My resistance, such as it was, crumbled in the face of this terrible threat. "What do you want from me?" I asked, in a low voice.
"Engineering diagrams, information on the professor's methods, and any equipment you can deliver to me," he said promptly.
"But—"
"In return for your ongoing cooperation, my organisation will send five pounds a month to your parents. In your name, naturally."
Having threatened me with the stick, here now was the carrot. But, dazed though I was, my ears pricked at the mention of an organisation. It was the first clue I'd had that this man was not working alone, and I wondered whether it was intentional or merely a slip of the tongue. I decided not to press him on the subject, but instead asked him a question of my own. "There was someone before me at the professor's, a man by the name of Edgar. Was he working for you also?"
"Why don't you ask Roberta about him?"
"I did exactly that, and she informed me that he'd died."
"Did she now?" asked the man. "That's interesting."
"How so?"
"Edgar is not dead. Far from it."
"What!"
"He's confined to the mental ward in Bethlem Royal Hospital. Quite viciously mad, they tell me, and unlikely to ever recover his wits." The man looked at me, then revealed further news just as shocking. "The professor's wife spent her final years in the same hospital, until her eventual demise. Did Roberta mention that, perchance?"
"I only knew that her mother had died," I said slowly. Two persons driven insane under the same roof? It could be no coincidence, and I wondered whether the professor's interactions with the spirit world might be the root cause. Did that mean both he and Roberta were also in danger? Was I?
"Now that you're apprised of the true situation, will you not help me? The professor is meddling with forces beyond his understanding, and one wrong move on his part could unleash a hellish danger on this nation the likes of which has not been seen for centuries." The man spoke earnestly, gesturing with the dagger so animatedly that I was forced to draw back, lest he gift me a scar the twin of his own. "If his amateur fumbling mistakenly opens a rift…" Here, the man's voice tailed off, as though he'd said too much. "Well, it would be a true disaster," he finished lamely. "That, sir, is why we need your help. We must learn of his methods, to determine from whence the danger might come. We must know how far his research has progressed before it is too late."
"If the professor is putting lives in danger, why do you not speak with him? He seems a reasonable man."
"Reasonable, you say?" cried my captor, and the dagger swished through the air as he made his point. "Oh, we have tried speaking with that man, but he's stubborn, and wilful, and as obstinate as a mule. But he is also brilliant, and gifted, and likely to uncover answers that others may not stumble upon for decades. Do you see our dilemma, Mr Jones?"
I had my eyes on that dagger, and chose not to move my head in the slightest.
"Of course you do. You understand that we must let him work freely, to a point. We must let him uncover mystery after mystery, but when the time is right we must step in and prevent a calamity." The man gestured at me. "That is where you come in, sir. You are my eyes and ears, and you will tell me what I need to know. With the information you gather, and minor pieces of equipment purloined at the right moment, you will keep me informed as to the professor's progress. With your help, we can avoid blighting every soul in the nation… and perhaps the whole world!"
Without warning, the man dug into his pocket and took out a crumpled page, which he brandished in my face. Despite the darkness I could just make out the ragged scrawl across the paper, and I saw it was the last sheet from the journal, the one with Edgar's final entry:
Kill them! Kill them all!
As I stared upon the page, it dawned on me that the robbery had been staged by this man. I'd been harbouring a faint hope that he'd come across the letter to my parents by innocent means, but now it seemed he had several others in his employ. I knew then that I had no choice but to comply with his demands, for I was completely outmatched. "Very well," I said in a low voice. "I will do as you ask."
"Good man. Gather what information you can, and I will arrange a meeting in a day or two." He held the dagger up, sighting along the blade. "Not a word to anyone else. Understood?"
"Yes." I hesitated. "Tell me, by what name should I call you?"
"I think not, Mr Jones."
"But—"
"You will know it is I by the symbol on my note." He stepped back, sheathing the long, gleaming dagger. "Now, I shall bid you good evening. Until we next meet, sir!"
He turned and left the alley, a fast-moving shadow that vanished into the night. For myself, I stood up and followed almost as quickly, braving the darkness and fog at a breakneck pace, and not slowing until I reached the iron railings outside the professor's house. My heart pounded like a steam hammer after running so far, and as I gazed up at the unlit windows, the enormity of the situation dawned on me. I would have to lie and sneak and steal, and all the while I would have to maintain the professor and Roberta's trust in me.
Was I capable of such duplicity, or would they uncover my betrayal and throw me out of their
