I glanced down at the Turkey carpet. In the gloom, every shape took on a twisted serpentine form.
«Stay exactly where you are, Delilah,» I murmured. «I’m going to cross the room and open the curtains. Then we’ll get a clearer look at this thing»
«Stay still, sir! For the love hof God, stay still!» Delilah gasped in genuine horror.
I needed no urging for I could feel a soft, appallingly ticklish movement on my trouser leg. Rooted to the spot, I managed to swivel my gaze around to get a glimpse of the creature, but in the shadows I could make out little more than a spiny shape perhaps a foot in length. It was moving inexorably up my calf.
«What shall hi do?» hissed Delilah.
I rolled my eyes. «Get the blasted thing off me!»
Shuddering involuntarily, I struggled not to cry out as the creature undulated again and, with its horrible, creeping motion, reached my thigh.
«Light!» I whispered.
Nodding, Delilah crossed clumsily to the window and carefully raised the blinds. Milky light flooded the room.
Delilah’s cry of disgust did little to assuage my fears.
I risked a look down. Clamped (there is no other word for it) to my leg was the most disgusting animal I have ever laid eyes upon. Yellowy-black in colour it was somewhere between a scorpion and a centipede, its thick carapace glinting dully like amber beads on a string. Its head — upon which were mounted the vicious pair of pincers that had undoubtedly done for the postman — was moving slowly from side to side in a ghastly, skin- crawling oscillation.
«What his it?» cried Delilah.
«Don’t know! Don’t care!» I managed to gurgle from between compressed lips. «We have one advantage on our side though.»
«What’s that?»
I peered for a longer moment at the insect-like abomination. Every part of me thrilled with horror at its touch. It was all I could do to stop myself from grabbing the thing and wrenching it from me.
«I think it’s blind,» I hissed. «Must avoid… agitating it.»
Delilah nodded slowly. «Where’s your cane? Hi could knock hit off.»
«No!» I swallowed hard, trying not to let my agitation show. «It’ll bite before you could get to it, you dolt!» The creature moved again, its swaying legs pattering hideously against the fabric of my suit.
«Come over here,» I said carefully. Delilah obeyed. «Now… stand behind me…»
Beads of salty sweat were puddling in my eyebrows.
Delilah assumed the position, as it were, standing about ten inches behind me.
«Now what?» she said in a high, dry voice.
«Now you must take down my trousers.»
«Heh?»
I tried to steady my breathing. The creature slid further up my leg until it was practically nestling in my groin. «Don’t argue, woman,» I said at last. «Reach around and unbutton my braces. One… at… a… time.»
She did as she was bidden. Her right hand reached out and slid around my waist, under the waistband of my trousers and found the first button. Her thick, ruddy hands were shaking as she tried to manoeuvre the loop of the braces from around the button.
Without a sound, she brought her left hand to bear on the problem and, after much agonizing fumbling, managed to release first one loop then the next. My trousers sagged slightly.
«Must keep them up!» I croaked. «If they fall too soon, those fangs will be sunk in me in seconds!»
«Righto,» breathed Delilah. «Moving to the hother side now. Can you—?»
I could. I moved my own hand down with agonizing slowness and grasped the waistband to keep the trousers taut.
Delilah was already at work on the left-hand braces. The loop slid gently from one, the other was proving more difficult.
«This one’s ha bugger,» she muttered. «Bleeding Tailoring Department and their fiddly ways. Have to go carefully hor else»
My heart-rate accelerated sickeningly as the second button popped from its stitching with a loud snap and my trousers drooped distinctly.
The insect’s head shifted and cocked almost as though it were listening. Its feelers paused in their feeling.
Delilah had moved her attention to the back buttons but I could see from the creature’s activity that we had no time for such details.
«It’s going to strike!» I screamed. «Quickly, Delilah. On my word, pull them down and swamp the bloody thing!»
I seemed to draw back from my own flesh as I watched the monster’s gleaming head rise, its razor-like pincers juddering and dripping…
«Now, Delilah, now!» I cried.
With amazing speed, Delilah whipped down my trousers and wrapped them around the insect as she dragged them to my feet. Wasting not one moment, she stamped her boot heel down hard and repeatedly on the dreadful lump in the material. I winced, despite myself.
A moment later, I had my revolver from my coat and loosed off a round between my own feet. Only as the smoke was rising from the ghastly sticky ooze did I feel able to drag the remains of my trousers over my shoes and hurl them into the corner.
A second attempt on my life! It seemed that someone was absolutely determined to prevent me getting to the heart of this baffling matter. But who?
I set Delilah to work packing my trunk and collapsed into an armchair with a glass of brandy, contemplating mortality. As the invaluable Domestic clumped about upstairs, I sifted through the less lethal portions of my correspondence. I opened the parcel and found inside, as expected, an old book, its pages brittle with age and a square of paper that read
Friend Miracle had not let me down. Despite being banged up he seemed still able to pull any amount of strings. He had fixed up an appointment for me with the elusive Professor Quibble and now I had something to entice the Professor into imparting secrets. I turned the book over and the soft binding flashed in the firelight.
Also in the unfortunate postman’s pile was a delicately scented note from the divine Miss Bella Pok. I held it to my face and grinned like a love-struck schoolboy. It ran:
I placed the note carefully amongst my shirts. The thought of returning to one such as Bella was enough to sustain me through any danger. For now, I had to try to wrap up this Miracle business as expeditiously as possible. I could not afford to miss my appointment in Naples with Quibble. I was unlikely to get a second chance.
10. What Kitty Backlash Had to Tell
AN hour later, Inspector Flush’s fat face beamed cheerfully at me from the other side of his desk.
We were in the brown office he called home. There was a little spirit burner in the corner and a quantity of tinned food that led me to believe the inspector kept unsociable hours. Then I noticed a whitish band of flesh on his finger where once a ring must have been. Perhaps Mrs Flush had recently quit the scene.
I had called at the Yard, fully expecting to be fobbed off by some flunky in a helmet, only to find the man himself still at his post, though without a collar and nursing what I think was a mug of brandy.
«Don’t you see,» I said. «It’s just as feasible to imagine poor Mrs Knight leaving the Mechanical Institute and being murdered elsewhere as it is Christopher Miracle knocking off the wretched woman in a lavatory!»
