and quickly and efficiently set about making a copy.
When he was finished, he replaced the papers exactly as they had been. He put his copy in an envelope together with a short covering letter that explained that he had received the request and hoped that this was what was wanted. He also included the address of another employee of the Museum — a man called George Archer. It had not been difficult to get into Mansfield’s office and find the information he needed. Berry sealed the envelope and quickly wrote the name of the recipient on it: Augustus Lorimore.
Berry locked the office behind him with a duplicate key that Sir William knew nothing about. He did not expect Sir William back for a while yet, but he was still in a hurry. The man with the scar was waiting.
Chapter 13
Mr Blade waited patiently and silently while Augustus Lorimore read Berry’s letter. Clutching the paper in spindly, spider’s leg fingers, Lorimore read it through twice. His lips twitched as he reached the end for the second time. Then he bunched the letter into a tight ball and hurled it across the drawing room.
Blade did not react. But he noted where the letter had fallen so he could recover and burn it later.
‘You wish me to deal with these people, now that we know where Archer lives, sir?’
‘I don’t care what happens to them, Blade.’ Lorimore turned away, studying the sightless birds that stared back at him from behind the glass. ‘Just so long as I get what I want, and they never interfere with my work again.’
‘I shall be happy to arrange that, sir,’ Blade assured him. He was smiling thinly, his mouth a knife-slash across his face. ‘It will be dark early this evening. We can move then, without fear of being seen.’
Lorimore turned back from the display case. ‘I can’t wait until this evening, you dolt.’ He nodded at the window on the other side of the room. A thin mist was already pressing up against it, filtering the pale winter sunlight. ‘The smog is thickening already. I’m sure your thugs can run fast enough to escape any interference. And in half an hour you’ll barely be able to see your hand in front of your face.’
There were springs and cogwheels and screws and oddly shaped bits of metal all over the table. Eddie watched with interest as George arranged the bits and pieces. He had a magnifying glass mounted on a metal bracket so he could see what he was working on. When Eddie tried to peer through, George pushed him out of the way with a grunt of annoyance.
‘What you making, anyway?’ Eddie demanded for the third time.
‘It’s only a prototype,’ George mumbled.
‘A type of what?’
George sighed and put down the tiny wheel he had been examining. He hunted for another with the tweezers, eventually selecting one that looked to Eddie to be identical to the first.
Liz had left them soon after Sir William Protheroe. That had been hours ago now. Eddie reckoned it must be getting on for lunchtime, but he was fascinated when George got out his collection of tools. They were so tiny — like proper carpenter’s tools, only much smaller. There were screwdrivers, knives, tweezers, clamps, and even a miniature saw.
‘You a jeweller?’ Eddie asked.
‘No,’ George told him. ‘I mend clocks and watches.’
Eddie had quite a collection of pocket watches stashed away. He considered offering them to George, but he might not approve. Anyway, most of them worked, if he bothered to wind them up.
‘I still don’t know what it is,’ Eddie said, watching closely as George started to assemble various components he had built into a single compact unit.
‘It’s for Liz — Miss Oldfield. She wants me to work out a mechanism for sending a silver ashtray flying across the stage.’
‘What stage?’
‘At the theatre. She indulges in amateur dramatics.’
George sat back and inspected his work. The spring was fixed between two metal plates. One kept the whole contraption stable on the top of the table. The other was fixed to the top at an angle. A small key emerged from the side of the device, and George wound it carefully. As he did so, the spring contracted and the top plate, which was slightly indented, lowered and levelled.
‘Pass me that ball bearing, will you?’
Eddie did so. ‘It isn’t an ashtray,’ he pointed out.
‘This is just to test if my design will work.’ George placed the ball bearing on the top plate. The small steel ball sat easily in the middle, where the plate had been hollowed slightly. ‘If it does, I can build a larger version that will catapult the ashtray.’
George turned the device so it was pointing across the room towards the door and reached for a hinged sliver of metal that was protruding from the edge of the device. He hesitated just before his finger reached it. ‘Come here, Eddie. You do it.’
‘Do what?’ Eddie joined George at the table, and George pointed.
‘Press that trigger.’
‘Trigger? You mean, this is like a gun?’
George sighed. ‘Not really. Just push it. Gently, mind, so you don’t jolt the thing.’
‘Like this?’
Eddie gingerly pressed on the bit of metal. It was sharp and bit into the skin on the end of his finger, but it moved easily enough. There was a dull click as the spring suddenly expanded. It forced the top plate rapidly upwards, pivoting it around a metal rod so that the ball bearing was flung off.
The steel ball was hurled across the room like a bullet. It hit the door, embedding itself in the wooden panelling with a splintering crunch.
‘Wow!’ Eddie exclaimed with delight.
George was grinning too. ‘Maybe a bit fierce,’ he noted. ‘We need to angle it so the ashtray is lobbed up in the air rather than shot out like that.’
‘It worked though,’ Eddie said. He was impressed. For the first time he realised that George Archer was maybe not just a boring grown-up who delighted in telling other people what to do.
While George set to work adjusting the spring slightly, Eddie started to tidy away the tools and spare components. George was winding up the device once more when there was a knock at the front door.
‘That might be Liz,’ George said eagerly. ‘Have a look, will you?’
Eddie went to the window and peered out into the street. The fog was thick now, and all he could see was a grey blanket hanging across the world. There were several darker patches that could be people. He leaned forward until his forehead was against the cool glass and tried to make out who it was outside.
‘I meant, answer the door,’ George said irritably.
‘Keep your hair on, I’m going.’
Eddie leaned back from the window. But he did not go to the door. For at that moment, a face loomed out of the mist. Someone was leaning towards the window, trying to look in. The face was contorted, grinning horribly as it saw Eddie on the other side of the glass. It was a face Eddie instantly recognised, even before he saw the pale scar running down one side of it.
‘Cripes!’ Eddie yelled. ‘It’s him — they found us.’
At the same moment, the knocking at the door became a hammering. Then a splintering as the wood around the lock gave way.
‘Come on,’ Eddie shouted at George. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘But this is my home,’ George protested.
Eddie did not wait to argue. He pushed George across the room towards the door.
‘Wait.’ George struggled free of Eddie’s grasp and ran back to the table. He scooped up his device and several ball bearings. Then he was running back across the room and together they tumbled out into the hallway.
The front door was shaking and shuddering as the men outside put their shoulders to it. A strip of wood flew
