Sykes eyed me thoughtfully, then nodded. "Gather what you can, for my patience runs thin. If you disappoint me again, it will not go well for you."
"Yes, of course. I will do as you ask."
"Go, then. And I warn you, not a word to a soul!" He drew the knife, the fresh blood like pools of ink. "I cut Hartlow's throat to show you I meant business. The professor will read of another death in tomorrow's newspaper, and that will be your final warning. The one after that will be your own."
He stepped aside to let me past, and I hurried from the alley to rejoin the crowds in the street. Another fight was in progress, and not one person paid me the slightest attention. The policemen were still present, but I gave them a wide berth. If I went to them with a tale of a scar-faced man named Sykes, and spoke of the murder I'd witnessed in the nearby alehouse, I suspected they would question my sanity whilst treating me as their chief suspect.
As I left the death and madness behind I felt a growing weakness in my legs, and by the time I reached the professor's road I was shivering uncontrollably. The strain of serving both the professor and Sykes was taking its toll, and I knew that I must soon find a path out of the deadly maze. If not, I feared it would not take Sykes' dagger to finish me, for I would simply expire of my own accord.
As I hurried along the road, lost in my myriad problems, I was scarcely aware of the coach standing outside the professor's house. I was still fifty yards away, on the opposite side of the street, but as I got closer the impressive vehicle loomed in my consciousness until I could ignore it no longer. Eventually I came to a halt almost directly opposite. I remained there, hidden in the darkness between streetlamps, for I had no wish to encounter Roberta at that moment. I especially did not want to meet Charles, for introductions would follow and I would surely be found wanting if any comparison were made. After all, he was the son of a wealthy family, while I was a penniless bookkeeper who was spying on my employer at the behest of a cold-blooded murderer.
Then I saw movement within the coach, and I stared in shock at the scene which met my eyes.
– — Ω — –
The coach lanterns were lit, and I could see the interior clearly. Roberta and Charles were sitting in the carriage, with Roberta occupying the side closest to me. They appeared to be talking, and then, as Roberta made to get up, Charles leaned across to embrace her. She turned away quickly, and he only managed to kiss her cheek. When he tried again, she opened the door and clambered out of the carriage, skirts and all.
The footman leapt down from his perch and hurried to help, but Roberta brushed away his hand and strode right past him. Behind her, Charles leaned out of the open door and raised his voice. "Your father needs my family's patronage, Roberta. Consider that before you choose to spurn me!"
Roberta stopped beside the horses. "Do you know what you can do with your desires?" She growled. Then she made an uncouth suggestion of a most intimate and anatomical nature.
This was too much for Charles. Whatever his designs on the fair Roberta, it was now certain they would not come to fruition. Angrily, he withdrew into the carriage, slamming the door and rapping the head of his cane on the roof. The driver cracked his whip, and Roberta was almost bowled over as the horses leapt forward. The footman was forced to leap onto the running-board so as not to be left behind, but my gaze was on Roberta, who had recovered her balance and was now standing in the middle of the road. I was relieved she was not harmed, and furious at the man who had placed her in such danger.
As the carriage drove off I saw Charles inside, sitting very upright in his seat. He looked angry and frustrated, and I could not help noticing that he had the face of a man used to getting his own way. I suspected Roberta had made an enemy of the arrogant young man, even though she was entirely blameless.
Roberta was facing away from me, still in the middle of the street, and as she took a step towards the far side of the road I could stand it no longer. "Roberta!" I called. "Are you hurt?"
"Why, it's Mr Jones," she said brightly… a little too brightly. "Did you witness my little drama?"
"I was returning home when I saw you almost run down," I said, which was almost all of the truth. "I did not wish to intrude, but—"
"Come, I cannot stand in the street all night. Join me, and we will enter the house together."
I needed no second bidding, and when I reached her I offered my arm, which she gratefully accepted. Walking in close proximity, we passed through the iron gate and took the path to the front door, where we were met by the professor. "I thought I heard a commotion out here," he said, squinting at us in the darkness. "Roberta? Charles? Is that you?"
"It is Mr Jones and I," said Roberta. "We returned at the exact same moment, and I asked him to see me to the door."
She said nothing of Charles, and I said nothing at all. I had noted the look of surprise on the professor's face, quickly followed by a look of disappointment at my presence, and I guessed he saw me as a poor substitute for the wealthy suitor. Then he saw the way Roberta and I had linked arms, and his expression turned to one of alarm. "Come inside quickly, or you'll catch your deaths in the night air. And Mr
