“I went home as quickly as I could. When I got there, Diogenes was awake and waiting for me. He looked at me, his young face creased with wariness and distrust. In triumph, I told him what I’d done and why. I chastised him again for his ridiculous and childish superstitions. I told him I hoped this would be a lesson to him. I was quite awful, and I’m ashamed even today to think of how I behaved. The tragedy of how Diogenes turned out must partly be laid on my shoulders.”
Pendergast fell silent for a long moment, and then resumed. “He flew into a fit such as I’d never seen before. ‘Old Dufour’s going to come!’ he cried in terror, the tears springing to his eyes. ‘You stole his tooth, and now he’s going to come—
“I was taken aback but still maintained the superior, older-and-wiser-brother attitude. I said Dufour would certainly not come, that he had no idea he was considered the tooth fairy, and that he had seen neither Diogenes nor me and was unaware a tooth had even been left. But Diogenes didn’t believe a word of it; he insisted that Dufour’s entire existence was for teeth, that he waited for them every night, that he treasured them, and that he had surely seen everything both he and I had done that night.
“The very violence and rawness of emotion — unusual for him — shocked me. This was when I began to realize I had done something wrong — very wrong. I felt guilty and ashamed. I saw that my own behavior had been cruel. Diogenes alternated between juvenile paroxysms of rage and spells of crying — the only time that I can remember ever seeing him cry. And so I apologized. I tried to point out, in my youthful way, how unreasonable his fears were. I promised to protect him. Nothing helped. In the end, I grew frustrated myself with his hysterics and left for my own bedroom.
“Old Dufour didn’t come for him that night. In the morning, at the breakfast table, Diogenes was silent and morose. I pointed out to him again that his fears were totally unfounded. But even as I was explaining that, I felt uneasy recalling the emptiness of the cuspidor, the absence of other teeth. There were dozens, even hundreds of children in the French Quarter; surely the teeth would have piled up. So where were they? Why weren’t there at least a few others in the cuspidor? But I dismissed such thoughts as best I could.
“At lunch Diogenes remained the same — agitated, resentful, and upset. Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, he vanished. He frequently went away like that — without telling anyone where he was going or, upon returning, where he had been — so, even under the circumstances, I wasn’t particularly concerned. I figured he was off hiding in a closet with one of his forbidden books or indulging in some childish experiment in the vast basement of our home.
“He had not returned by dinner. Uncle Everett was concerned until I assured him that Diogenes often disappeared like this and that he should not worry. After dinner, over his brandy and cigar, Uncle Everett complained about ‘improper nocturnal perambulations for one so young,’ but I once again reassured him that Diogenes would soon reappear. Satisfied, my uncle went up to bed.
“Diogenes was still missing in the morning, and now the household grew alarmed. Uncle Everett gave me a serious dressing-down for leading him to think it hadn’t been a problem. I was in agony, wondering if I should tell him what had happened the day before. But I was still fairly sure Diogenes, angry at what I’d done, had gone off sulking and was safe and sound in some hiding place. After a thorough search of the house turned up nothing, Uncle called the police. All attempts at locating my brother proved fruitless. Various unsavory locales in the French Quarter were searched, as well as the tracks along the waterfront, the Canal Street piers, and Woldenberg Park. Finally, around four in the afternoon of August twenty-seventh, when my uncle was agitating to have the waterfront dragged, I broke down and told him what had transpired two days before. At this point I had begun to be afraid, and yet still not quite believing, that maybe Diogenes had been right… and Old Dufour had come for him.
“My uncle was highly skeptical — to say the least. He certainly could not take such a notion to the police, he said — it was too patently absurd. But he was worried sick and especially frightened of our father, who was an irascible and even violent man and who, on his return, would blame him for losing his son and might thrash him. In the end he sighed, wiped his face, and said, ‘I suppose one must try every avenue. I will go myself to see Monsieur Dufour.’
“He roused himself and I watched from the front parlor window as he walked down the lane, in the direction of Montegut Street. I expected him to return within the hour. Instead, he was gone almost four hours. But then at last — it was nearly midnight, and I was sitting on the main staircase, unable to sleep — I heard a key fumbling in the lock of the front door. There was my uncle Everett, with Diogenes at his side. My brother was ashen, stone- faced. He immediately and wordlessly went up to his room, closed and locked his door, and did not come out for several days.”
Pendergast paused. The Riverside Drive mansion had gone very silent. The fire had died down, and the coals were crackling very quietly on the grate. The windows were closed tight and covered with heavy drapes; no sound of the traffic outside filtered in to the hush of the library. After another moment, Pendergast continued.
“But my uncle looked terrible. Hideous in fact. He was strangely disheveled, very unlike him, and his eyes were deeply bloodshot. His face looked all wrong, somehow: his jaws sunken, his cheeks hollow, his lips trembling as if palsied, but the lower portion grossly swollen, as if he were carrying water in his mouth. And the color of his skin — it was crimson, almost purple, and there was a cut on his cheek. He stared at me with a dreadful expression — his mouth set, a hard glitter to his eyes — I had never seen in him before. I fancied I saw flecks of blood on his collar.
“He went into the back part of the house and called for the housekeeper. When I heard his voice, I was shocked. It was changed, different — slurred and thick, as if he were drunk. I could only vaguely make out the conversation, but it seemed my uncle was requesting confirmation that my father would be returning the following day. He would be going out again immediately, he continued, and was entrusting myself and Diogenes to her care.
“Having received the confirmation he desired, he next went into the study. I was still sitting on the staircase, terrified, listening to everything. I heard the scratching of a pen. And then Uncle Everett emerged again. Although it was a sultry night, he had put on a white linen jacket. One hand was sunk into a pocket of the jacket; I could see his white knuckles gripping the handle of a pistol. He didn’t appear to see me as he opened the front door and vanished into the darkness.
“I waited for him to return, but he did not. Diogenes remained behind his locked door, refusing to answer my knocks and entreaties. The night passed with no Uncle Everett. The next day came and still I waited. Morning gave way to noon, and then afternoon. And still, Diogenes remained holed up in his room; and still, Uncle Everett did not return. I was sick with feelings of dread.
“My father returned that evening, looking grim. From my room, I could hear murmured conversations from downstairs. Finally, around nine o’clock, my father summoned me to his study. Wordlessly, he handed me a scrawled note. I can still recall its contents, word for word.
Dear Linnaeus,
I visited M. Dufour on Montegut Street this evening. I went in ignorance and foolishly without precaution. But I am not returning in the same fashion. I could take this to the police, but — for reasons that may or may not ever become clear — this is something I wish to attend to personally. If you had been
You see, Linnaeus, I had no choice. Dufour felt he had been robbed. And so I
Should I not return from my errand, young Diogenes and Aloysius can furnish you with all further particulars in this matter.
Good-bye, cousin. I remain,
Yours truly,
Everett
“When I handed the letter back, my father looked at me intently. ‘Would you care to explain the meaning of this, Aloysius?’ His tone was mild and yet as coiled as a steel trap.
“Haltingly — with a mixture of embarrassment, shame, and fear — I told him all that had transpired. He
