Noble Benevolence.
'Absolutely no show, I'm afraid,' reported the Yard man, settling into his seat. 'We simply couldn't get into the place; it was locked up like a fortress. The lights were blazing and we could see all manner of machinery sparking away inside but of a single man there was no sign. Lord knows what kind of glass they've used in the place; we battered at it with crowbars to absolutely no effect. As for the doors, I doubt even dynamite could shift them. I've posted men around the building, of course, but aside from that, what can I do? But see here, Captain Burton-I took it on faith that you had a good reason for the raid. Perhaps you might enlighten me now?'
'For that, Detective Inspector, we shall turn to my bedridden friend here. May I present Mr. Algernon Swinburne, the esteemed poet,' said Burton, graciously.
'And follower of de Sade!' blurted Trounce.
Mrs. Angell, who was at the back of the room pouring cups of tea, cleared her throat.
'Oh, I say-I'm-er-' mumbled the detective.
Swinburne giggled and said, 'Pleased to meet you, Detective Inspector; and I assure you that despite my proclivity for the vices of the aforementioned gentleman-if gentleman is the appropriate word, which it almost certainly isn't-these wounds you see were neither self-inflicted nor delivered by request.'
'Um-by Jove, that's a relief,' responded Trounce, uncertainly.
'I think-' began Mrs. Angell, with a glance at the sister.
Burton held up his hand to stop her and interjected: 'There are ladies present, gentlemen; let's not forget that. Now then, Algy, perhaps you can give us an account of your experiences?'
The little poet leaned back on his pillow-his hair luminescent against its whiteness-and closed his eyes. He commenced his tale with a description of his apprenticeship with Vincent Sneed then moved on to the events in the cemetery and his subsequent confrontation with Charles Darwin.
As he spoke, he enthralled them with his choice of words and intonation, and, for the first time, Burton realised that his friend truly did possess an astonishing talent, and had the potential to be counted a literary giant if only he could remain sober for long enough to achieve it.
After Swinburne finished, there was a long silence, which was finally broken by Trounce.
'Phew!' he gasped. 'They must be maniacs!'
'Triply so,' noted Burton. 'In the first place, they're meddling with the natural order of things; in the second, the results of their experiments will be a hopelessly tangled mix of interrelated consequences, which surely defeats the point; and in the third, even if they could separate the fruits of their endeavours, they wouldn't have anything to measure until many generations from now, by which time the experimenters themselves will be long dead. It makes no sense.'
'I told Darwin as much,' Swinburne informed them, 'yet he seemed confident enough. He said time was the key and was just about to tell me more when Oliphant arrived and stopped him.'
'Time,' pondered Burton. 'Interesting. It occurred to me that, in the case of Spring Heeled Jack, time also seems to be a key-if not the keyelement.'
'And you told me Oliphant repeated almost word for word something that Jack had earlier said to you,' put in Trounce.
'Yes. It's puzzling. Very puzzling indeed.'
'I can have a warrant put out for Charles Darwin's arrest on grounds of abduction, illegal medical experiments, and probably murder,' said Trounce. 'Which will no doubt delight what remains of the Church. Nurse Nightingale needs to be rounded up and questioned, too, for she certainly seems to be in the thick of it. Laurence Oliphant can be charged with the murder of little Billy Tupper. He'll dangle by the neck, I don't doubt. But as far as Isambard Kingdom Brunel is concerned, I can't arrest a man-if he is a man-for inventing machines and remaining alive after everyone thinks him dead! '
'I say,' piped Swinburne. 'Where's the coat? I picked up Oliphant's coat. Where is it?'
'Here,' said Burton, rising and stepping to the wardrobe. He withdrew the item of clothing, which was still damp from the rain.
'I thought he might have a pocket book or something.'
'Good lad!' exclaimed Trounce.
'Auguste Dupin!' Swinburne smiled, though the reference was lost on the Yard man.
Burton went through the garment. He found a silver pocket watch, a silk handkerchief, a packet of cigarettes which smelled faintly of opium, a set of peculiar items which Trounce identified as lock-picks, a key chain with four keys upon it, a pencil, and, to Swinburne's delight, a small notebook.
Leafing through the pages, they found recorded all twenty-eight abductions plus the names and ages of each of the chimney sweeps. Disappointingly, this was information that the Beetle had already provided.
Various appointments that had already occurred were noted, though only the dates were given, nothing about the venue or attendees. Indecipherable markings accompanied these entries but Burton, the expert linguist, could see at a glance that they'd be impossible to decode.
There were no future assignations marked.
He sighed. 'It was an excellent try, Algy, but no luck, I'm afraid.'
'Blast it!' muttered the poet.
'Excuse me, sir,' interrupted Mrs. Angell. 'There's the hat, too.'
'The hat? What hat?'
'The one that horrible albino creature left behind him after jumping through your window. I put it on the stand downstairs. Shall I fetch it?'
'Well done, Mrs. Angell! But you stay put-I'll get it.'
He left the room and they heard his footsteps descending.
Mrs. Angell distributed cups of hot sweet tea.
Sister Raghavendra plumped Swinburne's pillow.
He sighed with delight.
Detective Inspector Trounce reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar, glanced at the ladies, and pushed it back in again.
Burton returned.
'I could kiss you, Mrs. Angell. I found this in the hat's inner lining.'
He held a small square of paper upon which a few words were written in pencil. He read it to them:
URGENT! 0 confirm: DTs 2909 2300. D y? B y? N y? B.
'More code!' grunted Trounce.
'No, this isn't code, old man. This is simple abbreviation,' stated Burton.
'For what?'
'Look at these letter y's with a question mark. The simplest possible answer to a question is either `yes' or `no.' If these y's represent `yes,' then the question mark, it seems to me, is a request for confirmation.'
'Ah, I follow you!' exclaimed Trounce.
'And, having just listened to Algy's story, how can we doubt that D, B, and N stand for Darwin, Brunel, and Nightingale?'
'By George! Now it seems obvious! And the 0 is Oliphant, who's being asked to confirm something about them! But who is the second B?'
'I don't know. We'll come back to that. As for what it is this mysterious B wants confirmed, the two sets of numbers give it away: it's a date and a time using the twenty-four-hour clock. The 29th of September at eleven o'clock in the evening. That's this coming Sunday night. A meeting, I'll wager.'
'By Jove! You're as sharp as a tack. I'd have been mulling over this note for hours! How about the DTs?'
'Delirium tremens!' suggested Swinburne enthusiastically.
'Silly ass!' Burton smiled. 'I'd say it represents the location.'
'If there really is a connection between Spring Heeled Jack and Oliphant, as you suspect,' said Trounce softly, 'mightn't DTs represent Darkening Towers? It was, after all, the home of Beresford, who was suspected of being Jack, and who was also the leader of the Rake movement before he died.'
'And Oliphant is his successor!' cried Swinburne.
Burton looked at the Scotland Yard detective with an expression of admiration.
'I'd bet my right arm that you've hit the proverbial nail slap bang on its head! '
