Doyle wanted to kill them for it.
Across the table, Alexander grinned viciously as he reclaimed his seat, looking slowly back and forth at Doyle and Eileen, showing his teeth. It was the most naked expression of feeling Doyle had seen the man display.
He likes to see fear, realized Doyle. He feeds off it.
'You were saying, Professor,' said Alexander.
'Yes. Having made this providential association, my new friend and I continued our peregrinations around the world, but with renewed purpose,' Vamberg went on, leaning close enough to Doyle that the first words gave him a start.
'Purpose.'
'We pursued the acquaintance of elemental forces in other countries, other continents. To our amazement, we discovered they were more than willing to disclose their secrets to us— and among them, Doctor, are wonders to behold: life itself!—in trade for a service which only we, in turn, could provide for them.'
Doyle nodded, not willing to speak, unable to trust he could keep from betraying his growing terror. Desecrating Barry in this grisly way, it was likely they had done the same to his brother. The inference that the same fate awaited himself and Eileen was unmistakable.
'These elementals of the earth had once been united under the governance of a unifying spirit,' continued Vamberg. 'A powerful entity, worshiped by primitive people of the world in a variety of guises throughout history. A being tragically, savagely misunderstood by our religiously intolerant Western forebears—I won't mention any names—'
The Bishop chortled agreeably.
'—who have systemically engaged in brutal, senseless persecution of this entity and its legions of worshipers. The ascendancy of Western man, with his paltry, self-centered concerns and small-minded monotheistic obsessions, finally succeeded in driving this being out of the physical plane altogether, into a twilight, purgatorial existence.'
'The Devil,' said Doyle.
'The Christian conception of him, yes. Here was their proposal: In exchange for the continued bestowal of their beneficent genius, the elementals asked our cooperation in returning this great spirit into the world, there to assume its rightful seat among them. This was the service they required of us—it seems only humans could provide such a service. And so, with the help of our assembled colleagues, for the greater glory of man and nature, this we have agreed to do.'
The rest of the table grew quiet, watching Doyle carefully for his reaction. Insane, he thought. All of them. Beyond the pale.
'You're speaking of the Dweller on the Threshold,' he said.
'Oh, he has many, many names,' said the Bishop cheerfully.
Reaching in to grab the decanter of wine, Prince Eddy succeeded in knocking it over, flooding the tablecloth with a shocking stream of black-red claret. The Prince giggled girlishly. A dark look passed between Alexander and Dr. Gull, who responded by rising to his feet.
'His Highness extends his regrets,' said Gull roundly, 'but it has been a most exhausting day. He will take the remainder of his meal in chambers before retiring.'
Prince Eddy gestured and grumbled an objection. Gull whispered in his ear and pulled the thoroughly sodden man to his feet. Balking petulantly at Gull's instructions, the Prince yanked his arm away; his elbow hit his chair, and it crashed to the floor. Gull's face turned beet red.
'Good evening, Your Highness,' said Alexander Sparks, His voice cut through the silence like a scalpel. 'Rest well.'
The Prince's expression turned meek and docile. He nodded meekly to Alexander. Dr. Gull took the Duke firmly by the arm and led him toward the stairs. Gull whispered to him again, the Prince stopped, assembled his tatterdemalion dignity, and addressed the table.
'Thank you all ... and good night,' he said.
Similar felicitations were returned. Gull steered the Prince in a wide arc to the stairs. The Prince stumbled once, Gull righted him, and they began to climb, cautiously, one stair at a time. Prince Eddy looked as forlorn and toothless as a decrepit bear in a street circus.
As Doyle watched him go, something heavy dropped onto the table in front of him. His manuscript.
'Perhaps you can imagine my surprise, Dr. Doyle, when your ... manuscript first crossed the transom of Rathborne and Sons.' Lady Nicholson spoke now, her voice low and throaty, ripe with voluptuously suggestive pauses.
Perhaps I can, thought Doyle.
'When Professor Vamberg and Mr. Graves—that is, Mr. Sparks—introduced themselves to us—'
'Some eleven years ago now,' said the Bishop.
The fussy cleric's elaborations appeared to go over no better with Lady Nicholson than they had with Vamberg.
'Thank you, Your Worship. Sir John, General Drummond, and myself had shared and studied occultic knowledge for many years: We are of like mind. From the moment the Professor and Mr. Sparks came to England, made themselves known to us, and we dedicated ourselves to our ... joint interests ... absolute secrecy has been our foremost consideration. So, yes, imagine our surprise when that ... document . . . arrived on my desk. Written by a young, unknown, and unpublished physician—forgive me, a nobody—who, it seemed by the evidence available on the page, had been eavesdropping ... over our shoulders for these many years.'
But it was an accident, he wanted to tell them. I lifted half of that folderol straight out of Blavatsky, and the rest was blind, stupid luck. Doyle knew that was not what they wished to hear, and it would avail him not to offer it up.
'So we are ...' Lady Nicholson purred, 'and have been, for some time, most anxious to receive an ... explanation for ... this.' She gestured languidly toward the book.
Doyle nodded slowly. He felt their eyes crawling over him like insects. 'I do understand, Lady Nicholson. To begin, may I just say how greatly I admire what the lot of you have accomplished,' Doyle said, affecting the stuffy academician persona he'd worn in the coach with Alexander. 'How grand and enterprising your work. Visionary indeed. Bravo all. Most impressive.'
'How did you come to know of ... our work?' asked Lady Nicholson.
'I can see there's no use in pretending, I may as well confess,' said Doyle casually, praying his powers of invention would not pick this moment to fail him. 'The plain truth is ... I've made a study of you.'
'A study,' said Lady Nicholson, cocking an eyebrow.
Veiled, discreet, and troubled looks passed back and forth among them.
'Oh yes,' continued Doyle blithely. 'Presumed and forsworn secrecy is one thing and all very well and good— heaven forbid it should be otherwise, given what you've been on about—and one would assume you'd have no difficulty whatsoever secreting the activities of seven such extraordinarily gifted individuals from the eyes and ears of such a modest admirer—a nobody, if you will. But an admirer in possession of such a profound desire to divine your purpose ... well, that's quite another kettle of fish entirely.'
There was a lengthy silence.
'How?' demanded Drummond.
Doyle managed a lighthearted chuckle. 'One might as well ask you, respectfully, General Drummond, sir, to freely divulge your most cherished military secrets. No, no, my investigative methods are not a subject I intend to discuss. Why, however. Now there's a proper question. Why? And the answer to that, my lords and lady, is something I would be only too happy to share with you.'
Doyle leaned back, took a sip of wine, and smiled brazenly. He caught Eileen's eye for the briefest moment, during which she silently inquired if he had gone mad, realized this was distinctly not the case, and indicated her improvisatory cooperation was available if needed or called upon. He covertly nodded his acknowledgment.
'Why, then?' asked Alexander Sparks. He glowered lupinely, but there was uncertainty in his face.
This is the second time I've confounded him, thought Doyle. For some reason, he can't see past this ludicrous, slapdash facade I've constructed: The man has a blind spot.
'Why, indeed, Mr. Sparks,' said Doyle, leaning confi-
dently forward. 'Well. Here I sit among you. Granted, ad-judged against this august company, I am a man of
