I needn't have worried about identifying the man I'd come to meet, for at that moment a strong hand gripped my elbow.
"Septimus Jones, I'm guessing," said a low voice in my ear, easily heard despite the rowdy tavern. "Why don't you come along where it's nice and quiet?"
– — Ω — –
I turned to look at the man standing beside me, and recoiled in shock. He was about my height, which was unusual, and he wore a rough working-man's outfit with a battered old cap, the peak pulled down to his eyebrows. It was his face that gave me pause, though, for it was heavily scarred, with a faded red line running from temple to chin, the lower portion barely covered by a growth of whiskers. The man's nose was misshapen, as though it had been broken and reset on several occasions, but all of this was trumped by his eyes. These were as stark grey as fresh-hewn flint, and they gleamed with an intensity that had me wishing I'd never left the professor's house. "What is your name, sir?" I asked, and I hoped he hadn't noticed the slight quaver in my voice. "What do you want with me?"
"Not here." He nodded towards the exit. "Outside."
I was unwilling to leave the safety of the tavern, but the grip on my elbow was painful and the man showed no signs of letting go. Also, I'd heard of people being knifed in crowds, with none the wiser until the unfortunate victim sank to the floor and breathed his last. Any safety I felt in the tavern was merely wishful thinking, for this man seemed capable of ending me where I stood. Nevertheless, I tried one last time. "Can you tell me the nature of your business? Why did you send me a note?"
The man's jaw tightened, and before I knew what was happening he was directing me towards the door. The crowd parted before him as though pushed aside by an invisible force, and I saw many surprised looks as annoyed patrons turned to see who'd shoved them, only to find there was nobody directly behind them.
The man ignored them all, and I was hauled unceremoniously from the tavern like a reluctant winkle from its shell. Outside, we skirted the drunks, and even the boys begging pennies from passersby held their tongues as the man swept by with me in tow. Then the hubbub and light from the tavern were dimmed by the thickening fog, and we were alone in the darkness.
"Down here," said the man, indicating an alley.
I was truly frightened now, for I was certain my end was near. The man looked like a killer, there was no two ways about it, and he was leading me into a dark alley away from all prying eyes. "I—I have no money," I stammered. "I was robbed on my way to the tavern." My voice sounded high, nervous, and I cursed my timidity. Why hadn't I stood my ground? Why hadn't I demanded answers in the Crown and Feather? And why oh why hadn't I thrown the note away instead of putting my very life in danger?
"I don't want your money," growled the man. "Here. Sit."
He indicated a packing crate, barely visible in the gloom, and I sat down as ordered. This gave me some little comfort, as it seemed unlikely the man would be able to slit my throat from ear to ear while I had the wall at my back.
"What are the terms of your employment?" the man asked me. "Quick now, and no lies!"
Of all the questions he might have asked, I would not have guessed at this one. "I—I serve as a bookkeeper, maintaining the accounts. Fifty pounds a year, plus room and board."
"You think me a fool?" snapped the man. There was a rasp as he took out a dagger, and as he held the tip under my nose the weapon looked as long as a sword. "I'm warning you. The truth now!"
"I swear! Cut me if you will, but I'm telling the truth!"
Something in my voice persuaded him, because he lowered the tip of the fearsome weapon an inch or so. "You have not been involved in the professor's business? You have not witnessed the capturing of spirits?"
Now I faced a dilemma, because I'd promised Roberta my complete silence on the subject. However, for her part she'd neglected to mention the possibility of evil-looking men dragging me into dark alleys, and the likelihood that I might be dismembered with a dagger the size of a seaman's cutlass. Had she but raised the subject, even in passing, I might not have made so free with my promises.
"Before you answer," said the man, "you should know that I followed both you and the professor's daughter to Lady Snetton's house this afternoon. I was also present on the train for your return journey." He reached into his filthy jacket and took out a folded piece of paper. "In addition, I would like you to inspect this and tell me whether it's familiar in any way."
I took the paper, unfolded it, and angled it this way and that. It was near-impossible to make out in the gloom, but from what I could see it appeared to be a letter of some kind. The writing, though indistinct, seemed familiar, and then, with a jolt that shook me to the core, I recognised the thing. "This is a letter I mailed to my parents!" I exclaimed. "How the devil did you get your hands on it?"
"Why, I took it from their house, of course." He grinned wolfishly, the scar down the side of his face crinkling in a most distasteful fashion. "Don't
