But I fancied I recognised the man, and I suspected it might have been… Lord Snetton?
Still shivering, I dried myself as best I could before returning to my bed. I cocooned myself in the blankets and huddled up for warmth, but there was a deep chill in my bones that I could not dispel. And, above all, I could still hear Lady Snetton's final words to me.
You can only save one.
– — Ω — –
"Good Lord, we are in the midst of an epidemic!"
The professor, Roberta and I were at breakfast, and the morning sun shone through the bay windows in the dining room. There was no sign of the previous night's storm, although the three of us all exhibited symptoms of a certain lack of sleep. Upon entering, Roberta had given me a warning look, which I took to mean that I should not discuss her contretemps with that scoundrel Charles the evening before. Or, perhaps, I was not to discuss the manner in which I had accompanied her to the front door, lest I manage to upset the professor. Or maybe I was not meant to speak of any subject whatsoever, just to be safe?
In the midst of my attempts at not speaking, the professor's voice spoke very loudly indeed.
"Do you mean a plague, father?"
"No, it's an epidemic of murders!" The professor jabbed at the newspaper. "Lord Snetton has vanished, nowhere to be seen, and two of his servants lie dead. They were discovered in the cellars of his house with their throats cut. Why, the poor innocent souls must have lain there even as we spoke with the murderous villain!"
The blood froze in my veins. "Wh-what of the other servants? Are they accounted for?"
"It was the cook and the scullery maid they found. The housemaid was found wandering the streets, but they say she's a gibbering wretch who has quite lost her mind."
"And they suspect Lord Snetton?" I could not believe the upright gentleman we'd met the day before had murdered his own servants. He had been distraught and sad, not enraged. "How do they know he is not also a victim?"
"The bodies had been there a day or two, most likely coinciding with the death of his wife. They now claim Lady Snetton might have been strangled, so perhaps the old devil was discovered in the act by his own servants, and was thus forced to silence them too."
I said nothing, even though the scenario seemed unlikely in the extreme. If Lord Snetton were responsible he would have fled two days ago, for who else would the police suspect in this tragic case but the master of the house? By remaining, he had all but fastened a noose around his own neck. I glanced at Roberta, but she was staring at her plate with a distant look in her eyes. Her breakfast was untouched, and she sat as still as a statue. Whether this was caused by the horrible news of the deaths or Charles' beastly behaviour towards her the night before, I could not hope to guess.
Then I recalled the parting words from Sykes, the scar-faced man. He told me the professor would read of another death, and here there were two more. Had he ended more innocent lives just to make certain I got the message? But why would Sykes attack members of Lord Snetton's household?
The professor was still reading, and now he exclaimed once more. "They found another body in the river last night! Another unfortunate young man cut down in his prime. Oh, whatever is the world coming to?"
This was Sykes' work, I was sure of it. At first I thought it might be the body of the murdered thief from the tavern, but I realised it could not be so. The thief would have been found where I'd last seen him, for Sykes could not have spirited him out of that busy place unseen. "Do they give his name?" I asked the professor.
The professor looked at me. "Why do you ask? Do your acquaintances regularly appear in the Thames with their throats cut?"
"Yesterday it was Mr Hartlow," I said evenly. "I am hoping this latest victim was not another of your applicants, for if so my own life might be in danger also."
"Yesterday was pure coincidence," said the professor, with an impatient gesture. "This will turn out to be some vagabond, or the result of a deadly dispute." The professor resumed his perusal of the newspaper, only to snort under his breath. "An entire wagon of timber was stolen overnight. Planks, joists and everything! Is nothing safe from…" His voice tailed off, and then he exploded. "Listen to this. Just listen!" Holding the paper to the light, hands shaking with anger, he began to read. "Wayward spirits? Ghostly visitors? Write now for professional assistance. Modern methods. Discretion assured." Having finished, he glared at us, demanding our reaction. "Well?"
"It was inevitable," said Roberta calmly. "We could not hope to keep the field to ourselves for long."
"It's an outrage! I will sue for infringement of my patents."
"You have not obtained any patents. You feared the government clerks would sell your ideas."
"I will send these crooks out of business! Ruin them!"
"Let them be, father. They do not have access to your vast store of knowledge, nor your working methods."
I had yet to contribute to the discussion, because an unpleasant idea had been worming its way into my brain. Who did I know that had been trying to access the professor's store of knowledge? Who did I know that was prepared to kill to learn the professor's working methods? William Sykes, of course, and I was placing that knowledge directly into his hands! At least, he believed I was, which amounted to much the same thing. I comforted myself with the thought that the drawings I'd given him had been faked by
