Matthew Corbett 03 - Mister Slaughter

that regard. I asked her to keep the treatment to herself, because my supply of coca leaves was limited, but she deemed it wise to tell a friend, who told a '

'Friend, who told a friend, until there were five women paying for health treatments three times a week?'

'Yes. And I allowed it because every time I raised my fee, they paid. Only now you've used up the last of my supply.'

'I don't think I want anymore,' Matthew said. 'But tell me how did Ashton McCaggers know you knew anything about the frog venom?'

'Ashton and I,' said the doctor, 'have been meeting regularly on Crown Street for coffee. He's a very interesting and knowledgable young man. Very curious about the world. I've told him about my travels: Italy, Prussia, Hungary, China, Japan and many other places, I'm proud to say. One day I mentioned my exploits in South America, and I told him about the natives and the blowpipes. He'd already read Sir Walter Raleigh's account of his travels on the Orinoco River, and of how the pipes were used, so Ashton recognized what it was when he saw it.'

Matthew nodded, but he was watching the doctor very carefully. Some little thing, just a pittance of a thing, had begun to bother him. 'I wonder,' Matthew said, 'how that young wretch, as you put it, got hold of a blowpipe, a dart and that vial of frog venom. Don't you?'

'I have wondered about that, yes.'

'You know, that seems a bit strange to me.'

'Yes,' the doctor agreed. 'To me, as well.'

'I mean, it's not every day that a killer tries to murder someone with frog venom from South America, and there in the same town is a doctor who is well almost an expert on frog venom from South America.'

'Not an expert.' Mallory gave a passing smile. 'There are so many more varieties of poisonous frogs yet to be discovered, I'm sure.'

Matthew sat up a little straighter. He had a bitter taste in his mouth. 'I would think McCaggers might wonder about that coincidence too, when he stops to consider it.'

'He already has. As I said to him, it's one of those strange improbabilities that make up the chaos of life. I also told him, Greathouse and Lillehorne that the blowpipe could have been fashioned right here in New York, but that the venom would have been obtained only after much time and expense. Someone had to bring it back from the jungle. A very exotic way to kill a victim, really. But perhaps it was an experiment?'

Matthew felt a new chill pass through him. It's being experimented with, Mrs. Sutch had told Slaughter. 'How do you mean?' Matthew asked.

'I mean perhaps the young wretch was testing the method. For someone else. To see how well the venom travelled, or ' He stopped abruptly. 'Your point being, did I supply it?' His arched brows lifted. 'Don't you think that's being ingracious? After all, I gave you a very expensive amount of my tea.'

'But I wasn't going to die, was I? Because the venom wasn't potent enough?'

'It was a close call,' Mallory said. 'But I can tell you that without my treatment you'd have been lying on your back in a hell of delirium for at least a week, and after that your ability to walk would be impaired for who knows how long? With my treatment, you'll be able to stagger out of here tomorrow or the next day.'

Matthew couldn't help it. Even as weak as he was, he had to probe. 'Did you say you and your wife came from Boston? Toward mid-September?'

'Boston, yes. And the middle of September, the same.'

'I wonder, Dr. Mallory I know this seems a very odd question, but ' Matthew forced himself to lock eyes with the other man. 'Would you call Manhattan an island?'

'It is an island.' Mallory paused for a few seconds. His mouth squirmed, looking very near to giving out the burst of laughter. 'Oh! You're referring to this!'

From within his white shirt he produced a piece of light brown paper, twice folded. It was not as thick as parchment. As Mallory unfolded it before the candle, Matthew could see the pencil's impression of the octopus symbol on the back.

'That's private,' Matthew said. Did his voice quaver?

'And so it should remain. I sent Rebecca to your office after they brought you here. I wanted to know if there were any more of those nasty little darts on the floor, like this one Ashton found.' Mallory reached over to the table, beside the candle, and picked up the dart that lay there to show his patient. 'It appeared you'd only been struck with the one, but I wasn't sure and you couldn't tell me nor could that young toothless wretch, though it was later discovered he had three more in a leather pouch in his pocket. I thought it was also a good idea for Rebecca to take a quick look around before Lillehorne got there. So on the floor behind your desk was this letter.'

Matthew was silent. He cursed himself for stupidity, for he had wandered again into rattlesnake country where it was least expected.

Mallory looked long and hard at the octopus symbol. 'I understand,' he said, his guns rumbling, 'that you killed the man you were sent to bring back. Tyranthus Slaughter. Yes?'

Matthew didn't answer.

'Relax. We're only talking, Matthew. Two people in a room, at half-past two in the morning. Just us night owls.' He gave a quick, cold-eyed smile. 'All right, I presume you killed Slaughter. That's what Lillehorne says. Now, about Mrs. Sutch: is she in custody, or is she dead?'

'Who are you?' Matthew managed to ask. His throat was cold again.

'I,' said the doctor, 'am your friend. And I am going to assume as well that Mrs. Sutch is deceased, because she would have killed herself before she let anyone cage her.' He folded the letter again and slid it into his shirt. 'A pity,' he said. 'I liked her sausages.'

Matthew decided he had to make a move. He had to get up and get out of here, no matter what. But when he tried-and he really, really did try-he had no strength, and now his arms and legs were losing sensation and the candlelight was spinning out long yellow spikes.

'Tell me, Matthew.' Mallory leaned closer to him, his eyes shining. 'When you killed Slaughter and Mrs. Sutch, what did you feel?'

'What?'

'Feel,' Mallory repeated. 'What did you feel?'

'I felt sick.'

Mallory smiled again. 'There's a medicine for that, too.'

Again Matthew tried to get out of bed; again he failed, and this time his head fell back upon his pillow because the muscles of his neck had given out. He thought of shouting for help; the thought shattered like glass, and blew away like smoke.

'You'll be peacefully asleep in a minute,' said Mallory. 'I want you to know the blade scrape across your chest is healing well, but the smaller cut on your side is infected. I have a poultice on it that should help, but we'll watch it carefully.'

Matthew was fighting the oncoming dark. The light was fading, and so was the doctor's face. 'Are you ' He couldn't speak. Mallory was fragmenting into pieces, like Matthew's mind. 'Are you going to kill me?' And he added: 'Professor?'

The good doctor drummed his fingers on his armrest. 'To your question, I answer: absolutely not. To your supposition, I say even night owls must rest.' He reached out and with two fingers shut Matthew's eyelids. Matthew heard the chair creak as the man stood up, heard a breath extinguish the candle, and then all was silent.

Thirty-Five

An envelope arrived by courier at Number Seven Stone Street on a Friday afternoon in late November. Matthew's name was upon the front, and Lord Cornbury's seal upon the back.

'What the hell is it?' Greathouse wanted to know, and when Matthew informed him what it must be, the great one had said, 'I think you ought to tell him, don't you?' Matthew agreed. He took his cloak and tricorn and