“Not least of all, the fact that her son has murdered three men in the name of justice. Let me ask this: did you tell Mr. Primm what you’d found out?”
“No. Well…I did mention Pennford Deverick’s name. I think I said…something about him being one of Father’s fiercest competitors in London, and the fact that they’d had more than one public argument. I said it was peculiar, that Pennford Deverick now ruled New York’s taverns only a hundred miles away, and this very suspect tragedy had destroyed my father. Primm didn’t make any connection, and why should he? I had no proof whatsoever.”
Matthew remembered Primm’s declaration: I consider proof to be the alpha and omega of my profession. Difficult to argue with that. Matthew was also thinking about something Pollard had said. “Did you advise Primm to sell the business?”
“I did, and the sooner the better. The money could go into the fund I’d set up for Mother. Actually a buyer was already interested. I signed the papers before I left Philadelphia.”
“Who was the buyer?”
“Culley Ives. He was one of the two managers. Had worked with Father for many years. We only got shillings on the pound, but I was satisfied with it.”
“Ives,” Matthew repeated.
Matthew recalled Pollard saying that Deverick had bought a Philadelphia brokerage firm in 1698. To Matthew’s question of Who owned the firm before Mr. Deverick bought it? Pollard had answered It was a man named Ives, who is still employed by the Deverick company as manager there. So what does that tell you?
Matthew said, “You might wish-or perhaps not-to know that Mr. Ives probably paid those shillings on the pound in money given to him from Pennford Deverick’s pocket. I wouldn’t doubt that Mr. Ives might have been the inside-man.”
A hideous smile slowly, terribly, spread across Kirby’s mouth and stretched it until Matthew thought the man might scream. But instead Kirby only said, quietly, “To the victor go the spoils. Isn’t that right? You see how tough I’ve become? How…shall I say…resigned to fate?”
“Obsessed might be more accurate.” This kettle and pot were both black, Matthew thought grimly. To understand the depths of obsession all he had to do was think back two weeks, when he was nearly insane that Eben Ausley had escaped justice for his crimes against the orphans. He shook it off. “I presume you found it difficult to return to being Trevor Kirby when you’d had a taste of Andrew Kippering’s life? And you decided to find a position here, to better stalk your prey? What did you do, go back to London and buy screeved…um…forged documents to present yourself as a lower ball than you are?”
“Exactly that,” came the reply. “I came here to kill those three men, and to speak Father’s name in their ears before I did it. I was very fortunate indeed to get a position with Pollard. Even if it was a fraction of the money and work I was used to. Pollard wanted someone who was a brash gadfly, and perhaps a little dull. I could tell that at once. He wanted a tavern partner. More for show than work, and I’d made up a story about my past sins that I could tell intrigued him. You see, Joplin needs the help, but he wants to run all the horses. But attorney to Deverick and Ausley! I’d be able to mark their comings and goings with ease.”
“Dr. Godwin, too?” Matthew asked. “You began spending time at Polly Blossom’s to mark his…if I may say… comings and goings?”
“That’s right. I waited for the moment, until it came.”
“And the night you killed Deverick? The same night that Grace Hester became so ill? I presume, since you were the go-between, that the prostitute sent out to find you searched your usual haunts with no success, since you were probably down here removing your black clothing, and she wound up having to go fetch Dr. Vanderbrocken himself? And she went with him and stood at the corner outside the reverend’s house while Dr. Vanderbrocken went to the door?”
Kirby shrugged. “You know, you had a part in the deaths of Deverick and Ausley.”
“Me? How?”
The lawyer made a noise between a grunt and a laugh. “When you stood up before Lord Cornbury and suggested more and better-trained constables. I was afraid he would agree, and so I thought I’d best hurry and finish the job.”
Matthew almost said Glad to be of service.
Kirby spoke. “Would you like to see the Masker?”
“Sir?”
“The Masker,” Kirby repeated, and just that quickly he slipped out of the light and into the gloomy fringes.
Matthew glanced nervously back to see how far the stairs were. He heard a sliding movement off to the side amid the cellar’s boxes and wreckage. Then he jumped and his nerves jangled as something metal crunched into brick. There was the noise of what might have been bricks being moved aside. Then, seconds later, a brown canvas bag came flying through the air and landed with a dusty thump in front of Matthew’s shoes.
“He’s in there,” came Kirby’s voice, and then Kirby himself reentered the light’s realm.
Matthew leaned carefully down and looked into the bag. It contained black clothing-one cloak, if not more, and a hooded coat. A woolen cap. A pair of black gloves. No, two pair. He could smell the heavy odor of dried gore. A smaller object caught his attention. When he picked it up by its wire-wrapped grip, he found the thing surprisingly heavy. Its business end was a tongue-shaped piece of black leather that felt as if it had a fist of lead sewn up within. The gentleman executioner had not forgotten his slaughterhouse system: first the blow to the temple, then the knife to the throat.
He was aware, very suddenly and joltingly, of Kirby’s boots in the dirt beside him. When Matthew looked up, Kirby was holding the evil little knife with its hooked blade.
To his credit Matthew did not cry out, though he did feel the blood drain from his face. He got to his feet, watching for the strike and wondering which way to dodge it when it came.
Kirby turned the knife around and offered him the ebony leather handle. “It’s very sharp,” he said. “Easy to cut yourself.” When Matthew wouldn’t touch the thing, Kirby dropped it back amid the other items in the bag. It was then that Matthew realized Kirby was also holding the strange pair of hammered-brass fireplace tongs. “Oh.” Kirby held the tongs up for Matthew’s inspection of the chiseled ends. “You drive these into the cracks between two loose bricks that I found one day. Pull out the first brick and a few more and you’ve got yourself a nice hidey-hole. I couldn’t go home wearing bloody clothes, could I? Not with Mary Belovaire watching me. I found the two cloaks and pairs of gloves at the bottom of that old trunk. They fit me fairly well. The blackjack came off a sailor willing to part with it. The knife I bought from a higgler in New Jersey. You know, you nearly caught me that night. If you hadn’t been chasing me and I hadn’t been trying to hold on to the notebook, I wouldn’t have left that blood smear on the door.”
Matthew held up the notebook. “Tell me about this.”
“You tell me about it.”
The front door suddenly opened upstairs. Both men were silent. The door closed, and footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs. Then a voice, calling, “Andrew? Andrew, are you here?”
“Joplin,” Kirby said to Matthew, keeping his own volume low.
Pollard came back down the stairs. The front door opened and closed again.
“Poor fellow. An insecure boy, actually. He’s wanting a pal at the bar,” said Kirby. “You know, the only one who really works around here is Bryan. We both dump our papers on him. Joplin told me that Bryan’s very unhappy if he’s not burdened down. Now: the notebook. You saw the page I marked?”
“I did. I appreciate your rough treatment that night, by the way.”
“Nothing personal. I was planning on leaving the package at Grigsby’s door. I saw you by the corner lamp on Wall Street, so I had to move quickly. On that particular page, those are the names of orphans. Am I correct?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“And the numbers beside them? Any guess?”
“A code.”
“Of course a code, idiot! Meaning what?” Anger poured into the dead eyes. Even as the shade of what he’d been, Kirby was still a formidable and frightening presence. “Think, damn it! I’ve tried and failed, but if anyone can figure it out, it’s you!”
Matthew opened the book to the page and held it under the lamplight. He scanned the numbers, back and forth.
