He ushered me away, almost shooing me down the hall, and I had no opportunity to say goodnight to Roberta. I did look back as I climbed the staircase, but Roberta had already entered the sitting room.
With the recent excitement I had all but forgotten Sykes and his cold-blooded murdering ways, but it came back with a vengeance as I climbed the stairs in the darkness. I felt like a condemned man being led to the scaffold, and I could almost feel the noose of rough hemp tightening around my neck.
Once I gained my room I prepared myself for bed, for the day had been a long and busy one and I was in desperate need of rest. I lay in bed for some time, thinking on the day's events, until eventually a fitful sleep overtook me.
Chapter 26
It was the dead of night, and I was the sole passenger in a rowboat, the grizzled oarsman grunting with effort as he hauled on the blades. With each stroke, water ran like blood from the oars, trickling back into the river with an unpleasant gurgling sound. As for the river itself, it was as flat as a millpond.
I did not know why I was seated in that old wooden boat, nor where the oarsman was taking me.
Then, as if by magic, there was someone seated beside me. It was a woman wrapped in a heavy boat cloak, her face hidden by folds of oiled canvas. I fancied it might be Roberta, and my heart leapt at the thought, but when she turned her face to me, it was the sorrowful visage of Lady Snetton. She looked pale and wan, and there was an unnatural tightness to her expression. Then, without warning, she parted the boat cloak to grip my forearm with a claw-like hand.
"You must choose between them, for one must die."
She spoke with a voice as cold as the grey dawn, and the words made my skin crawl even though I did not know to whom she referred. Then the grip on my arm relaxed, the lady dissipated into the mist, and I was alone on my seat once more.
"Comin' up to your stop," called the oarsman. "Better get yoursel' ready."
I looked at him, and to my astonishment I saw the boatman was Charles. But now the man's face was disfigured with a terrible scar, and I almost retched as I saw it pulsating with live maggots. I turned away from the horror, and that's when I spotted figures in the river nearby, floating face-down. I could tell at a glance that they were the professor and Roberta, and at the sight of their lifeless corpses I got to my feet in alarm, making the boat rock and sway in a most dangerous fashion.
"You can only save one," Charles told me, although he now spoke with Lady Snetton's voice.
The professor and Roberta were alive? Yes indeed, for I could see each of them moving, albeit so weakly it seemed they were all but lost. The boat drew closer, speeding up, and all of a sudden I was clenching a boathook in both hands. "Slow down!" I cried to the oarsman, but instead our speed increased further. I turned to shout at Charles, to order him to stop, but discovered I was completely alone in the boat. Even the oars had vanished.
By now the boat moved faster than ever, with bow-waves curling away from the scarred wooden prow. The little craft raced towards the bodies in the water, aiming to pass directly between them. I braced myself with the boathook, swinging it from left to right and back again and I tried to decide which drowning victim deserved my help.
And then I woke.
I woke with a start, my heart thumping wildly, my room in total darkness. I did not know what hour it was, but there was an eerie howling outside as though the hounds of hell had been set loose. A sudden bang, sharp and loud, had me clutching at the covers.
Then I heard rain lashing my window, and it was apparent a storm had rolled in over the city. There was another bang and I realised the shutters were slamming repeatedly against the window as they blew back and forth in the howling wind. I got up and padded across the wooden floor in my bare feet, and as I threw open the window I was stung by the driving rain. I stretched for the shutters, leaning above the long, unbroken drop to the garden below, and that's when I saw him.
Outside, in the street, a tall man in a top hat was standing in the middle of the road, looking up at me. He was a misty, half-seen figure in the storm, and even though I tried to make out his face, it was hidden in deep shadow. Squalls tore at his cape, which fluttered in the wind, but neither wind nor driving rain appeared to trouble him. Indeed, he stood there observing me as though it were a sunny day without a cloud in the sky.
The scrutiny unnerved me, and I felt the world tipping. With a shock, I realised I had let go of the shutters, and was leaning further and further over the drop. The ground far below seemed to beckon, urging me to take the plunge, to end my problems once and for all.
A flash of lightning speared through the heavy skies, briefly illuminating the slick rooftops and rain-swept roads with intense, stark white. In that instant, the figure in the street simply vanished.
I realised what was happening, and I renewed my grip on the shutters and closed them firmly, latching them in place. Then I closed the windows and stood with my back to them, breathing hard, drenched by rain and shivering with cold. I had almost fallen, I knew that for certain, but what unearthly power had
