He walked briskly down the hall that led to room 116. The numbers, in fading paint, were barely visible on the door. He knocked in a peculiar manner on the door and waited expectantly.
No reply.
Henry frowned slightly and knocked again, then called out to one of the two agents he’d left to guard Alcazar.
“It’s me, Brianna. Russo. Open the door.”
His agents had been up all night. They had probably fallen asleep. He drew out his key, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door.
“It’s Russo. I’m not alone-”
Henry came to a sudden halt. He stared in amazement so great he was momentarily paralyzed.
His two agents, the man and the woman, were dead. The man lay on the floor in a pool of blood. His pistol was at his side. He’d drawn it, but never had a chance to use it. The woman was sprawled in a blood-soaked chair, her vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. Both had been shot at point-blank range, the man through the head, the woman through the heart.
Rodrigo stood staring at the body of the woman. “Oh, my God! Is that… her? I mean him?”
Stephano grabbed his friend and shoved him back out into the hall. “Go fetch Dag. He’s coming in the front.”
Rodrigo didn’t move. “I don’t understand-”
“Go!” said Stephano.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” said Stephano in a grim voice, his gaze on the woman. “That’s Alcazar.”
Henry, in his first overpowering shock, had made the same mistake. The dead woman was wearing the same clothes as Alcazar; she had been of similar build, height, and weight. But she wasn’t Alcazar. Henry began to breathe again.
“No,” said Henry. “She’s one of my agents.”
“Then where-”
Henry pointed.
The apartment had two rooms: living area and bedchamber. The door to the bedchamber was shut. Henry indicated with a gesture that Alcazar might be in there with the killer. He drew his pistol. Stephano reached for his own pistol.
Henry motioned for Stephano to circle around to the left of the door. Henry kept to the right, a route that would take him past the dining table and the small white card propped up against the saltcellar. He palmed the card as he passed.
Dag entered, accompanied by Doctor Ellington, whose nose twitched at the smell of blood. Henry indicated with a jerk of his thumb that someone might be inside the bedroom. Dag nodded and moved silently to join Stephano. Rodrigo remained in the hall with his hands covering his ears.
Stephano and Dag and Henry stood together, pistols raised, hammers cocked. Henry looked at Stephano, who nodded. Henry kicked in the door and the three men ran inside.
The bedroom was empty. Henry glanced first at the window, saw it was shut, the curtains drawn. He breathed an inward sigh of relief.
“Alcazar,” Henry called, frowning. “It’s me, Russo.”
“I’m here,” quavered a voice.
“Where?” Henry demanded.
“Under the bed!”
“You can come out now,” Henry said. “You are safe. I have friends with me.”
“I would, but I’m stuck…” Alcazar said plaintively.
Henry rolled his eyes, muttered something beneath his breath. He lowered the hammer on his pistol and thrust it back into his belt. He and Stephano managed to disentangle and then drag Alcazar out from beneath the bed. The journeyman was in a pitiable state, shaking and trembling and barely coherent, for which Henry was grateful.
Alcazar claimed he had been asleep on the bed when he’d been wakened by the sounds of gunfire outside the door. He had been so terrified, he had rolled off the bed and crawled underneath it. He had no idea who had fired the shots. He’d heard the killer leave and close the door, but he’d been afraid the murderer would return for him, so he remained in hiding beneath the bed all morning. Alcazar had not seen the killer. If the killer had said anything, Alcazar had not heard it.
He nearly fainted at the sight of the bodies; particularly when he saw the woman in the same clothes he had been wearing. Rodrigo came to the poor man’s aid, pouring wine from a bottle he’d managed to locate for himself.
“Drink this, Madame,” said Rodrigo. “I mean, sir. I find this all frightfully confusing,” he said in a low voice to Stephano.
“Here are the keys to the room next door,” Henry said, handing the keys to Rodrigo. “Take Alcazar there and keep an eye on him, will you?”
Rodrigo escorted the quivering journeyman and the wine bottle into the adjoining apartment. Henry looked up and down the hall, then shut the door.
“Obviously the killer mistook the woman for Alcazar,” said Stephano. “But why would Dubois want to kill Alcazar? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Remember that this Dubois is an agent for Sir Henry Wallace. Perhaps Dubois was acting on orders. After the attempt on his life, Wallace considered Alcazar a danger, a liability,” Henry suggested. “Wallace ordered Dubois to kill him so that he wouldn’t talk.”
“Maybe…” Stephano did not appear convinced. “But if what I hear about Alcazar is true, the value of his discovery is beyond estimation. My mother has told me Wallace is not the type of man who is easily scared.”
“Far be it for me to argue with the opinion of the countess,” said Henry with a bow and a smile.
Dag, meanwhile, had been examining one of the bodies. “I know this man, Captain. He’s the Duke-a knifeman working for one of the bosses, a gent known as the Guvnor. Could be this killing had nothing to do with Wallace or Alcazar, sir. Could be a fight between rival bosses.”
An excellent idea. Henry wished he’d thought of it.
“I believe you are right, sir,” Henry said in admiring tones. “It is quite possible this man was involved in a gang. I knew nothing about him or the woman. I hired them on recommendation.”
“There’s an easy way to find out,” said Stephano. “If Dubois and Wallace’s other agents are still keeping an eye on this place, then Wallace wasn’t the killer. If they’re not there, it means they figure the job is over.”
Sir Henry agreed that this made sense. He locked the door to the room containing the bodies. Stephano sent Dag and Doctor Ellington to join Rodrigo keeping watch on Alcazar. Henry accompanied Stephano to the main entryway. Peering out the window, Henry scanned the street. He saw the two “Sisters” strolling slowly along the avenue. The nuns would stop every so often, studying the addresses on the houses, as though searching for a particular location.
“There,” said Henry, pointing. “In the alley. Those two men. The pudgy man in the hat and cloak, that’s Dubois. I don’t know the name of the other man, but I do know him to be another of Wallace’s agents.”
“You’re right,” said Stephano, watching out another window, keeping behind the curtain. “I recognize Dubois. He’s the man I saw in the cafe.”
“He’s probably come to find out from his agent if Alcazar is still in the building,” said Henry.
“So it wasn’t Dubois who killed your agents,” said Stephano.
“A gangland shooting, as your shrewd lieutenant surmised,” said Henry.
“You smuggle Alcazar out by going over the rooftops, the way we came in,” Stephano suggested. “We’ll keep on eye on Dubois.”
“You’ve met Alcazar, Captain,” said Henry dryly. “Picture that quivering mass of jelly leaping gaps and running across rooftops.”
“I see what you mean,” said Stephano. “Look there. Dubois is leaving.”
“His agent assured him Alcazar and I are still inside,” said Henry. “He’ll be going to make arrangements for our capture. You should follow him.”
“Miri and Gythe know what to do,” said Stephano complacently.
