ”How can I accommodate you?”

”I have a warrant for the arrest of Dr. Peavy on the charge of kidnapping and murder. You can accommodate me by opening the gate.”

”Might I see the warrant, sir? My job requires it.”

”Not any longer, it doesn't,” Tubby said, pus.h.i.+ng the door fully open and stepping into the hut. ”Your job requires that you keep your hand away from that pistol.” Tubby watched the man's face as he reached into the drawer for the weapon, and put it into his pocket. ”Now, the gate key, sir. If you cry out or make an attempt to warn your employer of his impending doom, you doom yourself into the bargain. In short, I mean to break both your kneecaps with my stick if I'm required to do so. It'll take several blows, no doubt, but I'll put my weight into it. Do you understand me?”

”Completely, sir,” the man said, looking at Tubby over the top of his spectacles. ”There is no need for violence, no need at all. I had no idea of...”

”Of wasting our time while your cohorts escape? Quick now, the gate key.”