ã€ŠTHE GODDESS: A DEMON&#x27;S VENGEANCEã€‹


 Chapter 1 - A VISION OF THE NIGHT

    I was completely convinced that I''d caught Edwin Lawrence pulling a fast one with that deck of cards. There I was, lying in bed fully awake, the night''s events replaying in my mind. I couldn''t help but question how I could have been such a complete fool. We had grabbed dinner at the Trocadero and then hit up the Empire for a show. The venue was jam-packed and it was like a sauna in there.

    "Let''s bail," Lawrence suggested almost as soon as we got in. "I can''t deal with this crowd and this heat." I was on the same page. So, we got out of there. "Why don''t you swing by my place for a bit?" he offered.

    We both had apartments in Imperial Mansions, same floor but different numbers; his was 64, mine, 79. To get from his door to mine, you''d head down the hallway, hang a right at the corner¡ªthe second door on your right¡ªthat was me. I tagged along to his place.

    "How about we up the ante with a little wager?" he proposed. "It''s something to do at least." I went along with it. We started betting small, but things quickly escalated.

    I''m usually not big on drinking, but that night I''d already had more than my usual share. At his urging, I drank even more. As our bets grew, so did my losses¡ªI didn''t keep track of how much I lost until he tallied it all up on a slip of paper and floored me with how high it had gotten¡ªnearly a thousand pounds.

    "Hold up," I countered wide-eyed, "940 pounds, Lawrence? That can''t be right!"

    He passed over the paper sporting a casual grin, "Check out the math for yourself." As I went over his figures, they seemed a little off to me but since I hadn''t kept my own score, challenging him felt pointless; their sum matched his claim regardless. Still, something told me there was an error in there somewhere.

    "Come on," he urged, pushing his luck.

    "You''ve got to risk it to get the biscuit! Double or nothing?" I really didn''t want to¡ªI''m not usually into high-stake risks like this. But he kept pushing and somehow convinced me¡ªit must''ve been the booze talking. We made our cuts: mine was decent¡ªthe jack of diamonds¡ªbut then as he cut the cards himself, one seemed to slip from his hand before revealing the queen of diamonds and declaring: "That beats you!"

    "But you dropped a card first," I pointed out immediately.

    "Dropped one? What are you implying? If that happened it was totally unintentional," he retorted defensively¡ªhis smirk wasn''t buying his excuse either. Despite feeling certain about what I saw, arguing felt risky given our friendship history¡ªit was an uncomfortable standoff; standing up from my seat seemed like giving up.

    "That means you owe me eighteen hundred eighty now," he smirked without a hint of regret.

    "Tough luck Ferguson; maybe you''ll get ''em next time." Right then and there, I swore off playing cards with Edwin Lawrence when no one else was around.

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    As I made my way back to my apartment, my mind was swarming with the night''s occurrences. It wasn''t just about the cash ¨C though I''m not rolling in riches and losing nearly two grand stings. What really gnawed at me was questioning whether this guy, who I was starting to see as a pal, was actually pretty shifty. Could he have been crafty enough to fiddle with those numbers for his gain, deliberately dropping that card? The more I mulled over what happened that evening, the uglier the implications seemed.

    In bed, I was wrestling with these thoughts; they wouldn''t let up. Sleep turned into a battleground of restlessness. And when sleep finally did claim me, it brought more agitation instead of peace.

    Usually, I sleep like a log ¨C dreams rarely pay me a visit. But that night, a vivid dream gripped me so intensely it still lingers, blurring lines between dream and reality even during the day. It felt weirdly authentic ¨C I wouldn''t rule out that maybe I wasn''t just dreaming but partially awake and witnessing something extraordinary.

    Time gets hazy in dreams but it felt like I had barely drifted off when something indiscernible compelled me to sit upright in bed ¨C not just sit up but climb out of bed too. As far as memory serves, I didn''t dress or flick on the lights; darkness enfolded everything. Yet driven by an inexplicable urge, I felt the need to go see Lawrence. In my PJs and moving through a darkened hallway lit only by a nightlight (I recall its dim glow), I reached Lawrence''s door and rapped lightly on it. No response. As I lingered there doubting my next move, a peculiar sound from inside caught my attention.

    I had never heard such an unsettling noise in my life. It''s hard to put it into words. It was as though some monstrous animal had invaded the room, throwing a tantrum of raw fury. A cascade of growls, shrieks, and guttural squawks collided with each other in the air. Intermingled were softer yet distinct sounds of someone ensnared by intense suffering and fear. At that cacophony, I couldn''t hesitate any longer. My hand turned the doorknob, and I entered. What greeted my eyes is etched into my memory.

    Lawrence was locked in a desperate struggle with an indescribable entity. From this being emanated those gruesome noises. It moved in a blur of chaotic frenzy, an incarnation of uncontrolled motion assaulting Lawrence who seemed to try fighting back but to little avail; he was getting thrown around like a rag doll.

    His defense stood no chance against such a force. Before long, he was downed, sprawling on the floor. The creature then viciously beat his still form, with that same disturbing breathy sound punctuating each blow ¨C until suddenly it ceased.

    The entire time, there was a hauntingly human aspect to this beast. It wore what seemed like a glossy silk robe that billowed out as it contorted violently. When its movements finally ceased, a woman¡¯s laughter broke out ¨C chilling to the core.

    Despite not being typically faint-hearted or a coward, I have to confess that instead of stepping in or providing the much-needed help, I bolted from the room at the sound of that laugh ¨C just like a scared dog. And oddly enough, right after that moment of terror, I found myself waking up. Waking up drenched in sweat and shaking vigorously in my bed appeared just as real as sleep could feel.

    Scanning my surroundings frantically, I noticed the blind lifted at the large French window ¨C something I routinely did before bed. The moonlight streamed in through it when suddenly a noise made me tense up. Determined to pinpoint its source, I moved closer to the window. Undeniably wide awake now, I saw through the glass someone standing on the other side ¨C an enigmatic silhouette.

    Then came the creak of the rusty latch lifting and an awkward shove; the window swung open under what seemed like an inexperienced touch. Emerging from the lunar glow like some ghostly entity, a woman stepped right into my room.

 Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO CAME THROUGH THE WINDOW

    I paused, utterly captivated. It was clear she wasn''t just an illusion. But how on earth did she manage to climb into my window? Where had she come from at such an ungodly hour? And now that she was here, what did she want?

    A fleeting suspicion crossed my mind - could she be here to steal? The open window let in the chilly night breeze, and there she stood, pausing as if to make sure no one had noticed her entrance. If she just glanced my way, she''d see me wide-eyed in my bed. I was as plain to see as she was. To my observation, she didn''t move an inch, her gaze fixed straight ahead. After what felt like forever, she let out a sigh of relief, so pure that it convinced me this woman couldn''t be a criminal. That exhalation carried an innocence that simply didn¡¯t fit the profile of a burglar.

    With tentative steps, she moved further into the room and bumped into a chair ¨C the sudden noise making her jittery. I noted her hand rise to her forehead in a classic pose of someone trying to make sense of the situation.

    ¡°I can¡¯t think where I am,¡± she mumbled.

    Her voice shattered the silence oddly - it was melodious, smooth, unmistakably refined; it sent a shiver down my spine. Her statement''s sheer simplicity threw me off guard more than anything else that night. Could it be that this woman was sleepwalking and had unwittingly ended up here? If so, what should I do? How could I explain things without startling her?

    Before I could think further, my small movement caught her attention and she spun around with a startled:

    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡±

    I chose to respond calmly and practically: ¡°Don¡¯t worry ¨C it¡¯s just me, John Ferguson. Let me switch on the light so we can see each other properly.¡±

    At the flick of the electric light switch, I was silenced yet again by what I saw. At my bed''s end stood the most stunning woman I''d ever laid eyes on ¨C my sentiment then and now unchanged. She was both regal and delicate in stature. Her large expressive eyes met mine but carried a mixture of confusion and dreamlike wonder rather than alarm or fear.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are. Where am I? Have we met before?¡± Her tone mirrored that of a bewildered child on the brink of tears.

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t believe we''ve met," I reassured her gently. "Don¡¯t be scared - you¡¯re safe here. My guess is you''ve been sleepwalking.¡±

    "Sleepwalking?" Her puzzlement echoed through the word.

    "It looks like it."

    "Do I sleepwalk?"

    I couldn''t help but smile at her innocent question.

    ¡°You really should know more about this than me.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªhow did I get here?¡±

    ¡°That''s another thing you ought to be able to figure out. Do you live here in the Mansions?¡±

    ¡°The Mansions?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, this place is called the Imperial Mansions. Is this your home?¡±

    ¡°My home?¡± She shook her head with a profound gravity. ¡°I don¡¯t know where home is for me.¡±

    ¡°How can you not know your own home? Who are you? What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°I have no clue who I am or what my name is.¡±

    Was she mentally challenged? She didn¡¯t appear to be. Her face was the image of intelligence itself. Yet, the more I watched her, the clearer it became that there was an odd look in her eyes. She looked bewildered, like someone who had just woken from a deep sleep and hadn¡¯t quite grasped where she was. My initial guess was right; she had been sleepwalking and still hadn''t fully snapped back to reality to understand where she was or what she¡¯d been up to.

    As I pondered this, I never took my eyes off her. And then I noticed something that horrified me.

    She was draped in an enormous garment that flattered her silhouette perfectly. It seemed like some kind of fancy cloak, maybe for the opera, but it actually resembled a domino coat with front buttons more than anything else. The material was a striking shade of plum¡ªI later found out it was alpaca¡ªand it had a hood half-cast over her lovely head, lined with green silk on the inside. The front of this splendid cloak was adorned with lush green ribbons; one particularly wide sash ribbon caught my attention as it spread from her neck down nearly to her feet.

    For a good portion of its length, this vibrant green ribbon bore a different hue¡ªa recent stain that left the fabric soaked through. And it wasn''t just this sash ribbon; smaller knots here and there had lost their brightness under similar stains. There were even splatters on the cloak itself. Her hand went up to touch her head and that¡¯s when I saw it¡ªhow had I not noticed earlier? Both of her hands, one raised and the other hanging by her side, were speckled with something damp and red.

    Suddenly, the bizarre scene I''d witnessed earlier in Lawrence¡¯s room flooded back into my mind¡ªthe wild figure in a woman¡¯s robe with spinning skirts¡ªcould it be? Right here before my eyes, on this woman, was that same robe, and what''s more¡ªthe previously twirling skirts now lay still. In an instinctive move to block out the gruesome realization barreling towards me, I covered my eyes with my hand and exclaimed¡ª

    "Who are you and where did you come from?"

    The room fell into silence. I posed the question once more. Instead of an answer, she countered with her own question.

    "You talk so oddly. And why do you cover your eyes with your hand?"

    Her voice was a balm to my nerves. I''ve always believed that a woman''s voice is one of her most endearing qualities. Her voice was profoundly reassuring¡ªa voice that carried such sincerity, it seemed inconceivable it could belong to someone deceitful. I took my hands from my face and looked at her again.

    Half of her face was marked with red smudges, smeared by her own fingers.

    "Look at what you''ve done!"

    "What did I do?"

    "What''s that on your hands?"

    "My hands? What''s on them?"

    She extended her hands, examining them as if seeing them for the first time with wide-eyed innocence.

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    "It''s blood."

    "Blood? How did it get there?"

    The way she asked reminded me of a puzzled child. Despite the grim marks on her face and hands, her eyes implored trustingly and her voice''s truthful tone moved me.

    "Try to recall where you came from and what happened?"

    "Recall? I can''t."

    "You must remember. Can''t you see yourself smeared with blood?"

    "Smeared with blood? Yes, indeed! Oh no!"

    Her exclamation morphed into a half-sob as she began to sway unsteadily. She collapsed before I could catch her, fainting onto the floor.

    What an awful situation I found myself in! Women''s company isn''t something I''m used to¡ªI''ve spent too much time in places where women simply aren¡¯t present. My knowledge of them was less than my understanding of ancient scripts. Though I''d heard of women fainting, seeing one so distressed and helpless was new to me. Now what? Mrs. Peddar came to mind¡ªthe housekeeper back at the Mansions, superb in every way and someone who had proved surprisingly helpful before¡ªbut involving her didn¡¯t seem quite right here.

    Gazing upon the motionless figure of beauty before me, my heart swelled with compassion and an ever-growing desire to protect her emerged. Should she need my aid amidst uncertainty and peril, I was prepared to be her guardian, ensuring that her secrets remained veiled from all. With firm conviction, I decided that without her consent, not Mrs. Peddar nor anyone else would learn of her being here. How to reawaken her remained a quandary for me.

    While pondering this dilemma, I noticed an item on the ground next to her; its origins were a mystery ¨C unlikely to have slipped from her attire. Retrieving it, I immediately identified a photograph stained with blood ¨C it was Edwin Lawrence¡¯s portrait. Compelled by an inexplicable urge, I slipped it discreetly into a book resting on the mantel, just as she began to stir. As she slightly elevated herself and gazed at me with wide, puzzled eyes, I was momentarily disconcerted.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Was I sleeping?¡±

    Her direct gaze was laced with innocence and confusion which made me falter in response.

    ¡°You''ve been unwell but seem much improved now. Please allow me to assist you in rising.¡±

    Extending my arm, she placed her hand in mine and stood with a graceful ease. As our hands parted, I noted a crimson stain transferred onto me. The blood-stained plum-colored outfit and vivid green ribbons appeared more strikingly apparent now.

    ¡°Perhaps you might want to remove your cloak?¡±

    Surprised at the suggestion, she queried.

    ¡°Remove my cloak? For what reason?¡±

    ¡°It will alleviate your comfort.¡±

    ¡°If that is so, then certainly.¡±

    She shed the cloak with my help, which I draped over a chair.

    ¡°There is water available for you to cleanse your hands and face.¡±

    She looked surprised once more at the suggestion.

    ¡°And why should I do that?¡±

    ¡°You have blood on you.¡±

    With astonishment she examined her hands and acknowledged the blood she''d previously forgotten about.

    ¡°Blood? Indeed there is! How peculiar; I do not recall how this happened.¡±

    Her complexion paled further as she considered whether washing would rid her of the stains.

    I assured her tersely, hoping that basic hygiene would suffice to eradicate the visible marks.

    Rapidly retreating into my dressing room under her watchful eye, I dressed more appropriately. Afterward, stepping into the dining room, I invited her through the connecting door.

    ¡°When ready, do join me in here where we''ll be more at ease.¡±

    Promptly responding to my request, she approached as innocently as one would expect from a child who had completed their chores.

    ¡°I am clean now. Do I appear so?¡±

    Her proximity unexpectedly unsettled me; stepping back allowed me a clearer view of her attire ¨C an elegantly fitted dark blue silk dress accented with white around her neck and wrists ¨C enhancing her beauty beyond my initial impressions. Yet there lingered an inexplicable sense of familiarity about this captivating sight that left me faltering for words once more.

    Let us hold on to the belief that soap and water will at a minimum wash away the evident smear.

    I turned and proceeded to my dressing room, under her watchful gaze. In haste, I changed into attire more fitting of the situation. Afterwards, I made my way to the dining room, pausing to call out to her through the adjacent bedroom door.

    "Once you are prepared, would you please join me here? It shall be more comfortable for us both."

    She was swift to respond, not making me wait an instant, as she approached with outstretched hands, in the manner of an innocent child.

    "I am now clean, am I not?"

    Her nearness inexplicably unsettled me, and I found myself stepping back. The discarding of her cloak revealed a dress of dark blue silk, clinging to her form exquisitely in my eyes. The white accents at her neck and wrists only elevated her loveliness¡ªa loveliness that was even more striking than upon our first encounter, inspiring awe within me. Yet somewhere within, a vague notion whispered that I had beheld this captivating presence in the flesh before. Seeking appropriate words proved difficult, and when I finally spoke, it was with clumsy articulation.

    "Is there any cause for you to hide your name?" She responded by shaking her head. "Then please share it with me."

    "But I am unaware of it. Do I bear a name?"

    "I would venture that you do possess one such as everyone else does. Rest assured, though, my intention is not to pry unduly into your affairs. It is merely a suggestion that revealing your origin prior to your arrival in my chamber might be in our mutual interest."

    "You ask if I came into your quarters? Ah yes, now I recall; but nothing else." She raised her hand to her forehead in a familiar gesture that caught my attention previously. "Where have I come from?"

    "I am unsure whether you jest deliberately or truly cannot remember; alas, if you are unable to provide details then certainly I am of no help."

    My demeanor appeared to distress her; she drew closer with an anxious air resembling that of a scared youngster anticipating reproof.

    "Why do you wear such an expression? Are you displeased with me?"

    Despite the puzzlement over my own thoughts and emotions, one thing was clear ¨C anger did not take root within me. If indeed her behavior was an act¡ªand skepticism hung over this theory¡ªher performance enthralled me so wholly that unmasking any deception seemed beyond me. It dawned upon me that perhaps Mrs. Peddar''s expertise was required here.

    "Our housekeeper, Mrs. Peddar, is exceptionally adept¡ªperhaps she could assist you where I cannot. Might I have your permission to inform her of your presence?"

    "If you think it best¡ªby all means convey this information."

    Her words were laced with such sincerity and devoid of any inkling that something could be amiss with her circumstances that I felt a twinge of guilt for my suspicions.

    I made my way toward the exit when she halted me.

    "Whom are you informing about this?"

    "The housekeeper¡ªMrs. Peddar."

    "I see." This time uncertainty tinged her voice. "She is also a woman; while you are a man and I am another." She pronounced these facts gravely as though they bore significant weight recently unearthed by her contemplation; she seemed suddenly chilled by them. "Is she agreeable? Will she treat me kindly?"

    An internal pledge was sworn¡ªthat kindness would prevail or explanations would be sought¡ªand while less fervently expressed outwardly than inwardly resolved, afterward, I exited.

    Yet before going off in search of Mrs. Peddar directly, I circled back into the bedroom through the passageway door. With scant regard for propriety in handling that purple-hued cloak, it was rolled up tightly and secreted amongst other articles within a wardrobe''s recesses. Then stepping onto the balcony through the open window, I disposed of the water remnants from my peculiar guest''s freshening splash far into the street below¡ªI heard its echo against pavement stone as proof of its journey''s end.

    Our housekeeper is an exceptional individual¡ªMrs. Peddar by name. Her assistance will prove most valuable to you, far more than my own. May I have your permission to inform her of your presence?

    "Why not? Yes, go ahead and tell her¡ªif you wish."

    Her response carried such a genuine tone of naivety, with absolutely no trace of concern over the legitimacy of her circumstance, that I felt a wave of guilt for the suspicions cluttering my own thoughts. I proceeded to the exit. She halted me in my steps.

    "Whom are you going to inform?"

    "The housekeeper, Mrs. Peddar."

    "Ah." Her reply was laced with a hint of uncertainty. "She''s female, and you''re male, as I am female." She pronounced this solemnly, as though she had just unearthed significant truths, and she appeared faintly trembling. "Is she approachable? Will she treat me well?"

    Inwardly I committed myself to ensuring her kindness towards the guest, or else seek an explanation; I assured her in a toned-down manner before departing.

    However, before embarking to locate Mrs. Peddar, I returned to the bedroom via a door leading from the corridor. With little regard for delicacy, I bundled up the plum-colored cloak and concealed it in a closet beneath an accumulation of garments. Next, I flung open the window, stepped onto the balcony and hurled the basin''s contents¡ªwater used by my visitor for cleansing¡ªout onto the street with maximum force. The splash as it met the pavement echoed upward.

 CHAPTER 3 - THE CONQUEST OF MRS. PEDDAR

    Mrs. Peddar''s apartment is on the seventh floor, the top of the building. Normally, I''d climb the stairs to avoid drawing the attention of the porter, but when I got to the staircase, the lift was available, so I figured I''d save some time and energy. Once inside:

    "Going up or down?"

    "I''m headed up to Mrs. Peddar''s." The porter looked at me skeptically.

    "She''s at the very top and typically in bed by now."

    "I''d guess as much. However, I have to disturb her; it''s urgent that I get her help."

    "Is something wrong?" "No, nothing you need to worry about." As we went up, I could tell Turner¡ªthe night porter¡ªwas curious about my late-night visit to Mrs. Peddar. It made me think to ask him something.

    "Did a woman come by earlier tonight?"

    "To where?"

    "The first floor¡ªor any floor really?" He shook his head.

    "Positive?"

    "Yeah, no woman''s entered for a couple of hours at least. The last was Mrs. Sabin; she lives on the fourth floor with her husband. They were back from a show at the Gaiety Theatre around eleven." His response made me ponder how my unexpected guest could''ve come onto my balcony since no one entered through the lobby. Turner added his own observation unasked.

    "The last man to leave was Mr. Lawrence¡¯s brother." That caught my interest.

    "Oh? Mr. Lawrence¡¯s brother, huh?"

    "That''s right¡ªPhilip, if I remember correctly. He took off just moments before you showed up, in a massive rush¡ªdidn''t even respond to my ''good night.'' He was lugging a huge package."

    "You''re sure it was Mr. Lawrence¡¯s brother?"

    "Definitely. My cousin drives for him; I recognize him."

    "And he left three minutes before I got here?"

    "It wasn''t quite three minutes." So Philip had been with his brother well after my surprise visitor arrived¡ªa thought that gave me some comfort. Turner went on:. He went up about an hour ago, maybe a bit longer. No parcel in his hand at that time. It caught my attention when he returned with one ¨C it didn¡¯t seem like him to carry packages, especially not that kind. If he¡¯d given me half a chance, I would''ve hailed him a cab, but I was just heading out with Mr. Maynard, and he dashed off too quickly. Should I hang around for you, sir? Mrs. Peddar¡¯s place is just the first door around the corner.¡±

    I told him there was no need to wait, sensing it might take a while to get Mrs. Peddar to understand what I needed from her. She must be a light sleeper; my knock barely touched the door before she called out asking who it was. When I answered, she promptly emerged in her dressing-gown.

    ¡°Oh, Mr. Ferguson! Why are you here at this ungodly hour?¡±

    I realized this might be even tougher to explain than I thought.

    ¡°There¡¯s a visitor downstairs, Mrs. Peddar."

    "A visitor? And? Why should that bother me at this time of night?"

    I presumed she mentioned that because the Mansions provide meals and thought that I¡¯d woken her up hoping to snag some late-night snack.

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    "It''s a lady, and I need to know if you could possibly give her a place to stay tonight."

    ¡°A place to stay? Who is this lady?¡±

    ¡°Well ¨C the thing is, Mrs. Peddar, something quite extraordinary has happened. I¡¯ve come to fill you in and seek your advice.¡±

    "Then come inside."

    As I entered her sitting room, she left the door ajar ¨C seemingly mindful of being proper. Her demeanor gave me the impression she might suspect me of some disreputable conduct unbefitting my reputation.

    "A young lady has just entered my room through the window,¡± I said.

    ¡°Through the window! At this time? Mr. Ferguson!"

    "I''m afraid she may not be fully mentally sound."

    "That¡¯d be the least unsettling explanation."

    "She''s undoubtedly a lady."

    "A lady?" She pressed her lips tightly together. "Are you making fun of me?"

    "I couldn''t be more serious; and truly, she''s every bit a lady¡ªyou¡¯ll see that when you meet her. But let me explain further! Initially, I thought she was sleepwalking and still feel like something unusual has affected her. She can¡¯t recall her name or anything about herself ¨C it''s as if she''s bewildered."

    ¡°Has she been drinking?¡±

    ¡°Just meet her yourself, and you''ll see that such insinuations would be totally out of line.¡±

    ¡°No offense taken but when you mention a random woman climbing through your window late at night ¨C it¡¯s hard not to have certain ideas.¡±

    ¡°And again, I assure you, this ''random woman'' is genuinely noble in character - something terrible has clearly transpired recently.¡±

    ¡°Alright then, Mr. Ferguson. You¡¯re possibly too sympathetic for your own good. Where is this woman currently?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s in my dining room.¡±

    "And she is there by herself?"

    ¡°Yes, completely alone.¡±

    "Well then, don''t be shocked if she¡¯s already slipped back through that window with a little memento from your place. Forgive me for saying so, but you might just be the most trusting soul I¡¯ve ever met. We should get moving fast if we hope to find her still there.¡±

    Encouraged by Mrs. Peddar, I hurried down the stairs with her, only to find my expectations thwarted. My guest hadn''t departed. She was still in the dining room, sound asleep in an armchair. As we entered, the soft sound of her breathing reached our ears; she was sleeping as peacefully as a child. The scene before us softened the heart of the housekeeper.

    "She looks absolutely serene and elegant! And her attire is lovely! Wow, those rings are stunning!"

    The young woman''s hands were resting on her lap, adorned with what appeared to be several pricey rings. Mrs. Peddar''s excitement almost matched mine once she began expressing it.

    "She¡¯s so strikingly pale and lovely! It''s obvious she''s completely exhausted. And you mentioned she entered through the window? How on earth did she manage that? Who is she, and where did she come from?"

    "I''ve tried asking her those very questions, but to no avail. Clearly, she''s worn out. If you could provide her with a place to sleep tonight¡ªnaturally, I''ll cover any costs¡ªwe might learn more from her in the morning."

    "She¡¯s welcome to a bed; I suspect you might be right this time around. She does have a certain nobility about her and besides, I could never turn away someone so enchanting. But who will have the heart to wake her? She seems to be sleeping so deeply."

    "I''ll do it."

    And I did, gently tapping her shoulder. She stirred, turned around, opened her eyes and immediately sat up straight when she realized it was me.

    "I must have dozed off again; my eyes just wouldn''t stay open. Where have you been? I thought you''d never come back. It was so silent in here and the chair is so comfortable that sleep overtook me."

    "I went to find Mrs. Peddar, whom I mentioned earlier. She¡¯s here now."

    Upon seeing Mrs. Peddar, the young woman greeted her with a beaming smile that I believe instantly charmed Mrs. Peddar.

    "Oh, Mrs. Peddar, I just can''t shake this drowsiness. It feels like all I want is to sleep endlessly."

    Mrs. Peddar observed her with a mix of curiosity and empathy.

    "You''re simply rundown," Mrs. Peddar deduced. "A full night of rest will set you right; follow me for a night in one of the most comfortable beds you''ll ever experience."

    "Mrs. Peddar¡¯s company will be perfect for you," I reassured the hesitating girl. "You couldn¡¯t be in more secure or caring hands."

    "Can''t I just stay here?"

    Both Mrs. Peddar and I exchanged glances; she addressed the girl¡¯s concern.

    "You''d be far more comfortable in my quarters," Mrs. Peddar explained gently, noticing Mr. Ferguson¡¯s solitude.

    "But where will you stay?"

    The girl''s anxious inquiry and pleading look gave me an unexplainable sense of satisfaction.

    "I¡¯ll be just downstairs," I promised her empathetically, "And first thing tomorrow, I¡¯ll come check on how well you slept."

    "Do you promise?"

    "I¡¯ve never made a promise more eagerly."

    Her reluctance lingered so to comfort her further, I walked with her up to Mrs. Peddar¡¯s apartment. Even once there, she seemed uneasy about me leaving¡ªa feeling which made my descent down those endless stairs feel lighter than air despite its irrationality.

    It was preposterous¡ªwhy should my emotions swing by the whimsical behavior of this enigmatic woman who had invaded my home at midnight cloaked in blood-soaked garments?

 CHAPTER 4 - DR. HUME

    <hr>

    I was awakened the next morning by Atkins who brought me my cup of coffee. He asked me a question as he set it down on the small table next to my bed.

    "Do you know, sir, if Mr. Lawrence slept in his room last night?"

    I had just been woken up from a deep sleep and was still not fully awake to understand the full meaning of his question.

    "Slept in his room? What do you mean?"

    "Because, sir, when I took him his coffee just now, as always, I knocked four times and got no response. And his door is locked; it''s not his usual habit to lock his door when he''s at home."

    Atkins is one of the servants assigned to the Mansions, specifically to attend to the residents on the first floor. He is a discreet man and has a good understanding of the habits and customs of those he serves.

    "Mr. Lawrence was in his room last night. I was with him until quite late, and I believe he had a visitor after I had left."

    I said this, recalling what Turner had told me about his brother coming down the stairs with the package in his arms.

    "I think he must be out now¡ªat least, I can''t get him to respond. And the door is locked; I have never known him to lock his door when he''s inside."

    "Perhaps he''s unwell," I suggested. "I''ll go along the balcony and check. You wait here until I return."

    I''m not sure why, but I felt compelled to propose this idea. Maybe it was the way Atkins spoke that struck me, or perhaps it was a sudden impulse. Each floor of the building has a balcony that wraps around it. Lawrence and I have often used it to access each other''s rooms¡ªhis are the first ones around the corner. I slipped on a pair of slippers and a dressing gown, and set off.

    It was a cold morning, with a hint of fog in the air and the remnants of rain. I hurried as quickly as I could. Lawrence''s dining room window opened as soon as I turned the handle. I went inside, and what I saw then immediately and clearly confirmed what I had always suspected I would see. I jumped back onto the balcony. Atkins was looking out of my window. I called to him.

    "Come here! Quickly! Something is not right!"

    He came running to me.

    "What is it, sir?"

    "I don''t know what it is, but¡ªit''s something."

    Atkins followed me into the room, and Edwin Lawrence lay sprawled on the floor, blood staining the carpet around him. His clothes were drenched, the only clue to his identity amidst the gruesome scene. When we turned him over, his face and head were a horrifying mess of cuts and wounds. It was a sight beyond anything I¡¯d witnessed before, like some savage force had torn him apart.

    I turned to Atkins. ¡°Go get Dr. Hume. It may be too late, but he needs to see this. And call the police!¡±

    Atkins hurried off to deliver the grim news, leaving me to survey the room. A pair of white gloves, undoubtedly a woman¡¯s, caught my eye on a nearby chair. I pocketed them along with a familiar portrait from the mantel. The room bore signs of disturbance, but not the chaos of a violent struggle. Furniture was displaced, and bloodstains marked the woodwork and books. A grim discovery lay a few yards from Lawrence¡¯s body¡ªan oddly twisted, blood-soaked collar.

    As I puzzled over the collar, Dr. Hume entered the room, shock evident in his voice. ¡°Ferguson, what¡¯s happened here? Is that Lawrence?¡±

    Hume, a man with a penchant for studying obscure brain diseases, was well-known for his eccentricities. His medical expertise and personal wealth gave him the luxury of selective patients, often those with unique ailments or from the nearby Mansions. Lawrence jokingly referred to him as ¡°the Imperial Doctor.¡±

    Hume, still relatively young with a sharp gaze and a penchant for experiments, approached the scene with clinical curiosity. While I harbored no ill will toward him, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he viewed everyone as potential subjects for his studies, myself included.

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    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied dryly, ¡°that¡¯s what¡¯s left of Lawrence.¡±

    Kneeling beside the body, Hume¡¯s usually stoic expression was now charged with curiosity. ¡°How did this happen? And when?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what we need to figure out.¡±

    ¡°Who discovered him?¡±

    ¡°Atkins and I.¡±

    ¡°Was he lying like this?¡±

    ¡°No, he was face down. We turned him over.¡±

    ¡°The man¡¯s been mutilated.¡±

    ¡°It almost looks like he was clawed to pieces.¡±

    ¡°These wounds seem too precise for scratches. Looks like narrow blades or spikes were used in some kind of pattern. Flesh torn layer by layer. Fascinating.¡±

    Hume, speaking sotto voce as if to himself, was examining Lawrence¡¯s clothes with nimble fingers, his face now suspicious. ¡°Look at this.¡±

    I peered closer. The body was as marred as the head, riddled with deep wounds.

    ¡°It¡¯s clear he was subjected to extreme violence.¡±

    ¡°Is that all you see?¡± Hume¡¯s impatience was palpable. ¡°Don¡¯t you notice the sharp object thrust through him from back to front, and vice versa? How did it bypass his clothes entirely?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t quite follow.¡±

    ¡°You seem denser than usual, Ferguson. If I were to stab you now, it would pierce your clothing, leaving a mark. But his clothes remain intact, despite multiple thrusts. Was he naked when attacked?¡±

    ¡°I see what you mean now.¡±

    ¡°Good. Are these Lawrence¡¯s clothes?¡±

    ¡°I can confirm that; he wore them last night.¡±

    Hume looked up sharply. ¡°Last night? At what time?¡±

    ¡°Around half-past eleven, I¡¯d say, when I left.¡±

    ¡°Half-past eleven? He could have died within an hour after that. Odd.¡±

    ¡°Why odd?¡±

    ¡°Was he alone when you left?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Did you part amicably?¡±

    The question caught me off guard.

    ¡°Why do you ask?¡±

    ¡°Someone will ask. It¡¯s suspicious to have quarreled shortly before his death.¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t quarrel.¡±

    ¡°No? Then what happened? Your hesitance speaks volumes.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll cooperate with any official inquiry.¡±

    ¡°So you have information? And you question my right to ask?¡±

    ¡°What constitutes your right?¡±

    ¡°Do you know if anyone saw him after you did?¡±

    ¡°I believe his brother did.¡±

    ¡°Believe? Based on what?¡±

    ¡°The night-porter mentioned it to me last night.¡±

    ¡°When?¡±

    ¡°Between two and three.¡±

    ¡°Before two, or even one, he was likely dead.¡±

    ¡°I found this collar on the floor.¡±

    I handed Hume the bloodied collar.

    ¡°A collar?¡± He inspected it, then met my eyes with suspicion. ¡°Philip Lawrence¡¯s name is on it.¡±

    ¡°Philip is his brother.¡±

    Hume¡¯s look turned hostile. ¡°What¡¯s your implication?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m stating facts. I found it and picked it up.¡±

    ¡°What else have you discovered?¡±

    I danced around the question, wary of revealing too much. I wasn¡¯t about to mention the gloves or the photograph, knowing Hume could turn confrontational if provoked.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t checked. The collar caught my eye; it was hard to miss.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s examine it together. In cases like this, even small details can hold significant clues. Let¡¯s see what¡¯s in this waste-paper basket. Sometimes, a single scrap of paper can hold damning evidence. Ah, here¡¯s something.¡± Hume read aloud from the paper scrap he found: ¡°¡®Such men as you ought not to be allowed to live.¡¯ Strong words, especially from a woman with such bold handwriting. I feel like I¡¯d recognize that handwriting again, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    He handed me the scrap, and the distinct, feminine handwriting was unmistakable. The words matched his reading. Hume continued, piecing things together.

    ¡°If someone tore up this letter to hide its content, they did a sloppy job. Another fragment is clear: ¡®To-night I will give you a last chance.¡¯ Last night, perhaps? If so, someone missed their final opportunity. And here, part of a signature, ¡®Bessie.¡¯ I know a Bessie.¡± He smiled, a hint of irony in his expression. ¡°It¡¯s unlikely, but not impossible, that a woman is involved.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to believe a woman could be behind such violence.¡±

    ¡°How do we know the extent of the violence? Some women are as capable as men. It¡¯s about the weapon used. A deadly instrument like this could be in anyone¡¯s possession, male or female. You¡¯re mistaken if you¡¯re trying to link Philip Lawrence to this. I know him well; he¡¯s of impeccable character, unlike you. I don¡¯t know enough about you to make that judgment.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re making unwarranted assumptions. I¡¯m not trying to link anyone.¡±

    Can we be real here? Are you being completely honest? Is there something you¡¯re not saying? My role here is semi-official. I need to figure out how this man died. Yet, you dodge my questions, questioning my authority, while conveniently dropping hints about Philip Lawrence and brandishing a collar with his name as if it¡¯s a trophy. Let me warn you, dragging Philip¡¯s name into this will backfire on you.¡±

    ¡°Listen, Hume, calm down. I don¡¯t get why you¡¯re so hostile. And let¡¯s not overstate your role here. You¡¯re just the first doctor I could find. Your job is medical, not judicial. So far, you haven¡¯t exactly been Sherlock Holmes about it. Some might find your questions rude. I know it¡¯s just your style, not malice.¡±

    ¡°But let me be clear: I don¡¯t know Philip Lawrence, never met the guy. However, since he left the building hastily this morning, and now his brother¡¯s dead here, he¡¯ll have some explaining to do, despite your defense.¡±

    Hume¡¯s sudden change puzzled me. He stepped close, glaring unfriendly.

    ¡°I call your bluff.¡±

    Quietly spoken but resolute. I debated knocking him, then Atkins arrived with a policeman. It was time.

 CHAPTER 5 - A CURIOUS CASE

    <hr>

    I had just stepped into my own quarters when Mrs. Peddar appeared.

    ¡°The young lady is awake, sir, and would like to see you, if that¡¯s convenient.¡±

    Her tone hinted that she was unaware of what had transpired at No. 64. Atkins had mentioned his struggle to find a constable, but it seemed he hadn¡¯t shared the details of his errand along the way. The news of Edwin Lawrence¡¯s fate hadn¡¯t spread yet, and I had no intention of being the first to tell Mrs. Peddar.

    ¡°How is she?¡± I inquired.

    ¡°She seems physically well, sir, rested and looking better than before. But there¡¯s something not right in her mind, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±

    ¡°Have you learned anything about her, like her name?¡±

    ¡°Not a word, sir. Her linen is marked ¡®E.M.¡¯ I checked while she was in bed. There¡¯s a purse in her pocket with eighteen shillings, but no cards or identification. I thought perhaps Dr. Hume could help. He¡¯s quite clever and might figure out what¡¯s troubling her.¡±

    I turned away, not wanting Mrs. Peddar to see my reaction to Hume¡¯s name. The thought of him taking advantage of this vulnerable girl in the name of science angered me.

    ¡°We won¡¯t call for Dr. Hume just yet, Mrs. Peddar.¡±

    ¡°Very well, sir. I¡¯m usually skeptical of doctors; it¡¯s often about their bill, not your well-being. But the young lady¡¯s situation is peculiar, and Dr. Hume is reputed to be clever, so I thought I¡¯d mention it.¡±

    ¡°Your concern is appreciated, Mrs. Peddar. Please let her know I¡¯ll be there after I¡¯m done dressing.¡±

    When I entered Mrs. Peddar¡¯s rooms, the girl stood by the window. Her beauty caught me off guard, filling me with a strange excitement. Her smile, radiant as ever, was a defining feature. She reached out both hands in greeting.

    ¡°So you finally made it. I was beginning to think you¡¯d never show up.¡±

    ¡°I got held up, or I would¡¯ve been here sooner. Did you sleep well? Mrs. Peddar said her bed was comfortable.¡±

    ¡°Sleep? I feel like I¡¯ve slept away all my worries. But you know, something feels off from last night.¡±

    ¡°What do you think happened?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the thing¡ªI don¡¯t know. It¡¯s like there¡¯s a blank spot in my head. Makes me feel kind of dumb.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t remember your name?¡±

    ¡°Nope. I don¡¯t think I even have one. But everyone¡¯s got a name, right? Or do they?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s pretty standard. Not knowing your name, where you¡¯re from, or who your friends are can be uncomfortable.¡±

    ¡°Does it make me seem dumb?¡± She looked at me, searching for reassurance like a confused kid. ¡°I remember people shouting, clapping their hands. But then everything¡¯s fuzzy.¡±

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Where were you when they shouted?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s in my head somewhere, but I can¡¯t find it.¡±

    ¡°Do you remember anything before you came here?¡±

    ¡°I remember coming through your window. But that¡¯s it. It¡¯s like everything started there.¡±

    I pulled out a pair of white gloves.

    ¡°Are these yours?¡±

    She examined them skeptically. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Where did you find them?¡±

    ¡°I found them in a room nearby.¡±

    ¡°You should know if they¡¯re mine.¡±

    ¡°I guess so. Try them on.¡±

    She did, and they fit perfectly. ¡°They seem like mine. Don¡¯t you think so?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure they¡¯re yours.¡±

    I looked away, feeling a sudden heaviness in my chest.

    ¡°Why are you turning away? Did I do something wrong? Are these gloves mine?¡±

    I deflected with another question. ¡°Do you know someone named Lawrence?¡±

    ¡°Lawrence? I can¡¯t recall. Is it a woman¡¯s name?¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s a man¡¯s name. Edwin Lawrence.¡±

    ¡°Why are you asking? Do you know him?¡±

    ¡°I do, and so do you.¡±

    ¡°I do? How would you know?¡±

    ¡°Because last night, you came from his room to mine.¡±

    I watched for any sign of recognition or guilt in her face, but she remained calm, as if she were simply curious about my line of questioning.

    ¡°I came from his room to yours? Why would I be in his room?¡±

    ¡°Think! Try to remember! Something must have happened in Edwin Lawrence¡¯s room that made you rush through his window to find safety anywhere.¡±

    ¡°I came from his room to yours? How did I get here?¡±

    ¡°Through the balcony. You must have hurried through his window to mine. Maybe mine was the first open window you found.¡±

    ¡°His room is in this house?¡±

    ¡°Of course, it¡¯s on the same floor as mine.¡±

    ¡°Then take me there¡ªnow! Seeing the room and Edwin Lawrence might jog my memory.¡±

    ¡°Take you to see Edwin Lawrence?¡±

    ¡°Yes, why not?¡±

    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I? You know why!¡±

    I grabbed her wrist firmly, causing her to cry out in pain. I released her, feeling ashamed. She looked at me, puzzled.

    ¡°Why did you grab me like that? You hurt me.¡±

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have done that.¡±

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t play games with me.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t playing games. I just asked you to show me this room and Edwin Lawrence. That¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°Why are you looking at me like that? You¡¯re scaring me. I thought we were friends.¡±

    ¡°How can I be your friend if you won¡¯t trust me?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t I trust you? I thought I did.¡±

    She sounded so innocent, yet there was something complex about her. I had so much to say, things that needed to be said eventually. How could I explain them to her? Was she naturally confused? It didn¡¯t seem likely. Her face showed intelligence. What was causing this mental fog? As I hesitated, she pulled up her sleeve, revealing the marks from my grip on her wrist.

    ¡°Look at what you¡¯ve done to me.¡±

    I was taken aback; I hadn¡¯t realized I had been so forceful.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to hurt you. I¡¯m just feeling impatient this morning; things have been difficult.¡±

    ¡°What things? Am I one of them? I¡¯m so sorry¡ªplease forgive me! I want us to be friends, more than friends. I¡¯m all alone.¡±

    ¡°I understand; I do see that.¡±

    The sincerity in her eyes as she looked at me stirred something within me. I felt words rushing to my lips, but before I could speak, Mrs. Peddar interrupted.

    ¡°Mr. Ferguson, can I speak to you for a minute, please?¡±

    I went to her immediately. It was clear she knew about what had happened.

    ¡°You¡¯ve heard about Mr. Lawrence?¡±

    ¡°I have.¡±

    ¡°It seems it happened just before the young lady came to your room.¡±

    ¡°That seems to be the case.¡±

    ¡°What should we do?¡±

    ¡°For now, nothing. We¡¯ll deal with it as it comes.¡±

    ¡°Do you think she knows?¡±

    ¡°Not yet, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    Mrs. Peddar leaned in, speaking quietly. She looked visibly shaken.

    ¡°Do you think she¡¯s responsible?¡±

    ¡°Mrs. Peddar! We haven¡¯t figured it out yet. But I¡¯ll look into it, and so will others. But I am certain she had no part in this; she¡¯s innocent, as innocent as you or I. She¡¯s suffered, but she¡¯s not to blame.¡±

    ¡°I hope so, I believe so.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right to hope. One thing you can do¡ªkeep this quiet. Don¡¯t tell everyone about her visit, especially how she got here.¡±

    ¡°I wish she never came. I¡¯m starting to regret taking her in.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say that. You¡¯ll see that taking her in was the right thing, sheltering her from something unspeakable.¡±

    Mrs. Peddar sighed. ¡°Poor thing! I worry about what might happen to her and to us all.¡±

 CHAPTER 6 - THE DR.S ACCUSATIONS

    <hr>

    It was hard to accept the direction all the evidence pointed. I had locked my bedroom door, retrieved the plum-colored cloak from the wardrobe, and tightly rolled it up. The dried blood had sealed the folds shut, making it tough to open. As I spread it out on the bed, discolored and stiff as cardboard, I couldn''t shake off the horror of what had stiffened it and the association with the fair-faced girl, so truthful and innocent.

    She had been in Edwin Lawrence''s room during the murder, that much was clear. What had she been doing there? What role did she play? Why didn''t she raise the alarm and instead fled? The answer to that last question, I believed, held the key. The shock of what she witnessed must have overwhelmed her, causing a temporary loss of memory¡ªa neurosis of sorts. If only she could recount what happened, her innocence would be evident.

    That was my personal conviction, but the physical evidence pointed elsewhere. Time was ticking, danger looming. If others learned the facts as I knew them, an eager policeman might arrest her hastily. Aside from the risk of tampering with evidence, the accusation itself could devastate someone already in such a fragile state.

    It was clear she had witnessed something extraordinary. This wasn''t a typical murder; it was too gruesome, too elaborate. She must have been so close to the scene that she was drenched in the victim''s blood. My observations, though not legally significant, hinted at something bizarre¡ªa presence in the room that wasn''t human. It brought to mind Poe''s tale "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," where the culprit turned out to be a giant ape. Whatever I had seen wasn''t an ape, but I was convinced it wasn''t something ordinary either.

    In one aspect, my observations fell short. I had witnessed Lawrence and his attacker, heard the woman''s laughter, but despite scanning the scene, I hadn''t seen anyone else. Yet evidence suggested two more people were there: my overnight visitor and the dead man''s brother.

    I''ll confess, I doubted the brother''s guilt. Philip Lawrence seemed unlikely to commit such a crime. Still, Turner''s statement about seeing him near his brother needed an explanation.

    But what mattered now was understanding why a young girl was in Edwin Lawrence''s chambers late at night. As I inspected the cloak, I found a pocket in the lining, containing an addressed envelope. The writing was familiar¡ªit matched the scraps from Lawrence''s waste-paper basket. The envelope wasn''t mailed, and the vague address led to ¡°George Withers, Esq., General Post-office, London.¡± I opened it, feeling a need to uncover the truth.

    The letter read:

    "Dear Tom,

    I''m confronting that scoundrel tonight. He better be careful, or something will happen. I''ll make sure he knows. I''ll write more tomorrow.

    B."

    Two things struck me: the letter lacked a date or address, and "George Withers" seemed an alias for receiving communications. The "B." signer likely matched the "Bessie" on the scraps, making the "E" found by Mrs. Peddar likely "Elizabeth." The puzzle of the "M" remained.

    The letter hinted at hostility toward Lawrence last night, implying something did happen to him, as predicted. I hoped it wasn''t as dire as implied and that she wasn''t involved. But the letter didn''t reveal her identity.

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    Then I remembered the photograph from Lawrence''s mantel. It bore the name of a top London photographer. Eureka! I could get details about the woman from the photographer, especially if I explained the circumstances.

    Filled with that idea, I hastily rolled up the plum-colored cloak. Just then, a knock sounded at the door.

    "Who''s there?"

    "It''s me. I need to talk to you."

    It was Hume''s voice. Luckily, I had locked the door; otherwise, he might have barged right in.

    "I''ll be there in a moment."

    I returned the cloak to the wardrobe, pocketed the portrait and the letter, then headed to meet Hume.

    He stood by the window, hands behind his back, staring at me as I entered with a sharpness that bordered on rudeness. There was a hawk-like intensity about him, as if he was ready to strike at any moment. I never enjoyed his company much, but this overt hostility was new. It felt like a malicious spirit from Lawrence''s death had possessed him, driving him to antagonize me. His first words confirmed his intent to be unpleasant, but I resolved to ignore it.

    "No wonder you bristled at my questions about your last encounter with Lawrence."

    "Oh? Come on, Hume, take a seat. Try not to look so serious. This Lawrence situation seems to have affected you more than me, oddly enough."

    "It does."

    "Considering I thought I was closer to him than you."

    "It seems so. How much did you owe him?"

    "Owe him? Hume, you''re asking odd questions today."

    "Are they? When someone''s suspected of a crime, motives come into play, you know?"

    "I get your point, but there''s more to your questions, isn''t there?"

    "You''ll see. Before we''re done, I''ll be clear. So, how much did you owe him?"

    "Nothing."

    "Stop lying."

    "Hume, that''s twice today you''ve called me a liar, and twice I''ve held back from knocking you out."

    "That''s true. Maybe it''ll be my turn next. I know you''re not the type to hold back."

    Hume leaned in, looking even more predatory.

    "Ferguson, I''m a pathologist, a student of mental disorders. I''ve been watching you with interest. I believe you suffer from memory lapses."

    "I have no idea what you''re talking about."

    I was starting to wonder if Hume had lost his mind. He continued, calculating his words.

    "If you were to kill me now, I think you''d forget it as soon as I was dead. You might never remember it again."

    "Hume!"

    Hume''s words felt like icy daggers piercing my bones.

    "Now I''ll explain why I believe you lied about owing Edwin Lawrence nothing. Look at this." He held out a small locked diary. "I found it in his room after you left. It''s unusual for him to have such a diary, but it contains regular entries, including one from last night after you were with him."

    Hume read from the diary:

    "Have been playing cards with Ferguson, winning heavily. F. is an unusual type¡ªdangerous. Would rather not have a row with him. He hinted I hadn''t played fair. It''s eighteen hundred and eighty that he owes me. Money will be useful.''"

    Hume paused, letting the words sink in.

    "That''s the last entry. He must have been killed shortly after writing it. It sheds light on your parting terms. Do you still claim you owed him nothing?"

    His words hit me hard. I had forgotten the card game in the chaos of events. It wasn''t pleasant to have it thrown back at me like this.

    "I still say I owed him nothing. But the money I would have paid him will go to his estate."

    "Agreed. You''re indeed unusual, Ferguson. Now, in confidence, I think you used some means to cause Lawrence''s death."

    "Hume!"

    "I know you were there when he died."

    "You know I was there?"

    "I suspected it before; now I''m sure. A servant saw you fleeing from Lawrence''s room this morning, just after the murder. She says you were drenched in sweat, odd for a chilly morning in pajamas."

    I struggled to keep calm. Could it be real, not just a vision?

    As I processed Hume''s words, a man entered.

    "Are you Mr. Ferguson?"

    "Yes."

    "I''m told you''re Mr. Edwin''s friend. I fear my master''s been murdered!"

 CHAPTER 7 - THE SUSPICIONS OF MR. MORLEY

    <hr>

    The new arrival appeared to be around sixty, with short grey hair and old-fashioned side whiskers. Dressed in all black with black gloves and carrying his hat, he seemed quite agitated, scanning us as if trying to figure out who we were. Hume recognized him immediately and approached him.

    ¡°Morley, come with me. You¡¯re here to talk to me, not this gentleman.¡±

    I stepped in. ¡°He asked for Mr. Ferguson, and that¡¯s me. So it seems he wants to speak with me.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be absurd! You¡¯re a stranger to him; it¡¯s a mix-up. Morley, you know me, right?¡±

    Morley looked at Hume with a dazed expression. ¡°Yes, Dr. Hume, I know you very well.¡±

    ¡°You see? Step aside!¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t. And Hume, don¡¯t try to stop my visitor from speaking. Got it?¡±

    ¡°I hear, but I won¡¯t listen. Morley, don¡¯t discuss your master¡¯s private matters in front of strangers. I¡¯ll protect his interests. Loose talk can cause serious trouble.¡±

    ¡°Fine, Hume. Talking to you is pointless. I¡¯ll try a different approach.¡± I lifted Morley and carried him to the door. ¡°You need a lesson in manners. Out you go!¡±

    He landed in the corridor, and I locked the door as he protested outside.

    ¡°You¡¯ll regret this!¡±

    ¡°Send me the bill; I¡¯ll pay.¡±

    ¡°Morley, don¡¯t speak to him or suffer the consequences.¡±

    I turned to Morley. ¡°Please, have a seat. Ignore our excitable friend. He¡¯s a bit unhinged right now, as you can see. I¡¯m John Ferguson, friend of Edwin Lawrence. You work for his brother, Philip, correct?¡±

    Mr. Morley didn¡¯t seem much calmer after the incident with Hume. He appeared torn between following the doctor¡¯s orders to stay silent and being influenced by my handling of Hume¡¯s behavior. It was like he couldn¡¯t decide which side to lean on.

    ¡°Yes, I work for Mr. Philip, but maybe Dr. Hume is right. I shouldn¡¯t talk about my master.¡±

    ¡°Maybe, Mr. Morley, but you¡¯ve already spoken. You accused him of murder.¡±

    ¡°No, sir, not that!¡±

    ¡°Just now, in front of Dr. Hume and me, you said you believed Mr. Philip had killed Mr. Edwin.¡±

    ¡°Oh no, sir, I didn¡¯t mean it like that. I didn¡¯t mean it at all.¡±

    ¡°Regardless of what you meant, that¡¯s what you said. I don¡¯t share your opinion, Mr. Morley. I don¡¯t think Mr. Philip had anything to do with his brother¡¯s death.¡±

    ¡°No, sir? I¡¯m glad to hear it.¡±

    ¡°Soon, you¡¯ll hear from Mr. Philip himself and get an explanation that clears everything up. Can you take me to him?¡±

    Mr. Morley looked startled. ¡°Take you to him? But¡ªI don¡¯t know where he is. Isn¡¯t he here?¡±

    He glanced around, half expecting to find Philip Lawrence hiding nearby.

    ¡°Are you saying your master hasn¡¯t returned all night?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir, that¡¯s what I mean, and that¡¯s why I¡¯m so worried. He¡¯s very punctual¡ªnever stays out all night without letting me know.¡±

    He seemed genuinely concerned about Philip¡¯s unusual absence.

    ¡°Where does Mr. Philip Lawrence live?¡±

    ¡°In Arlington Street; that¡¯s his London address.¡±

    ¡°When did he leave?¡±

    ¡°After midnight, in a furious temper.¡±

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    ¡°Furious with whom?¡±

    ¡°Well, sir,¡±¡ªMr. Morley leaned closer, looking around cautiously¡ª¡°I don¡¯t usually gossip, but I need to tell someone. Maybe, since you¡¯re Mr. Edwin¡¯s friend, you¡¯re Mr. Philip¡¯s too.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Morley, whatever you share with me will stay with me. I assure you, I¡¯m as trustworthy as Dr. Hume. I firmly believe your master is innocent. To prove it, we need the truth. If you have something to say that can shed light on this situation, please do so before it¡¯s too late.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t twist my words or harm him because of what I say?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t do either.¡±

    ¡°Well, sir, I trust your judgment. You seem like someone I can trust, and I pride myself on being a good judge of character. And the way you handled Dr. Hume was¡±¡ªhe coughed¡ª¡°impressive. I¡¯ll tell you everything.¡±

    His hesitation had a slightly comical side; it was clear something unusual had thrown him off balance.

    ¡°Good, Mr. Morley. Let¡¯s be honest with each other. Please, take a seat.¡±

    He sat on the edge of a chair, placing his hat beside him on the floor.

    ¡°Now, sir¡±¡ªhe stroked his chin thoughtfully¡ª¡°Mr. Edwin had some issues, especially with money. Mr. Philip lent him a lot of money, but Mr. Edwin¡¯s spending was a mystery. They had terrible fights.¡±

    ¡°Brothers often have disagreements.¡±

    ¡°But Mr. Edwin was usually at fault. Mr. Philip is hot-headed, but Mr. Edwin was in the wrong most of the time.¡±

    Leaning closer, Mr. Morley whispered, ¡°Once, Mr. Philip even hit him with a stick, broke it on his back. Mr. Edwin must¡¯ve been bruised badly. Mr. Philip regretted it deeply afterward. He apologized, and Mr. Edwin forgave him, probably because he got more money out of it. Mr. Edwin was unforgiving unless there was something in it for him; he¡¯d wait years to pay back what he thought was an injury, with interest.¡±

    The look on Mr. Morley¡¯s face didn¡¯t exactly reflect forgiveness.

    ¡°This went on, with more fights. Lately, it got worse.¡±

    He glanced around, whispering again, ¡°There¡¯s been trouble with bills. Mr. Edwin used Mr. Philip¡¯s name without permission to get money. It¡¯s not right.¡±

    ¡°Are you absolutely certain about this? I must echo Dr. Hume¡¯s caution and urge you to proceed with care.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m certain, sir. I have every reason to be. Forgery, plain and simple. Mr. Philip let it all out in his anger, so it¡¯s not a secret anymore. He¡¯s been in a terrible state since he found out. Sometimes I wonder if he¡¯s losing his mind.

    ¡°Yesterday afternoon, Mr. Edwin came to Arlington Street; there was a huge confrontation. I was there; I didn¡¯t think they¡¯d come to blows right in front of me. Then Mr. Philip turned on me. ¡®Morley,¡¯ he shouted, ¡®my brother¡¯s a thief! This isn¡¯t news; you¡¯ve heard it before. But he¡¯s been stealing from me again, in new ways, and he¡¯ll keep doing it until he ruins our family name. But before that happens, Morley, I¡¯ll kill him. If he¡¯s found dead, you¡¯ll know who did it.¡¯

    ¡°Then he faced Mr. Edwin. ¡®You¡¯ve been warned. Get out of this house before I throw you through the window, you scoundrel.¡¯ And out he went, just in time, or I think Mr. Philip would have thrown him through the window.¡±

    Mr. Morley wiped his brow with a red silk handkerchief. I thought back to the previous evening with Edwin Lawrence. He hadn¡¯t shown any signs of trouble then; he was usually cynical, but he seemed carefree. The man described by Mr. Morley was a surprise to me.

    Mr. Morley continued, ¡°Later that night, around nine, a well-dressed man, likely Jewish, came to see Mr. Philip. He didn¡¯t give his name and left a letter for him. When Mr. Philip came back around midnight, I gave him the letter. He flew into a rage and stormed out, saying he¡¯d kill his brother. I stayed up all night, waiting for him. My wife and I were on edge, wondering if he was capable of murder.¡±

    Mr. Morley wiped his brow again. ¡°I was worried. Mr. Philip was in a terrible mood, likely from drinking and the letter. When he¡¯s angry, he¡¯s not himself¡ªhe¡¯s like a madman capable of anything.¡±

    ¡°When morning came, and he still hadn¡¯t returned, I couldn¡¯t take it anymore. So I came here, and as soon as I arrived, they told me he had been murdered. Murdered! Murdered!¡± Mr. Morley kept repeating the word, as if finding some strange satisfaction in its horror.

    I paced back and forth, trying to make sense of the story he had told. From his perspective, things looked grim for his master. Yet, deep down, I believed there was more to the story, something we hadn¡¯t grasped yet. Once we uncovered that, it would show his deductions were off.

    ¡°Do you really think Philip did it?¡±

    ¡°No, Morley, I don¡¯t. But if you¡¯re not careful, your words might condemn him.¡±

    ¡°Condemn Philip? Me? No way, not even if he did harm Edwin.¡±

    ¡°Actually, if you¡¯re not cautious, your words could hang him, even if he¡¯s innocent. If you end up in court and say what you just told me, it wouldn¡¯t take much to send him to the gallows.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Ferguson!¡±

    ¡°Morley, you shouldn¡¯t have told me what you did. Luckily, I won¡¯t misuse your information. But I advise you to keep quiet about it. Go home and forget all about it.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªwhere¡¯s Philip, sir?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not your concern. Philip can handle himself. Just keep this to yourself if you care about his reputation.¡±

    A loud knock interrupted us.

    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡±

    ¡°Inspector Symonds, from CID. Open up, Mr. Ferguson.¡±

    ¡°Well, Morley, here¡¯s someone eager to hear your story. But if you value your master¡¯s reputation and neck, keep silent until I say otherwise.¡±

    I handed Morley a glass of brandy. He drank it quickly, coughing as it went down. Another knock came.

    ¡°Open up, Ferguson!¡±

    ¡°Coming. You seem in a rush, sir. These are private rooms; I don¡¯t open for just anyone.¡±

    As I opened the door, Hume and Symonds appeared. Hume tried to barge in, but I stopped him.

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep the ¡®edged tools¡¯ outside.¡±

    I closed the door on Hume, surprising him. Symonds turned to Morley.

    ¡°Your name¡¯s Morley, right? What do you know about Edwin Lawrence¡¯s murder?¡±

    ¡°Morley has nothing to say.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s for Morley to decide.¡±

    ¡°These are private premises, Inspector. Show me your warrant before you start interrogating my guest.¡±

    Symonds hesitated, eyeing me uncertainly.

 CHAPTER 8 - THE RECOGNITION OF THE PHOTOGRAPH

    <hr>

    After a heated debate with Inspector Symonds, where I struggled to keep his language civil, I set out on my own mission.

    The inspector seemed convinced I had ulterior motives to obstruct justice, vowing to bring both Mr. Morley and me to account once he left my place. Since it seemed prudent to stick together, I decided to accompany Mr. Morley part of the way home after our talk.

    The old man was visibly shaken. He regretted speaking to the inspector and wished he had said more, fearing the officer¡¯s reprisal for his caution.

    ¡°Do you think, sir,¡± he asked anxiously as we parted, his voice shaky with age, ¡°that Mr. Symonds will come after me as he hinted? I can¡¯t bear the thought; my nerves can¡¯t take it at my age, dealing with the police.¡±

    I tried to reassure him. ¡°Mr. Morley, don¡¯t worry; you have control over what you say. No one can force you to speak if you choose not to.¡±

    Although I had doubts about how much control he really had, my aim was to calm him.

    We parted at his house on Arlington Street. I waited while he checked if his master had returned. The look on Mrs. Morley¡¯s face said it all¡ªhe hadn¡¯t, and there was trouble brewing.

    My next stop was the photographer¡¯s studio. As I left Philip Lawrence¡¯s residence, every minute Philip remained absent added weight to the suspicion against him. Why stay away unless there was something to hide?

    An assistant greeted me as I entered the renowned photography firm.

    ¡°I need to know who¡¯s in this portrait.¡±

    ¡°We usually don¡¯t disclose that without permission.¡±

    ¡°This is an exception. Who is she?¡±

    I handed him the photograph from Edwin Lawrence¡¯s place. He recognized it instantly.

    ¡°This is a rare exception indeed. I have no problem telling you who she is, unless you¡¯re the only person in London who doesn¡¯t already know.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the story behind this portrait? Who¡¯s the woman?¡±

    ¡°Not a fan of the theatre, are you?¡±

    ¡°Why do you say that? I go to the theatre as much as anyone else.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t seen Miss Bessie Moore perform at the Pandora recently.¡±

    ¡°Miss Bessie Moore!¡±

    ¡°This is her portrait, and a great likeness at that. She¡¯s posed for us a few times, and this is one of our best results. Capturing her beauty isn¡¯t easy.¡±

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    Bessie Moore! If the assistant had given me a nudge at that moment, I might have stumbled. Of course! Her face had seemed familiar. Bessie Moore¡ªan icon of beauty and talent, the talk of the town, drawing crowds to the Pandora Theatre with her performances. I¡¯d been to my fair share of shows, despite what the assistant might think, but never had I seen acting like hers, nor such a stunning woman. And it was Bessie Moore who had appeared at my window in that plum-colored cloak. The mystery deepened.

    The amusement on the assistant¡¯s face was clear. He chuckled.

    ¡°Surprised, huh?¡±

    ¡°Even mature individuals can feel surprised, as you¡¯ll find out someday.¡±

    I tried to sound dignified, but I probably just looked befuddled. He kept grinning. I pressed on.

    ¡°Where can I find Miss Moore?¡±

    ¡°At the Pandora Theatre.¡±

    ¡°I know that. I¡¯m asking for her personal address.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, we can¡¯t give that out.¡±

    I figured they dealt with nosy inquiries often, and he probably thought I was one of those pests. I handed him my card.

    ¡°There¡¯s my name. The woman in that portrait is injured. I didn¡¯t know she was Miss Moore until now, but I need to reach her friends urgently.¡±

    ¡°An accident? I am sorry to hear that Miss Moore has met with an accident. If you will wait a moment I will make inquiries.¡±

    The assistant disappeared for a bit, then returned with an older man who glanced at my card as he approached.

    ¡°You¡¯re Mr. Ferguson?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s correct.¡±

    ¡°You mentioned an accident involving Miss Moore?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t go into details. It¡¯s crucial that I reach her friends as soon as possible.¡±

    He studied me for a moment before providing the information I needed.

    ¡°Miss Moore lives with Miss Adair, who also performs at the Pandora Theatre. Their address is 22 Hailsham Road, The Boltons, Brompton.¡±

    As I rushed to Brompton in a cab, I tried to process the news. It felt like trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle. How could the woman who had the whole city at her feet end up at my place in the dead of night, from who knows where? The mystery was baffling.

    Hailsham Road turned out to be a charming, old-fashioned street, and No. 22 was a lovely, modest house. It wasn¡¯t grand, but it had a welcoming vibe. Set back from the street with a small garden, it looked picturesque in the sunlight with flowers adorning the windowsills. A maid, fitting the house¡¯s style with her neat appearance, answered my ring promptly.

    ¡°Can I speak with Miss Adair? I have news about Miss Moore.¡±

    The maid led me into the hall, a charming space with delicate wallpaper, while she relayed my message upstairs.

    Soon, a lady came rushing down the stairs, practically leaping into my arms.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got news about Bessie? Thank goodness! I¡¯ve been on edge; didn¡¯t sleep a wink last night. I was seriously considering calling the cops. Please, come in here.¡±

    I followed her into a cozy sitting room. As I entered, a life-sized portrait of my visitor in her plum-colored cloak caught my eye. Her gaze seemed to study me intensely, and I felt a bit uneasy under it. The room exuded her personality, filled with her little treasures. I imagined her moving about, touching things, silently questioning my presence with a hint of annoyance.

    Miss Adair noticed my hesitation.

    ¡°Is everything okay with Bessie?¡±

    I stumbled over my words, ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m afraid not.¡±

    ¡°Is she... dead?¡±

    ¡°No, no, nothing like that.¡±

    ¡°Then what¡¯s happened? Tell me, quick! I¡¯m on edge here!¡±

    ¡°Let me clarify first. You¡¯re Miss Moore, right?¡±

    I handed her the famous photograph.

    ¡°Of course! What are you getting at? Where is she? Who are you? What did you do to her? Don¡¯t just stand there!¡±

    ¡°Miss Adair, I¡¯m trying to find the right words. This is a delicate situation.¡±

    It was indeed tricky, especially under her scrutinizing gaze, like I was some strange creature in need of explanation.

 CHAPTER 9. THE REVELATIONS OF â€œMR. GEORGE WITHERSâ€

    <hr>

    Miss Adair was a tall, robust young woman with a hint of strength in her presence. Her stage persona as a daring adventuress seemed to spill into real life, as she confronted me with a determined air, ready to fend off any perceived attacks.

    ¡°When are you going to spill the beans about Bessie? First off, where is she?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s at Imperial Mansions.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s she doing there?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s under the care of the housekeeper, Mrs. Peddar.¡±

    ¡°In care! What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Miss Moore is not herself.¡±

    ¡°You guys have pulled some stunt on her. If you have, you¡¯ll pay for it!¡±

    I grabbed her arm as she seemed ready to bolt to Imperial Mansions then and there.

    ¡°Miss Moore came through my bedroom window early this morning, in a strange state.¡±

    ¡°Your window! This morning! She must have been in a strange state!¡±

    ¡°A man was murdered in the building around the same time she appeared. His chambers are on my floor, connected by the balcony she used. Her cloak was soaked in blood when she entered, and her hands were wet with it.¡±

    Miss Adair recoiled, staring at me wide-eyed.

    ¡°Man! Are you for real? You dare to suggest that Bessie, my Bessie Moore, could be involved in murder!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just stating the facts. She was in the dead man¡¯s room; that''s undeniable. But I don¡¯t believe she had anything to do with his murder. I''m as certain of her innocence as you are. My theory is that she witnessed something horrific and it affected her mind.¡±

    ¡°Is she... crazy?¡±

    ¡°No, but she has no memory of what happened before entering my window. She doesn¡¯t even remember her name. I think if she could remember what she saw, her innocence would be clear.¡±

    ¡°What was the man¡¯s name?¡±

    ¡°Lawrence. Edwin Lawrence.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t remember hearing that name before.¡±

    ¡°Did she mention having an appointment with him?¡±

    She hesitated.

    ¡°Are you... Bessie¡¯s friend?¡±

    ¡°I hope so, even though we only met last night. I¡¯ll do anything to protect her.¡±

    She eyed me closely.

    ¡°I think I trust you, Mr. Ferguson, though I usually regret trusting men. There¡¯s something about you, like a St. Bernard¡ªbig, strong, a bit hairy. I don¡¯t mean it in a bad way, your beard suits you. You seem trustworthy, and now you¡¯re blushing.¡±

    Her manner shifted, becoming serious.

    ¡°Bessie seemed really troubled last night, not like herself at all. She snapped at me, which is unlike her. She left the theatre without a word, only bumped into her on the street by chance. She said she had an appointment and might not come back. It felt odd; she never kept secrets like that from me.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s clear you need to come to Imperial Mansions with me. Your presence might help her remember. Either way, we have to get her out of there.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re quite bossy, Mr. Ferguson, but I¡¯ll go along. Let me grab a hat first.¡±

    She went upstairs. Shortly after, there was a ring at the door. After it was closed, Miss Adair called down the stairs:

    ¡°Ellen, who was that?¡± Miss Adair called out.

    The maid¡¯s voice replied, ¡°Someone named Mr. George Withers wished to see Miss Moore.¡±

    ¡°George Withers!¡± I exclaimed.

    Without hesitation, I bolted out of the sitting room, flung open the front door, and sprinted into the street. I must have seemed like a madman to Ellen and Miss Adair, but hearing the caller¡¯s name reminded me that the strange letter I found was addressed to a ¡°George Withers.¡±

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    A young man was walking briskly down the street. I shouted after him, ¡°Hey, Mr. George Withers!¡±

    He stopped and turned, looking unsure of what was happening. I called out again, ¡°I need to talk to you!¡±

    As I moved towards him, intending to explain, he suddenly turned and sprinted away, disappearing around the corner. Determined not to let him escape, I chased after him.

    It was quite a chase; I must have looked quite the spectacle, hatless and with my coat tails flying as I raced through the streets. Luckily, he wasn¡¯t as fast as I was, and I caught up to him before he reached the Fulham Road. He was panting heavily, clearly exhausted from his sprint.

    Without a word, I took him by the shoulder and marched him back. He didn¡¯t resist, and we soon arrived back at Miss Adair¡¯s door.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on? Where were you? And who is this?¡± Miss Adair asked as we entered.

    Her emphatic way of speaking reminded me of her stage presence. I led Mr. Withers into the sitting room and introduced him.

    ¡°This is Mr. George Withers. I believe he has some information we need right now.¡±

    Mr. Withers was young, barely more than a boy. Although well-dressed and handsome, his actions had already put me on edge. I handed him the letter from Miss Moore¡¯s pocket.

    ¡°I think this letter is for you, Mr. Withers.¡±

    He seemed hesitant to take it, eyeing it suspiciously. After confirming the address, he turned to me with a scowl.

    ¡°Who are you? Why did you open my letter? And why are you treating me like this?¡±

    ¡°Read the letter first, Mr. Withers. Then ask your questions.¡±

    He read the letter with growing unease, then turned on me angrily.

    ¡°You stole this! I should report you to the authorities; you have no idea what trouble you might have caused.¡±

    ¡°Is the ¡®scoundrel¡¯ mentioned in the letter Mr. Edwin Lawrence of Imperial Mansions?¡±

    ¡°What business is it of yours? Are you meddling in my affairs?¡±

    ¡°Because if it is, Mr. Edwin Lawrence is dead.¡±

    ¡°Dead!¡±

    ¡°He was murdered last night.¡±

    ¡°Murdered!¡± His expression changed to shock. ¡°Then she¡ªshe killed him.¡±

    He stumbled back and sat on the edge of a chair, looking shaken. Neither Miss Adair nor I said anything. After a moment, he began to speak almost frantically.

    ¡°I knew this would happen¡ªI told her it was dangerous to get involved with him. But she never listened!¡±

    ¡°What is your connection with Miss Moore?¡± I asked firmly.

    He looked around nervously. ¡°Is she in custody? Are you a cop?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not a cop. What¡¯s your connection with Miss Moore?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s none of your business. She got herself into this mess; I have nothing to do with it. I have an appointment; let me go.¡±

    I stood my ground. ¡°Listen, Mr. Withers. You seem like a decent young man. But if you don¡¯t answer honestly, there will be consequences. So tell me, what¡¯s your relationship with Miss Moore?¡±

    ¡°Ah, ¡®yours¡¯ is it? That¡¯s rich. I don¡¯t see why there should be a difference in our ¡®classes¡¯ when she¡¯s my sister,¡± Tom Moore retorted.

    Miss Adair stepped in with fire in her words. ¡°Your sister? Bessie¡¯s your sister? You¡¯re Tom Moore, the scoundrel who¡¯s swindled her out of loads of money. I thought your face looked familiar, like a twisted version of Bessie¡¯s with all her kindness stripped away and your own deceit added in. You ungrateful rascal, speaking of her like that when she¡¯s done everything for you, and you¡¯ve been nothing but trouble to her.¡±

    Tom faced the frank-spoken lady with a smirk of impudence. It was clear he was more suited to confrontation with women than men.

    ¡°I know who you are, ¡®Miss Adair.¡¯ ¡®Adair!¡¯ Is that really your name? I know more about you than you think. And for Bessie to confide in you about me just shows what kind of person she is, spinning lies about her only family.¡±

    ¡°Her only family! It¡¯s her misfortune to have you.¡±

    ¡°Is that so? Well, from now on, she won¡¯t have me. Tell her that, with my regards. I¡¯m done with her; I disown her. I¡¯ll never claim her name again. It¡¯s not like it¡¯s a name I¡¯m proud of, and now I have even less reason to be proud, from what I¡¯ve heard. Good day, Miss Adair!¡±

    He started to leave the room, but I had to intervene to keep him there. He flinched under my touch, like a dog expecting punishment.

    ¡°What were you and your sister up to, Mr. Moore, that took her to Edwin Lawrence¡¯s place last night?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s my business, not yours.¡±

    ¡°Answer the question.¡±

    He started to whimper. It was becoming clear that I might have to be more forceful with him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t! That hurts! It was about some bills.¡±

    ¡°Bills of yours that Lawrence asked her to fake?¡±

    ¡°No, not then. Don¡¯t! It was about some bills he wanted me to fake.¡±

    ¡°I see. And did these bills have Philip Lawrence¡¯s name on them?¡±

    ¡°Who told you? How do you know?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter who told me. Answer!¡±

    ¡°It was all his fault! I wouldn¡¯t have done it if he hadn¡¯t pushed me. I¡ªI owed him money, and he said if I faked some bills with his brother¡¯s name, he¡¯d let it slide.¡±

    ¡°And then he planned to cash in on the forgeries with you?¡±

    ¡°No way, I swear! I never got a penny. I thought it was a prank on his brother.¡±

    ¡°Quite the sense of humor you¡¯ve got.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s where he tricked me; he must¡¯ve cashed them right away. Then his brother found out, and he threatened to expose me.¡±

    ¡°And then you ran to your sister, probably begging for help.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t beg. I¡¯m not that type. But I did mention it to her¡ªshe¡¯s my sister, after all.¡±

    ¡°And being your sister, she probably offered to bail you out.¡±

    ¡°That was her mistake. She talked about giving him money, like that would fix it. I suggested she give it to me instead, so I could start fresh abroad. But she never listens to me, never!¡±

    ¡°So let me get this straight,¡± I began, my voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Your sister, a young, vulnerable girl, at your insistence, went alone to this man late at night, risking a lot of things. And to save you from the consequences of your cowardice, she offered him her hard-earned money and probably promised him her future earnings. Then, when he turns up dead the next morning, your immediate assumption is that she did it. Mr. Moore, your sense of gratitude is truly unique. In a logical world, you¡¯d be dealt with like any other pest, eliminated without hesitation. Sadly for you, logic isn¡¯t ruling the day.¡±

    I gave him a gentle shake, far less than he deserved considering his sister¡¯s plight. Yet, by his reaction, you¡¯d think I¡¯d roughed him up thoroughly. He looked at me like I¡¯d just sentenced him to death.

    ¡°That felt good,¡± Miss Adair remarked. ¡°I needed that.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t help but agree. It did feel good to lay some truth on Tom Moore, even if he couldn¡¯t appreciate it.

 CHAPTER 10. WHERE MISS MOORE WAS GOING

    <hr>

    Exiting Tom Moore¡¯s presence felt like a breath of fresh air as Miss Adair and I headed towards Imperial Mansions. She seemed to share my sentiments.

    ¡°What a brother he is. A real piece of work,¡± she remarked.

    ¡°But what about the sister! She¡¯s something else,¡± I replied.

    She eyed me suspiciously, as if expecting a sarcastic comment.

    ¡°I doubt all women are cut from the same cloth as Bessie,¡± she said.

    ¡°If only they were. Miss Moore embodies the qualities we wish our mothers had,¡± I replied earnestly.

    She glanced at me sidelong, and I could feel her gaze even though I kept my eyes ahead.

    ¡°Are you married, Mr. Ferguson?¡± she asked suddenly, causing a flush to creep up my cheeks.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not that fortunate,¡± I replied curtly.

    ¡°Ah! I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if you get lucky later,¡± she teased, her tone carrying a hidden meaning that I couldn¡¯t quite grasp. I suspected she was hinting at something I might not appreciate, but I wasn¡¯t sure how to dig deeper. She continued, musing aloud.

    ¡°Imagine, just for argument¡¯s sake, if Bessie did kill this man. I wonder what would happen.¡±

    ¡°I refuse to entertain such a notion.¡±

    ¡°But why rule out the possibility? You don¡¯t really know her character or temperament. She¡¯s a stranger to you.¡±

    ¡°I know enough to trust her integrity.¡±

    ¡°How can you be so sure? From what you¡¯ve said, she hasn¡¯t been coherent since you met her. After an hour of nonsensical conversation with someone who¡¯s not in their right mind, how can you vouch for her sanity?¡±

    ¡°Miss Adair, if you¡¯re here as Bessie¡¯s friend, act like one. Otherwise, I¡¯ll have the cab turn around,¡± I asserted firmly.

    She fell silent for a moment, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

    ¡°Thank you, but there¡¯s no need to turn back,¡± she said with a playful smile. ¡°I believe, Mr. Ferguson, you¡¯re Scottish, aren¡¯t you?¡±

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    Scotch blood flowed through my veins, a fact I saw no reason for Miss Adair to find fault with. When I mentioned this, she laughed heartily. While Miss Adair was charming, I must admit I was relieved when we finally arrived at our destination. She seemed to be in a teasing mood, as evidenced by her comment upon exiting the cab.

    ¡°Now, let¡¯s meet this ideal image of motherhood,¡± she quipped.

    I chose not to respond, merely following her into the elevator.

    ¡°Top floor,¡± I instructed the lift operator.

    As we passed the first floor, Miss Adair suddenly exclaimed from her seat.

    ¡°There¡¯s Bessie!¡±

    I turned my head just in time to catch a glimpse of my visitor from the previous night disappearing around the staircase corner. We were still ascending, so I instructed the lift to return. Once we were out on the landing, Miss Adair had already made her way down the corridor toward No. 64.

    ¡°Where is she going?¡± Miss Adair called out. ¡°Bessie!¡±

    Her call went unanswered, and it seemed Bessie didn¡¯t hear. She continued to move quickly as if she had a specific destination in mind. I suspected the murder scene was still intact in Lawrence¡¯s room, left untouched.

    ¡°We need to hurry!¡± I urged. ¡°She doesn¡¯t realize what she¡¯s doing; she¡¯s heading to Lawrence¡¯s room where he was murdered. We have to stop her before she gets there.¡±

    We hurried after her, but before we could catch up, someone grabbed my arm. I had noticed another person in the corridor earlier, but my focus had been on Miss Moore. Now, I saw it was Hume. He held onto my arm firmly, a level of agitation showing on his face that surprised me.

    ¡°Ferguson! Miss Adair! What¡¯s Miss Moore doing here?¡± he exclaimed.

    His recognition of her caught me off guard, especially in such a tense moment.

    ¡°You know her?¡±

    ¡°I believe I do,¡± he replied, his tone tinged with bitterness. ¡°But what¡¯s going on? I tried to talk to her, but she didn¡¯t acknowledge me. What¡¯s wrong with her? She looks unwell. Where is she headed?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s going to Lawrence¡¯s room.¡±

    ¡°Ferguson!¡± Hume¡¯s grip tightened, revealing more strength than I realized he possessed. ¡°Why is she going there?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here to prevent her from going in, not to stand around answering pointless questions,¡± I snapped at Hume, breaking away from his grip. The brief delay had given Miss Moore enough time to reach No. 64. A police officer stood outside, seemingly guarding the door.

    ¡°Is this where Mr. Edwin Lawrence was killed?¡± I heard Miss Moore¡¯s voice, clear and direct like that of a child asking an innocent question, even from a distance.

    The officer looked perplexed. ¡°Yes, miss. But you can¡¯t enter; I¡¯m under strict orders not to allow anyone without authorization. What¡¯s your name and your business here?¡±

    ¡°Let me through!¡± Miss Moore¡¯s imperious gesture, like that of a sovereign queen, waved him aside as she brushed past him and entered the room in a swift motion. I was right behind her as soon as she disappeared from view.

    ¡°Why did you let her in?¡± I demanded, confronting the officer.

    He looked bewildered. ¡°Let her? She didn¡¯t wait for permission. For a lady, she¡¯s quite assertive.¡±

    Realizing my intent to follow, the officer blocked my path. ¡°You can¡¯t go in there! I¡¯ve told you.¡±

    ¡°You fool!¡± I pushed him aside, perhaps more forcefully than I intended, sending him stumbling down the passage until he collided with the wall. Without wasting a moment, I entered the dead man¡¯s room, with Miss Adair and Hume close behind me.

 CHAPTER 11. IN THE ONE ROOMâ€”AND THE OTHER

    <hr>

    Edwin Lawrence was obsessively particular about drafts. The slightest hint of fresh air would send him into a frenzy, even on the hottest days. He draped heavy curtains over every door and window, creating a stifling atmosphere. Peeking through the curtains that concealed the entrance to his dining room, I observed Miss Moore standing in the center of the room. Something about her demeanor made me pause, holding back Miss Adair and Hume who were behind me.

    ¡°Wait,¡± I whispered. ¡°I want to see what she does.¡±

    I preferred to be alone, especially without Hume¡¯s company. However, I couldn¡¯t ask him to leave without alerting Miss Moore. Suddenly, I felt compelled to stay, eager to shed light on her situation and bring her back to full clarity. A quick glance revealed that her surroundings might trigger a breakthrough or a crisis, leading to the clarity I sought. The constable, who had followed us in, seemed inclined to ask us to leave. I gripped his shoulder.

    ¡°Stay quiet; you¡¯ll serve us best by staying silent.¡±

    He understood and remained silent, with me keeping my hold on his shoulder.

    Miss Moore looked around the room, her expression showing a hint of recognition mixed with confusion. She raised her hand to her forehead in a familiar gesture.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been here before¡ªdefinitely. I know this place, but I can¡¯t remember when or how. It¡¯s puzzling.¡±

    She scanned the room with searching eyes, as if hoping to find a clue that would unlock her memory. Finally, she noticed the stain on the carpet, a remnant of Lawrence¡¯s demise. She approached it, her voice trembling slightly.

    ¡°It¡¯s dry. Why wouldn¡¯t it be dry? What is this?¡±

    Bending down, she touched the stain, her voice hinting at a buried memory resurfacing. She covered her face momentarily, as if struggling to recall something dreadful.

    ¡°It¡¯s familiar, but I can¡¯t place it. Something terrible. What is it?¡±

    She straightened suddenly, a look of fear crossing her face. She became alert, as if anticipating something ominous.

    ¡°This is where Mr. Edwin Lawrence died¡ªmurdered!¡± Her expression shifted, reflecting her realization. ¡°He fell here.¡±

    She made a sudden motion, as if about to collapse, prompting me to move forward to steady her. But it was a brief act, and she resumed her stance, her demeanor a mix of confusion and alarm.

    ¡°Let me retrace it. He stood here, and I was there.¡±

    She moved around the room, as if piecing together fragments of a memory. It was like watching a scene unfold in her mind.

    ¡°I said, ¡®I¡¯ll end you,¡¯ out of anger. And then he laughed, mocking my threat. ¡®Ending me won¡¯t help you,¡¯ he said. That enraged me more, pushing me to decide that I¡¯d end him.¡±

    A chill ran through me, my grip tightening on the curtains. Without looking, I sensed the tension on the faces of Miss Adair, Hume, even the constable, all drawn into the intensity of her words. Miss Adair whispered urgently, ¡°Stop her! Don¡¯t let her continue!¡±

    My voice sounded strained as I replied, ¡°I won¡¯t interrupt her. Let her speak her mind. I¡¯m not afraid.¡±

    She tugged at my coat sleeve, a silent sign of support.

    The girl inside battled with her memories, hands pressed against her forehead. Amidst her turmoil, her beauty stood out, amplifying with her emotions. Her innocence clashed oddly with the gruesome tale she unfolded, like a child confessing to deeds beyond their understanding.

    ¡°Did I kill him? Not then¡ªnot then. Later, he returned, and the cycle repeated, escalating into threats of murder from both of us. His laughter fueled our rage. And then it happened. It came in. It!¡±

    She trembled, fear etching her face. She covered her eyes, pleading to be spared.

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    ¡°No! Don¡¯t! I won¡¯t! Don¡¯t make me! Keep it away! I can¡¯t bear it touching me!¡±

    With a gasp, she uncovered her eyes, staring at an invisible terror before her.

    ¡°What is it? Why am I scared? I shouldn¡¯t be scared. There¡¯s nothing wrong. I¡¯m not easily frightened. I said I¡¯d end him, but not like this. Did I say that? Yes. And I did! But I didn¡¯t mean to. Did I mean to? I don¡¯t know. Maybe I did. He says I did, and maybe he¡¯s right.¡±

    She stood frozen, staring ahead blankly, as if waking from a trance, surprised by her surroundings.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening to me? Am I losing my mind? This room holds a haunting memory, and though I fear to remember, I can¡¯t stop trying. Why did I come here? It was foolish. He told me that¡ªEdwin Lawrence was killed here.¡±

    ¡°Edwin Lawrence? What did he have to do with me? Lawrence? That name feels familiar. Two of them, and one was killed. Oh, it¡¯s all coming back! I hear the awful noise. I see the knives¡ªthe knives! And the blood as he falls, the hacking! I didn¡¯t do it! Did I do it?¡±

    Her plea for understanding was heart-wrenching. In that moment, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to approach her, overwhelmed by the depth of her turmoil.

    ¡°Let me piece it together¡ªhow did it unfold? He stood there, and the laughter¡ªthen the blade, gleaming in the dim light, pierced him from behind. His expression¡ªI saw it, a look of sheer terror. Don¡¯t stare at me like that; I can¡¯t help you! It¡¯s too late! Look away; spare me this. The devil did it¡ªthe devil! Not me. It seized him, a dozen hands choking him, knives cutting, until he lost all human semblance. And then the final blow, and he fell, his face¡ªa face no longer recognizable, and the relentless hacking! That dreadful sound.¡±

    She raised her arms in a plea for mercy.

    ¡°Oh Lord, what have I done to deserve this? If I¡¯ve sinned, my punishment surpasses any wrongdoing. Why burden me with this, to carry forever? Let it be a dream¡ªa nightmarish illusion! For if it¡¯s real, if it¡¯s true, then what awaits me but eternal torment? Have mercy on me!¡±

    Her sobs echoed through the room, raw and gut-wrenching. Tears eluded her, replaced by dry, agonizing sobs that seemed to tear her apart. The sobs ebbed, replaced by a shiver as she seemed to regain awareness from a fevered trance.

    ¡°I¡¯m not well; something¡¯s wrong. It¡¯s like I¡¯m split in two, losing myself in a fog. Can a person be two people in one? My mind feels divided, lost between two realms. I wasn¡¯t always like this; something must have happened. But what? It¡¯s terrifying to think, yet I can¡¯t stop trying. I know it happened here; but why? What brought me here?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s something in my mind, just out of reach. If I could grasp it, I¡¯d understand. But what? I¡¯m haunted, unsure if it¡¯s a vision or reality. I wish I could sit and think it through. Why does this dead man haunt me? Why do I see myself harming him? It¡¯s not a normal knife¡ªit¡¯s worse, emerging from nowhere. And the noise¡ªit¡¯s not me making it, it¡¯s It. Striking, striking, and the blood on my cloak. I had a cloak¡ªI remember it, hindering me. And then¡ªhe falls. And it starts again, in moonlit rooms, him staring at me¡ªmy friend.¡±

    She extended her hands, reminiscing.

    ¡°And I can¡¯t recall what happened before. I should know who I am, why I¡¯m here. But the faces blur, their intentions unclear. They look at me, applauding. Then back to the dead man on the floor; it all revolves around that. Did I kill him? I wish I knew. Did I deserve to kill him?¡±

    Her gaze shifted to the door leading to Lawrence¡¯s bedroom.

    ¡°What¡¯s in there?¡±

    She twisted the handle and stepped inside. I hurried to the door, with Miss Adair, Hume, and the constable trailing behind me. We probably looked like a chaotic procession scuttling across the room. But what I saw in that bedroom erased any notion of humor; it froze me in place, as if my body had forgotten how to move. Inspector Symonds was already there with a fellow officer, examining the room. As Miss Moore entered, their gaze turned to her, puzzled by her presence. She paid them no mind, fixated on something under a sheet on the bed.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± she murmured to herself, drawing nearer to the bed with hesitation. We stood silently, watching. The officials seemed momentarily stunned by her unexpected arrival. For me, it was a rare moment of being utterly lost. Even if I knew what to do, I doubt I could have acted; my nerves were tangled strings. She reached the bed and lifted the sheet slightly, then dropped it back down.

    ¡°It¡¯s the man I saw dead,¡± she whispered. A mix of curiosity and dread dawned on her face. ¡°Would I recognize him now? Would it all come back to me?¡±

    She uncovered the dead man¡¯s face, her horror intensifying. The grim reality seeped into her mind. Stepping back, her voice strained, ¡°I killed him; the hacking, the blood on my hands and cloak, him lying there dead.¡±

    She paused, transfixed by the body. Unsure whether to approach or retreat, torn between fascination and repulsion. Miss Adair nudged me urgently.

    ¡°Stop her! Don¡¯t let her near!¡±

    Her words snapped me out of my daze. I realized the gravity of the situation¡ªthe young girl, her mind clouded, toying with the corpse of a murder victim.

    ¡°Go to her,¡± I urged Miss Adair. ¡°See if she recognizes you.¡±

    It was time for a gentle intervention. Inspector Symonds and his colleague also moved forward, sensing the need for intervention. Miss Moore turned slowly toward the bed.

    ¡°I wonder where I struck him, where it hacked,¡± she mumbled.

    Miss Adair stepped closer, calling out, ¡°Bessie!¡±

    The girl turned, wrestling with the haze in her mind. It seemed like a physical struggle; she swayed, on the brink of collapse. Then clarity surged through her. She rushed to Miss Adair.

    ¡°Florrie!¡± she exclaimed, tears streaming down her face¡ªa release of genuine emotion this time, unlike the dry sobs that had tormented her moments earlier. She wept like a distraught child.

 CHAPTER 12. WHAT WAS ON THE BED

    <hr>

    And there we were, the five of us, men standing in silence for a moment, each with his own mix of emotions. Inspector Symonds and his colleague seemed surprised, tinged with something else. They exchanged hushed words before the Inspector made a move toward Miss Moore, an action that didn¡¯t sit right with me. I stepped in front of him.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, sir?¡± I asked. ¡°What are you trying to do?¡±

    He glanced at me with suspicion, then turned to the constable stationed in the passage to the outer door.

    ¡°Why are these people here? Didn¡¯t I tell you to let no one in without orders?¡±

    The constable looked sheepish. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir. The young lady slipped past me before I could stop her, then this gentleman here practically shoved me aside, and the others followed. It all happened too fast for me to do much.¡±

    The Inspector wasn¡¯t in the mood for excuses. ¡°That¡¯s no excuse. You should have been more vigilant. I expect strict adherence to my orders.¡±

    He turned back to me. ¡°Mr. Ferguson, you¡¯re treading on thin ice. This isn¡¯t behavior expected from someone in your position. You don¡¯t want to find yourself on the wrong side of the law.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the concern, but I know where I stand. And as for you, don¡¯t overstep your bounds. It¡¯s a common mistake for someone in your role.¡±

    ¡°Move aside, Mr. Ferguson. I need to speak to that young lady directly.¡±

    ¡°Speak from there,¡± I insisted. ¡°She¡¯s not well and doesn¡¯t need unwanted attention.¡±

    ¡°Not well? What¡¯s wrong with her?¡±

    ¡°I could ask what business that is of yours, but I¡¯ll tell you she¡¯s experiencing hallucinations.¡±

    ¡°Hallucinations? Really?¡±

    His tone irked me. He addressed Miss Moore from across the room. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she replied softly.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know your own name? That won¡¯t do. Tell me.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s telling you she doesn¡¯t know,¡± I interjected. ¡°You¡¯d do well not to doubt her.¡±

    ¡°Let go of me,¡± the Inspector snapped. ¡°If you won¡¯t tell me who she is, and she can¡¯t, then I¡¯ll have to keep her here until we figure it out.¡±

    ¡°Keep her? What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°She forced her way in here and, in case you missed it, she¡¯s admitted to being involved in this man¡¯s death.¡±

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    His colleague added, ¡°She did say she killed him.¡±

    He covered the dead man¡¯s face again. The constable added his input.

    ¡°I apologize, sir, but she¡¯s been acting incredibly strange in the other room. From what she¡¯s been saying and doing, it sounds like she witnessed the murder and is reenacting it to herself. She mentioned using a large knife,¡± the constable explained.

    ¡°You heard her confess to using a knife?¡± the Inspector clarified.

    ¡°Yes, several times. These two gentlemen and that lady heard it too. She said she intended to kill him all along, described how she struck him in the back with a knife, and how he fell forward on his face,¡± the constable added.

    ¡°Given that statement, I must detain the lady,¡± the Inspector asserted.

    Before he could continue, I interrupted. ¡°I say the lady will not be detained. I¡¯ll prevent you, Mr. Symonds, from making a grave mistake. Miss Adair, please escort the lady out of the room. I¡¯ll ensure no one interferes with her. Now, constable, step aside.¡±

    I moved toward the constable, who quickly made way for me. The Inspector stepped in.

    ¡°Mr. Ferguson, be cautious. Dr. Hume, would you explain to this gentleman the consequences of obstructing the police? And perhaps enlighten him on the futility of such attempts,¡± the Inspector requested.

    Hume, who had been near the door, approached. His demeanor had shifted since I last saw him; he appeared older and struggled to maintain composure.

    ¡°I assure you, Mr. Symonds, I have no intention of obstructing justice. However, I know this young lady and am certain she¡¯s not involved in this crime any more than I am. The constable¡¯s description of her behavior is far from accurate. She¡¯s currently dealing with a mental condition. Arresting her could worsen her state significantly, for which you would bear responsibility. Let me finish, Inspector. If you release her entirely, you¡¯d also carry a heavy burden. I guarantee she¡¯ll be available as a witness or in any required capacity until it¡¯s clear she¡¯s not connected to this incident.¡±

    ¡°First, what¡¯s her name, who is she, and where does she live?¡± the Inspector inquired.

    ¡°She¡¯s Miss Bessie Moore, the actress, residing with Miss Florence Adair at 22, Hailsham Road, Brompton.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of Miss Bessie Moore. I wasn¡¯t aware of her...¡± He gestured to his head.

    ¡°I certify she¡¯s currently mentally unfit, and arresting her would jeopardize not just her sanity but her life,¡± Hume emphasized.

    ¡°Understood. And you guarantee her availability when needed?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Hume confirmed.

    ¡°And Mr. Ferguson agrees?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± I affirmed.

    ¡°Where is Miss Moore going now?¡± the Inspector asked.

    ¡°Back home,¡± Hume replied.

    ¡°A police escort¡ª¡± the Inspector began.

    ¡°No police escort,¡± I interjected.

    Hume echoed, ¡°She won¡¯t be needing one.¡±

    ¡°As long as she can be produced when required, Miss Moore is free to go for now,¡± the Inspector concluded.

    We left the room, the women leading the way with Hume and me following. Miss Moore stayed quiet during the discussion with the inspector. Once we were in the corridor, she turned to me.

    ¡°Where am I going? I need to talk to you,¡± she said.

    ¡°You should go back to Mrs. Peddar¡¯s room with Miss Adair, at least for now. I¡¯ll join you shortly,¡± I replied.

    ¡°You¡¯ll come for sure?¡± She touched my arm.

    ¡°Absolutely. I¡¯ll be there almost as soon as you.¡±

    Hume approached. ¡°I need to speak with you too.¡±

    ¡°You? No! I don¡¯t want to speak to you¡ªnot to you!¡± She recoiled from him as if he were contagious.

    After they left, Hume turned to me, his eyes holding an enigmatic expression. I didn¡¯t try to decipher it then, but there was a strange sense of curiosity about whether the doctor might be losing his mind himself.

    ¡°What¡¯s your plan in this game? Are you planning to save yourself by sacrificing her, along with Philip Lawrence?¡± That¡¯s what he said to me. ¡°To save my neck¡±¡ªthose words echoed in my mind as I headed back towards the housekeeper¡¯s room. They sparked an idea in me.

 CHAPTER 13. SHE AND I

    <hr>

    The atmosphere in Mrs. Peddar¡¯s room felt heavy with uncertainty the moment I entered. Miss Moore, usually quick to greet me warmly, now stood behind the table, her face turned away. There was an air of doubt, hesitation, even shame about her posture¡ªa stark contrast to her usual openness.

    Miss Adair sat with her hands resting on her knee, displaying a similar uncertainty. Mrs. Peddar, leaning against her sideboard, nervously played with the fringe of her apron. The room seemed to vibrate with tension, making it uncomfortable for any of us to make eye contact.

    Breaking the uneasy silence took effort. ¡°Miss Moore, I think it¡¯s best if you go home with Miss Adair right away.¡±

    ¡°Go home? Where is my home? I should know, and I do remember more now, but¡ªI can¡¯t seem to find it.¡±

    ¡°Forget about that for now. Miss Adair will take care of you. Put your hat on and let¡¯s get going. We don¡¯t have much time,¡± I urged, mindful of Inspector Symonds potentially changing his stance downstairs.

    Miss Moore remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the floor, lines of distress creasing her forehead. ¡°Do you think¡ªI¡ªkilled that man?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m certain you didn¡¯t,¡± I reassured her.

    She looked up at me, relief evident in her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re sure? How do you know?¡±

    ¡°My own judgment. I¡¯ve spoken with your brother and learned about your reasons for visiting Edwin Lawrence. I understand the strain you were under, and how a little more pressure could have been overwhelming. But I¡¯m convinced you didn¡¯t do anything shameful during that time.¡±

    ¡°But she thinks I did, and so does she,¡± Miss Moore gestured to Miss Adair and Mrs. Peddar.

    ¡°You¡¯re mistaken. Miss Adair knows you well enough not to believe such a thing.¡±

    ¡°But she does believe it. Don¡¯t you?¡± Miss Moore turned to Miss Adair.

    In response, Miss Adair buried her face in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks.

    ¡°Bessie!¡± she sobbed.

    I was taken aback. ¡°You see? And she believes it too. And that inspector, he thinks so; he wanted to detain me. Will he¡ªdetain me?¡±

    She posed the question with a faint gasp, a mix of loneliness and terror evident in her voice, touching me deeply. Trying to sound confident, though I wasn¡¯t entirely sure, I replied, ¡°The police often make mistakes. In cases like this, they¡¯d lock up anyone they could. Before you leave, there¡¯s something I need to ask¡ªwas anyone else in that room besides you and Edwin Lawrence?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡ªyou were there.¡±

    ¡°Me?¡±

    She said it so matter-of-factly that it hit me like a sledgehammer. ¡°Yes, you were there. When I saw you in bed, in the moonlight, I felt like I¡¯d seen your face before, and I¡¯ve been thinking that ever since; now I remember¡ªyou were there. Don¡¯t you remember coming into the room?¡±

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    She spoke with a sudden burst of excitement. Mrs. Peddar reacted strongly to her words.

    ¡°You¡¯re being wicked, saying such things after all he¡¯s done for you! Next, you¡¯ll say I was there.¡±

    I tried to calm Mrs. Peddar down. ¡°Easy, Mrs. Peddar. I¡¯m not entirely convinced Miss Moore is wrong. I had dreams too. I dreamt I was in Edwin Lawrence¡¯s room, witnessing his murder; whether it was real or a dream, I can¡¯t say. But what I saw was like a vague reflection.¡±

    ¡°Did you see me?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I saw someone who I now think was you.¡±

    ¡°Did you see It?¡±

    ¡°It?¡±

    ¡°The creature¡ªthe awful thing!¡±

    ¡°My vision was hazy; it felt like a nightmare, but I sensed a sinister presence in the room. What was this thing?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know; I can¡¯t think. I¡¯m scared to even try! It¡¯s the one who did it all.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t it some kind of wild animal? It sounded like one, or was that just my imagination?¡±

    ¡°The terrifying noise! I¡¯ve been hearing it constantly. I hear it now. Can¡¯t you hear it?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing, just your imagination. But was there anyone else besides you, Edwin Lawrence, and me?¡±

    ¡°There was another man.¡±

    ¡°Was he Lawrence¡¯s brother?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure; I can¡¯t quite remember. But if I saw him again, I¡¯d recognize him, like I recognize you.¡±

    ¡°Did they argue, the two men?¡±

    She shook her head.

    ¡°It might all come back to me eventually, piece by piece, but not yet. But you were there, and you saw I didn¡¯t kill him?¡±

    ¡°What I saw is still a blur, just like with you. But I¡¯m certain you didn¡¯t kill him, as certain as the sky above us.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so relieved. You¡¯ve made me so happy.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t take much to make you happy.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve heard it before. I¡¯m John Ferguson.¡±

    ¡°John!¡± Her tone softened, reverting to her former self. She leaned closer, seeking comfort. My heart raced. ¡°Why do I feel safe around you? The closer I am to you, the safer I feel.¡±

    ¡°May you always feel safe near me.¡±

    ¡°My belief is that I always will. I believe I always will.¡±

    She looked at me intensely, and I struggled not to embrace her. When I spoke, it was clumsy, with awkward words.

    ¡°The situation is more complicated than I thought. It¡¯s bringing us together. Maybe it¡¯s meant to be, that our lives draw closer under this shadow. I¡¯m content with that.¡± I paused, waiting for her response; she remained silent but placed her hand on my arm, causing me to tremble. ¡°Don¡¯t let yourself be troubled by fears. Your heart and hands are pure. I know. Look up, there¡¯s hope! Your innocence will be clear to the world and to yourself. You doubt yourself the most.¡±

    ¡°I did doubt, but I feel better now. I don¡¯t doubt at all when you¡¯re near. I wonder why?¡±

    ¡°I wonder too. But now, there are things I must do. You need to go. Mrs. Peddar, where¡¯s Miss Moore¡¯s hat?¡±

    Mrs. Peddar fetched the hat, and as she put it on, Miss Adair approached me.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on between you two? Have you known each other forever, or did you just meet last night?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a question for the philosophers. It feels like I¡¯ve known her forever.¡±

    ¡°And has she known you?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s one thing you mustn¡¯t think¡ªdon¡¯t think she had any part in what happened.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s all so overwhelming! It hit me out of nowhere. What am I supposed to think after what she said and did in that room?¡±

    ¡°You have to believe she¡¯s as innocent as can be.¡±

    ¡°But what am I supposed to believe? It seems like both of you were there. I have no doubt the man deserved what he got; if she didn¡¯t do it, did you?¡±

    ¡°God forbid!¡±

    Miss Moore had her hat on, then noticed something.

    ¡°I had a cloak. I¡¯m sure I had one. Where is it?¡±

    ¡°Forget about the cloak; it¡¯s warm today, you won¡¯t need it.¡±

    I caught Miss Adair¡¯s glance; she remembered what I said about the condition of that cloak, suspicion evident in her eyes. I turned to Mrs. Peddar.

    ¡°We won¡¯t use the main entrance. Is there another way?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a service lift and service stairs.¡±

    ¡°Perfect, show us.¡±

    We took the servants¡¯ staircase, exited through a back door into a side street, without anyone stopping us. I saw the two girls into a cab. As they drove off and disappeared around the corner, I felt a void in my life.

 CHAPTER 14. HE AND I

    <hr>

    As I made my way back to my apartment, it felt like a war zone inside me, with conflicting thoughts and emotions battling for dominance. I never imagined that I could be so thrown off balance by the events of the past few hours.

    I¡¯m no stranger to tough situations. My life has been a series of struggles in far-flung corners of the world, where survival meant fighting tooth and nail. In places where life is cheap, taking out someone like Edwin Lawrence might have seemed as routine as dealing with any other threat. I¡¯ve earned the nickname ¡°Fighting John¡± for good reason. I¡¯ve defended my life and, when necessary, taken lives to protect myself. I learned early on that sometimes, violence is the only solution.

    But women? That¡¯s a different realm altogether. I¡¯ve never been close to them. I¡¯ve always felt they¡¯re better than me, which kept me at a distance. Women were like sacred ground to me; evil had no place near them. So I kept my distance¡ªuntil that night.

    Now, who knows what fate had in store? Ever since I saw her in the moonlight at my window, my world has been turned upside down. It sounds ridiculous, yet it¡¯s true. What could she see in someone like me¡ªan adventurer stained by the world¡¯s grime from every corner? What right did I have to even think about someone like her¡ªa young woman, beautiful in every sense, miles above my station, adored by the town¡¯s elite? It was madness, especially for me, in my autumn years.

    But she called me ¡°John.¡± In her moment of need, I took advantage of that. But that moment would pass, and I¡¯d be just another face in the crowd. I might watch her perform at the theatre, but she wouldn¡¯t spare a glance my way. That would be a dark moment for me. But as long as she¡¯s okay, everything¡¯s alright.

    But would her troubles blow over quickly? Alone in my room, I tried to think, but fear gripped me. I was foolish to let her go back to Hailsham Road. Who in their right mind trusts Inspector Symonds? I¡¯ve dealt with the police enough to know they¡¯re either incompetent or corrupt. If they laid a finger on her, what could I do? In this country, even standing up to a cop is a crime. And Miss Adair¡ªhow could she doubt her angelic innocence? It¡¯s maddening to think of the girl living under suspicion when trust is what she needs most.

    Why did I let her go back to Hailsham Road? She would¡¯ve been safer with Mrs. Peddar, or¡ªforgive me for thinking it¡ªsafer still with me.

    The doubts swirling around were like a storm cloud, and I couldn¡¯t help but wonder what fueled them for Miss Adair and the Inspector. The surface looked murky, and if certain details came to light, it could get even murkier. Now that a dozen people knew she was in that room, she could end up in the witness box, forced to spill everything. She had gone there with ill intentions, he ended up dead while she was around, and then she vanished without a word to anyone about what happened. It didn¡¯t take a genius to figure out the kind of conclusions an unfriendly critic could draw from those facts. I couldn¡¯t bear to think about the risks she faced until the whole truth came out.

    ¡°What is the truth?¡± I blurted out, not realizing I was speaking aloud until my bedroom door swung open, and there stood Hume, glaring at me like I was the intruder.

    ¡°It¡¯s you, huh? Come here!¡± Hume¡¯s tone made it seem like I was the one out of place, not him. His sudden appearance caught me off guard, leaving me staring for a moment before I moved closer.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°Come, and you¡¯ll see.¡± He gestured for me to enter, and as I stepped inside, I was met with chaos. He had ransacked my belongings¡ªdrawers pulled out, cupboards open, everything scattered across chairs and tables. On the bed lay my pyjamas and a towel, and prominently displayed was the plum-colored cloak.

    When I saw that damning piece of evidence in his hands, my anger surged. ¡°You scoundrel!¡±

    I lunged for him, but he brandished a revolver, aiming it at me. ¡°Stop right there! I¡¯ve dealt with your kind before, John Ferguson. Try anything, and I¡¯ll spare the hangman the trouble.¡±

    I¡¯d faced tougher foes in my time, men unbound by civilization¡¯s rules, handy with a pistol. The way he held his gun told me he wasn¡¯t quite a pro yet. I dodged, disarming him with a swift strike, sending the pistol flying. I grabbed him, lifting him off his feet and shaking him until he went still.

    ¡°Now, Dr. Hume, why shouldn¡¯t I end you?¡±

    He struggled to speak through the pain. ¡°You can¡ªkill me¡ªif you want. Killing¡¯s¡ªyour expertise.¡±

    ¡°And snooping into a man¡¯s life, like a thief? That¡¯s your style, isn¡¯t it? However, since you¡¯re here, let¡¯s have a chat before you go.¡±

    I let Hume drop to the floor, struggling for breath like a fish out of water. His revolver, though stylish, wasn¡¯t the kind you¡¯d carry for serious business¡ªa real gun should punch through an inch of wood from yards away, not just scratch a man¡¯s skin. Locking the door, I waited for him to regain his composure.

    ¡°Ready when you are, Dr. Hume.¡±

    I observed him as he recovered. His eyes followed me around the room, startled when I picked up his weapon. Gradually, he regained his breath and sat up.

    ¡°You¡¯re like a museum exhibit, Ferguson.¡±

    ¡°Really? Why¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a marvel of strength.¡±

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    ¡°Keep that in mind.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve just realized it. I might have to revise my beliefs about Hercules and Samson.¡± He straightened his clothes. ¡°I don¡¯t mind your physique; it¡¯s enlightening, showing what a man¡¯s capable of. It¡¯s a shame you¡¯re¡ª Are you just foolish, or is there more to you?¡±

    He stood, still adjusting himself. Pointing at the plum-colored cloak, he asked, ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what I¡¯ll strangle you with.¡±

    ¡°Is that so? I don¡¯t doubt your skill, but why go to such lengths?¡±

    ¡°You need to assure me that no one outside this room will ever know about this cloak¡ªand that won¡¯t be easy.¡±

    ¡°You want me to keep quiet about what I found?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a request.¡±

    ¡°Ferguson, you¡¯re insane.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve said that before. You¡¯re an expert. You should know not to mess with a potentially homicidal lunatic. Tag me with that label.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re mad about the wrong thing.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the right kind of madness?¡±

    ¡°That cloak belongs to Miss Moore.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d give my life to protect her.¡±

    ¡°Say that again.¡±

    ¡°To protect her, I¡¯d give my life. It sounds dramatic, but it¡¯s true.¡±

    ¡°Hume, I may be crazy, but not as much as you think.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re crazier. If you don¡¯t believe me, why should I confide in you? But there are moments when men spill their secrets illogically. Maybe this is one of those moments for me. Miss Moore is the only woman I¡¯ve ever loved. It¡¯s a clich¨¦, but it¡¯s the truth.¡±

    ¡°Why tell me this?¡± ¡°What¡¯s the deal with that cloak in your closet?¡± ¡°Why were you snooping in my wardrobe?¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t searching for that. I was looking for something to accuse you with. And I stumbled upon this, and those. This is a towel. It¡¯s got blood on it. Look! Fingerprints in blood. You wiped your hands on it when you left Lawrence¡¯s room last night.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s your interpretation. I see.¡±

    ¡°Those are the pajamas you had on. They¡¯re stained too. Check the front of the jacket and the pants.¡±

    ¡°What conclusion are you drawing from this?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I had an idea, but now I¡¯m not.¡±

    His voice dripped with disappointment. He glanced at the bed. I thought for a moment before speaking.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, Hume. The cloak belongs to Miss Moore.¡±

    He spun around. ¡°Are you planning to hang her now instead of Philip? Or both of them?¡±

    ¡°Enough about hanging. We need to understand each other before you leave. The cloak is Miss Moore¡¯s. It¡¯s soaked in blood.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°I believe it¡¯s Edwin Lawrence¡¯s blood. You can easily verify it with a microscope. The stain on my pajamas came from her cloak. The towel had her handprints, not mine. I tossed the water she used to wash her hands out onto the street. It was red. Her hands were soaked, and there were smudges on her face too.¡±

    ¡°Ferguson!¡±

    ¡°Those are the facts. I¡¯ve never avoided a fact I didn¡¯t like; I confront it. And because I¡¯ve faced those facts, I know they don¡¯t point to her as the killer; I know she didn¡¯t do it.¡±

    ¡°How can you be sure?¡±

    I chuckled. ¡°Because I know her; maybe you don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve known her most of my life.¡±

    ¡°And I only since last night, when she appeared at my window with bloody hands.¡±

    ¡°But how can you be certain she didn¡¯t do it, unless you know who did? Do you?¡±

    I chuckled again. ¡°I don¡¯t. Lawrence outsmarted me; I suspected it last night, now I¡¯m certain; but I wouldn¡¯t have killed him just because he was clever; at least, not like that. You¡¯re not great at judging character if you think I would.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care about you or your character. I¡¯m worried about her. She might have done it in a moment of insanity.¡±

    ¡°Maybe she could have; but she didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Then what was her behavior in his room all about?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a mental expert; you should have a better idea than I do.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s because I¡¯m a mental expert that I¡¯m concerned. Symonds suspects her. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he arrests her within twenty-four hours. If he finds this cloak, he¡¯ll hang her.¡±

    ¡°No, he won¡¯t. And if Symonds is as foolish as you think¡ªhe might be, since you seem to know foolishness¡ªshe won¡¯t stay locked up for long. I¡¯ll get her out.¡±

    Hume had been pacing like a restless ghost. Now he halted, glaring at me like an angered beast. ¡°If you think brute force can beat the police, you¡¯re delusional.¡±

    ¡°As luck would have it, I¡¯m not delusional in that way, because I don¡¯t believe that at all. I have other plans to free her.¡±

    ¡°What kind of plans?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll confess.¡±

    ¡°But you said you didn¡¯t do it.¡±

    ¡°Neither did I; nor did she. But if Symonds needs a scapegoat, I¡¯d rather it be me than her. Going to the gallows for her would be a worthy sacrifice.¡±

    Hume stared. His breath seemed strained, as if I were shaking him again. ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about Miss Moore, Hume. I¡¯m certain she¡¯s safe.¡±

    ¡°You only met her last night.¡±

    ¡°But that feels like ages ago. So much has happened since then, it¡¯s as if I¡¯ve known her forever.¡±

    He turned his face away, studying me from the corner of his eye; it was the first time he avoided looking at me directly.

    ¡°Is that how it is? I understand.¡± He moistened his lips. ¡°A case of giving up everything for her.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got it, Hume.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s say, hypothetically, that evidence starts to align in a way that falsely implicates you in Lawrence¡¯s death. What then?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s clouding your judgment in this case, but something seems off. If you were thinking clearly, you¡¯d realize that the truth will come out sooner rather than later.¡±

    ¡°Does that mean you¡¯ll walk away unscathed?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t guarantee banners flying, but I¡¯ll walk away.¡±

    ¡°With her?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not for you to assume.¡±

    ¡°And what gives you the right to say what you¡¯ve been saying, knowing she means everything to me? For over a decade, I¡¯ve catered to her every whim, helped her rise in a career I despise because she loves it, celebrated her fame even though it pulls her further away from me with every cheer! And now you come in, claiming to have known her forever after just one night, boasting about sacrificing yourself for her. Do you honestly think she¡¯d want your sacrifice if she were herself? You claim to know her but think that? Ridiculous! But if you¡¯re so eager to be a scapegoat, I¡¯m game.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re willing?¡±

    ¡°She won¡¯t be. But if we piece together bits of evidence, line by line, we could paint your guilt so vividly that no jury would miss it, and no judge would spare you. Shall we work on that plan together?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re quite generous.¡±

    ¡°She might be in jail by tomorrow; Symonds might be filing for a warrant as we speak. If you believe you can free her by confessing, you¡¯re mistaken. They¡¯ll need solid details. You¡¯ll have to lay out exactly how you planned and executed it, trying to frame her in the process.¡±

    ¡°Your story will need backup from independent evidence. I could provide some truths that would incriminate you. Your attempts to hide your presence in the room will look suspicious, and there¡¯s the witness who saw you fleeing as if chased by demons. The evidence on the towel and pyjamas, among other things, won¡¯t help your case. And with a bit of creativity, we could craft a convincing narrative that would exonerate her without a doubt. Shall we get started?¡±

    I fell silent.

    ¡°There¡¯s someone knocking at my door.¡±

    The pounding on the door grew urgent.

    ¡°Seems like it¡¯s urgent. Maybe it¡¯s Symonds. If so, you might as well confess now. I¡¯ll back up what I know. Then she won¡¯t have to worry about arrest at all.¡±

 CHAPTER 15. THE LETTER

    <hr>

    But it wasn¡¯t Symonds at the door. Instead, a messenger-boy showed up, a rather impudent one at that.

    ¡°Are you Mr. John Ferguson? I¡¯ve been knocking for ages. I thought nobody was home.¡±

    ¡°Well, I hope the wait wasn¡¯t too much trouble. Yes, I¡¯m Mr. John Ferguson.¡±

    ¡°No response.¡±

    He shoved an envelope into my hand and turned to leave. I grabbed his shoulder.

    ¡°Wait a second! Who¡¯s this letter from?¡±

    ¡°I said there¡¯s no response.¡±

    He squirmed in my grip.

    ¡°I hear you loud and clear. But if you can spare a moment, it might be important. Please, come in.¡±

    I ushered him inside and shut the door. He shot me a glare.

    ¡°I was told not to wait if there¡¯s no response.¡±

    ¡°Good job following orders.¡±

    The envelope had a typed address, as did the message inside.

    ¡°Just because Edwin Lawrence is dead doesn¡¯t mean the ¡ê1880 is off the table. You can¡¯t evade debts with murder. A knife in the back doesn¡¯t erase what¡¯s owed. Get the money ready¡ªcash only, no checks. Be prepared to pay when asked. If we have to ask twice, things will get serious.¡±

    Signed, ¡°The Goddess.¡±

    ¡°Who sent this?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t read it.¡±

    ¡°You might have an idea who sent it, though.¡±

    ¡°I doubt it. I just got back from Finchley. As soon as I got in, they gave me this. All I know is there was no answer.¡±

    The messenger sounded irritated, as if he had a bone to pick. He was a young lad, with sharp black eyes and a feisty demeanor.

    ¡°Did you see who dropped this off at the office?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Where are you from?¡±

    ¡°Victoria.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°George Smith. But I fail to see how that¡¯s relevant to you.¡±

    ¡°That just shows your narrow perspective. Because, Mr. George Smith, even though there¡¯s no response to this note, you might hear about it again. Goodbye.¡±

    The young man left with a hint of disdain. I read the letter again. Hume, curious, couldn¡¯t resist asking.

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°I was debating whether to share this with you. No harm in it, I suppose.¡± I passed him the paper. He read it with interest. ¡°What do you think?¡±

    ¡°I should be asking you that.¡±

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    ¡°Here¡¯s one thing I gather¡ªthat whoever typed this letter did a fine job of hiding their identity. With a handwritten letter, you might get clues about the sender; but with a typewritten one, it¡¯s a mystery.¡±

    ¡°¡®The Goddess.¡¯ Does that name ring a bell for you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m pondering. ¡®The Goddess¡¯? I don¡¯t recall anyone who¡¯d call themselves that. Let me see it again.¡± He handed the paper back. ¡°This implies someone else is getting involved¡ªa mystery person for now.¡±

    ¡°But who knew about your debt to Lawrence, not to mention other details?¡±

    ¡°Exactly. It¡¯s puzzling!¡±

    Hume scrutinized me, as if trying to decode a puzzle from my expression.

    ¡°If someone demands the money from you, what will you do?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d hand them over to Symonds right away. Can¡¯t you see what that request implies? Lawrence was murdered right after our card game. How could anyone know what he claimed to win? No one saw him after the game except his killer.¡±

    ¡°Miss Moore and you saw him.¡±

    ¡°Are you implying she or I wrote this?¡±

    ¡°I see your point. Whoever wrote this had to have killed Lawrence because it reveals information only his killer would know. There¡¯s some merit to that inference. But if it¡¯s that obvious, wouldn¡¯t it be incredibly reckless to send you a letter like this?¡±

    ¡°¡®De l¡¯audace¡¯¡ªyou know the wise man¡¯s saying. I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s crystal clear. Actually, I think it¡¯s more mysterious than you realize. Assuming the letter¡¯s writer killed Lawrence¡ªand I bet that¡¯s the case¡ªthe real question is who wrote it. It¡¯s signed ¡®The Goddess.¡¯ I think ¡®The Goddess¡¯ was the author. Now, who¡¯s ¡®The Goddess¡¯? That¡¯s the puzzle.¡±

    ¡°Are you intentionally talking in riddles? Can you explain?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not entirely sure myself. I¡¯m not suggesting anything supernatural, but it¡¯s pretty strange.¡±

    ¡°Supernatural? You should tell that to the police. The law doesn¡¯t entertain supernatural theories in crime.¡±

    ¡°Maybe not. You say it was a man, Symonds thinks it was a woman; I think you¡¯re both wrong¡ªthat Lawrence was killed by neither. Who or what is ¡®The Goddess¡¯? Find that out, and you¡¯ll find the criminal!¡±

    He smirked skeptically.

    ¡°I wonder if you think you can outwit me.¡±

    I chuckled. The man was sour, eager to throw a jab my way. His attitude had never been friendly, and now that a woman was involved, he seemed even more determined to see me hang. Whether I¡¯d prove my innocence didn¡¯t matter to him, as long as he got his way first.

    Before I could respond, someone burst into the room. It was Turner, the night-porter, looking like he¡¯d been in a scuffle. His uniform was rumpled, and he held a handkerchief to his nose.

    ¡°Philip Lawrence just took off down the service stairs.¡±

    We stared, not immediately grasping the situation. Our minds had been elsewhere, tangled in our own issues. Turner, seeing our confusion, continued in a rage.

    ¡°Yes, Philip Lawrence just bolted down those stairs, and let me tell you, he¡¯s not a pleasant chap! I was outside, having a smoke, when he showed up. ¡®Mr. Lawrence,¡¯ I said, ¡®I heard about your brother; it¡¯s awful news.¡¯ I hadn¡¯t been informed till just then, and it hit me hard. But did he say a word? No, he swung at me like a madman, smacked me on the nose, and knocked me flat. I was dazed, but I saw him sprinting down the street like he had a train to catch. And he better run, with manners like his!¡±

    Hume and I exchanged puzzled glances, absorbing the unexpected turn of events.

    ¡°Are you certain it was Mr. Philip Lawrence?¡± I questioned Turner.

    He shot me a resentful look. ¡°Am I sure? Do you think I¡¯d accuse a gentleman like that if I wasn¡¯t positive? No way!¡±

    Hume stepped in. ¡°Are you saying Mr. Philip Lawrence attacked you without any provocation?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you call provocation. All I said was it¡¯s sad about his brother. What¡¯s wrong with that?¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t say or do anything else?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t do a thing¡ªhe did it all, and I¡¯ve told you everything.¡±

    ¡°Turner, I know Mr. Philip Lawrence well. He wouldn¡¯t just attack without reason. Either you mistook someone else for him, or you¡¯re not telling us the full story.¡±

    Turner, surprised, removed his handkerchief, revealing a trickle of blood on his waistcoat.

    ¡°Well, isn¡¯t this something! You think I¡¯m lying? Ask anyone who knows me¡ªthey¡¯ll vouch for my honesty. I say he hit me for no reason, then ran off. If I catch him, I¡¯ll give him a taste of his own medicine, but not before warning him. And, Dr. Hume, just because he¡¯s your friend doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ll let him treat me like that. I don¡¯t think much of you siding with him either.¡±

    I patted Turner on the shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s it! Speak up for yourself. I believe you completely. Mr. Philip Lawrence acted like a coward because he is one. He was scared of you, and for good reason, as Dr. Hume knows.¡±

    ¡°You¡ªyou¡ª¡ª¡± Hume started but didn¡¯t finish, his expression saying more than his words.

    ¡°Well, Hume, go on. If you act badly, expect consequences. Finish what you were going to say.¡±

    Hume stayed silent, then left the room without a word or a glance.

    ¡°He looks like he wants to hurt someone himself,¡± Turner remarked once Hume was gone.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be surprised.¡± I wondered how much Turner would¡¯ve liked to see me hang at that moment, given the chance.

 CHAPTER 16. MY PERSUASIVE MANNER

    <hr>

    I went straight to the house on Arlington Street. Mr. Morley opened the door, peeking out like he expected to see a ghost. When he saw it was me, he seemed relieved and whispered, ¡°Would you mind stepping inside for a moment, sir?¡±

    I stepped into the front room on the ground floor. Mr. Morley followed, with Mrs. Morley right behind him. The room was crammed with old oak furniture, dark and heavy, making it feel more like a gloomy museum than a living space. The dim light outside made the room even darker, and the two of them, standing close together, seemed to blend in with the somber surroundings. The whole place felt cursed, like it was a house of doom.

    ¡°I take it Mr. Philip hasn¡¯t returned,¡± I said.

    They exchanged a look, both reluctant to answer. Finally, Mr. Morley spoke up. ¡°No, sir, he¡¯s not returned, but...¡±

    ¡°But what?¡± I prompted when he hesitated.

    He whispered to his wife, ¡°Shall I tell him, Emma?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not for me to speak, Joe. That¡¯s for you to say,¡± she replied.

    ¡°This is Mr. Ferguson; he¡¯s Mr. Philip¡¯s friend.¡±

    ¡°If he¡¯s Mr. Philip¡¯s friend...¡± Mrs. Morley began.

    ¡°Come on,¡± I said, ¡°I see you¡¯ve heard from him.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir, we¡¯ve heard from him. That¡ªthat¡¯s the trouble.¡±

    ¡°What have you heard?¡± I asked.

    Again, Mr. Morley turned to his wife. ¡°Shall I¡ªshall I tell him, Emma?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already told you, Joe, that that¡¯s for you to say. It¡¯s not for me to speak.¡±

    Joe hesitated, then made up his mind.

    ¡°Well, sir, this is what we¡¯ve heard.¡± Mr. Morley pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.

    ¡°I can¡¯t see a thing without some light! It¡¯s dark as a cave in here.¡±

    ¡°Just a moment, sir. I¡¯ll lower the blinds first. No need for the neighbors to see what¡¯s happening.¡±

    He not only lowered the blinds but drew the curtains, plunging the room into a thick darkness. He fumbled for a match on the mantel and finally lit a single gas burner. By its glow, I examined the paper he¡¯d given me. It looked just like the one I¡¯d received¡ªsame type, same style. This one wasn¡¯t anonymous, though.

    ¡°To Joseph Morley, Dear Morley, I¡¯m in a bad scrape. I can¡¯t come home. And I¡¯ve no clothes, and no money. I¡¯m sending you my keys. Look, you know where, and send me all the money you can find; and my checkbook, my dressing case, and two or three trunks full of clothes. As you know, I took nothing with me except what I stood up in. I don¡¯t know when I¡¯ll be able to send, but it¡¯ll be as soon as I can. Have everything ready, because when I do send, I won¡¯t want my messenger to be kept waiting. Keep a sharp look-out; it may be in the middle of the night. Philip Lawrence.

    Tell anyone who asks that I¡¯ll be home in about a week and that you have instructions to send all letters on. I don¡¯t want people thinking you¡¯re not in touch with me, or that everything¡¯s not all right. And don¡¯t listen to any tales you might hear; don¡¯t worry, or people will notice. You understand?¡±

    The old couple watched me intently as I read. When I lowered the paper, Mr. Morley asked, his voice shaking, ¡°Well, sir, what¡ªwhat do you think of it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a curious letter. Who delivered it?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s more than I can say. There was a knock at the door, and I found it in the letterbox. I looked out into the street, but no one was there.¡±

    ¡°No messenger boy?¡±

    ¡°No, sir, no one like that.¡±

    ¡°And the keys came with it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir, in a small brown-paper parcel.¡±

    ¡°Addressed to you?¡±

    ¡°No, the parcel wasn¡¯t addressed to anyone. It had nothing on it at all.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure they¡¯re Mr. Philip¡¯s keys?¡±

    ¡°Of course, they are. Whose else would they be? Why do you ask?¡±

    ¡°Has Mr. Philip ever sent you typewritten letters before?¡±

    ¡°Never in his life.¡±

    ¡°The signature is typed too, like he didn¡¯t want you to have even a scrap of his handwriting to recognize. Why would he need to type this letter at all? Does he even know how to use a typewriter?¡±

    ¡°Not that I know of. I¡¯ve never heard him mention it.¡±

    ¡°Then having someone else type it for him only added to his risk. Why wouldn¡¯t he just write it himself?¡±

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    ¡°I can¡¯t say.¡±

    ¡°Are you absolutely sure this letter is from Mr. Philip?¡±

    ¡°Not a doubt in my mind. I wish there was. It means he¡¯s in hiding. And why would he be hiding, except for one reason? What are we going to do if he¡ªif he killed his brother?¡±

    ¡°Joe!¡±

    ¡°Well, Emma, if he did, he did! Where could he possibly hide? The world will soon know what he¡¯s done, and everyone will be looking for him. He won¡¯t dare come here. He already doesn¡¯t; soon he won¡¯t even be able to write to us. The police will be watching us like hawks. He¡¯ll be an outcast, avoiding the places and people he knew. And he¡¯s the most sociable guy ever, always surrounded by friends, never a loner. And what about us, Emma and me, here in his house alone? Who do we look to for help, for guidance? We¡¯re scared to stay here as it is; it feels haunted. We think we see him everywhere¡ªhear his footsteps, his voice, his laughter.¡±

    ¡°Joe!¡±

    ¡°Well, Emma, it¡¯s true. Our nerves can¡¯t take it. We¡¯re not young anymore; we¡¯re used to a routine. This chaos is too much for us. Every knock on the door makes us jump. Who¡ªwho¡¯s that?¡±

    As Mr. Morley spoke, a loud banging on the front-door knocker shook the house. It was such a clamor that it rattled their already frayed nerves. The sound made them cling to each other, clearly terrified. Their behavior showed they weren¡¯t up to handling a serious situation, especially one requiring calm and presence of mind.

    The visitor was in a hurry. Barely had time to reach the front door before the knocking started again¡ªbang, bang, bang! I really thought the door would be broken down. The faces of Mr. and Mrs. Morley grew whiter, their limbs more tremulous.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you see who¡¯s there? Or should I?¡±

    They let me go. On the doorstep, I found a man who had his own ideas of propriety. Without a word, he tried to push his way into the house. I¡¯m not someone who takes that lightly. When I¡¯m pushed, I push back. With a firm hand against his chest, I sent him stumbling backwards across the pavement.

    ¡°Manners, sir! Manners!¡± I said.

    He looked surprised, like a man who expects to bully and finds himself bullied instead. His hat fell off, and he nearly did too.

    ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± he demanded.

    ¡°That¡¯s the question I should be asking you,¡± I replied.

    Picking up his hat, he stormed towards me with a blusterous air.

    ¡°I need to see Philip Lawrence¡ªright now.¡±

    ¡°Do you now? That¡¯s unfortunate. You¡¯ve come to the wrong place for that. Mr. Philip Lawrence isn¡¯t here.¡±

    ¡°Tell that to someone else. I¡¯ve heard it before. I¡¯ll wait till he is.¡±

    ¡°By all means, let me show you inside.¡±

    Grabbing him by the collar, I led him through the doorway, across the hall, and into the front room, where Mr. and Mrs. Morley were still clinging to each other as if the world was ending. The visitor was a big, black-haired man, a bit puffy, with whiskers and a mustache that seemed polished, they shone so brightly. He wore flashy clothes.

    ¡°What do you mean by such disgraceful behavior?¡± I asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s rich!¡± He adjusted his collar. ¡°Seems to me the boot¡¯s on the other foot.¡± He turned to Mr. Morley. ¡°Who is this man?¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± I interjected, to spare Mr. Morley the trouble, ¡°someone quite capable of dealing with any rudeness you might offer. If you¡¯ve come to play the bully, you¡¯ll have every opportunity to show your best.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me like that. You don¡¯t know who I am. If I¡¯d wanted, I could¡¯ve made Philip Lawrence bankrupt twenty-four hours ago. I gave him a chance. But I¡¯m not taking that kind of talk from you.¡±

    ¡°How exactly could you have made Mr. Philip Lawrence bankrupt?¡±

    ¡°I have overdue bills of his worth ¡ê5000. Some would¡¯ve bankrupted him immediately, racking up costs. I¡¯m more lenient, but I¡¯ve had my share of trouble. If we don¡¯t sort this out before I leave, there¡¯ll be issues.¡±

    ¡°So, you¡¯re the one dealing in forged acceptances.¡±

    ¡°Forged? What on earth are you suggesting?¡± He puffed up, clearly uncomfortable.

    ¡°You know. You were aware they were forged and who did it. You bought them cheaply, aiming to squeeze as much from Mr. Philip Lawrence as possible.¡± He started to bluster. Clearly, he wasn¡¯t pleased.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know who you think you are, speaking to me like that. This is highly irregular. I came by these bills through legitimate means.¡±

    ¡°What was the price?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s none of your business! I¡¯m a reasonable man; I¡¯m willing to be flexible, but I won¡¯t be spoken to in such a manner.¡±

    ¡°Give them to me.¡±

    ¡°Give what?¡±

    ¡°The bills.¡±

    ¡°Not without payment.¡±

    ¡°Hand them over.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re in my office safe, not on me. I don¡¯t carry such valuable documents around.¡± He glanced at me meaningfully.

    ¡°Hand them over.¡±

    ¡°Help! Thieves!¡± Seeing he might make a scene, I restrained him. I found in his pocket a leather case containing five promissory notes of ¡ê1000 each, allegedly from Philip Lawrence and endorsed by Edwin. I let him go.

    ¡°I trust I haven¡¯t inconvenienced you too much. Since the bills are safely locked in your office, they¡¯ll remain there until your return.¡±

    ¡°Give them back!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re secure with me.¡± I tucked them into my coat pocket. He turned to the Morleys.

    ¡°You¡¯re witnesses¡ªhe¡¯s robbed me, with force! Remember, with force!¡± Then to me:

    ¡°Return them now, or you¡¯ll face prison time; and I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it included lashes.¡±

    ¡°And what about you? Courts don¡¯t take kindly to those dealing in forged documents for blackmail.¡±

    ¡°Stop talking like that; I won¡¯t tolerate it!¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t, huh?¡±

    ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t know who you are, but you¡¯re acting like a ¡ª¡ª highwayman. Return those bills, or I¡¯ll summon the police.¡±

    ¡°Go ahead¡ªdo it. I¡¯ll explain to them what these are, and that you¡¯ll soon stand trial for conspiracy and involvement in murder.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re insane. I¡¯ve never heard anyone talk like this¡ªnever!¡±

    ¡°Maybe you don¡¯t know Edwin Lawrence was murdered last night.¡±

    ¡°Edwin Lawrence murdered?¡± His face went pale.

    ¡°Yes, and your actions led to it. I¡¯ve heard a confession from the person who forged the documents. They¡¯re ready to testify against you. The bills will come up in court, and you¡¯ll have your chance to explain.¡± He clutched his collar as if it was choking him.

    ¡°That¡¯s a lie! Edwin wasn¡¯t murdered last night. It¡¯s all lies.¡±

    ¡°By the way, what¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°None of your business!¡±

    ¡°I happened to find a card in your wallet. Let¡¯s see... Mr. Isaac Bernstein, 288 Great Poland Street. Well, Mr. Bernstein, your bills are safe. You¡¯ll hear from them again soon enough. Your role will be thoroughly examined¡ªuntil then, you¡¯re free to go.¡±

    ¡°He wasn¡¯t murdered¡ªit¡¯s all a lie.¡±

    ¡°You might find more details from Mr. and Mrs. Morley or the first cop you bump into.¡±

    ¡°Oh, God!¡± Mr. Morley groaned. His groan seemed to resonate with Mr. Bernstein, who hurried out of the room, only to return soon after.

    ¡°Who¡ª who killed him?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll find out soon enough, along with your involvement in the motive that led to the murder. You were quite involved with the person who ended up dead, weren¡¯t you?¡± Mr. Bernstein left without another word.

    I turned to the Morley''s. ¡°See? That¡¯s how you handle nosy folks who try to slander your boss and take advantage of his absence.¡±

    Mr. Morley shook his head. ¡°Easy for you to say, but we¡¯re not all as persuasive as you, sir.¡± It was a strange thing for him to say, considering I¡¯m anything but persuasive.

    Following Mr. Bernstein out, I was reminded of that fact. And later on, in a more serious situation, it became even clearer.

 CHAPTER 17. MY UNPERSUASIVE MANNER

    <hr>

    As I stepped out of the house, a man strode toward Philip Lawrence¡¯s door as if he intended to knock. Seeing me descending the steps, he halted abruptly¡ªit was young Moore. His presence sent a surge of energy through me; his hat was tilted sharply to one side, a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. Something about his demeanor and speech hinted at a few drinks.

    ¡°What are you doing here? Answer me! Seems like you¡¯re involved in everything.¡± He spoke loud enough for Piccadilly to hear.

    ¡°Could you lower your voice a bit, Mr. Moore?¡±

    ¡°I can ask, but I won¡¯t listen. This is a public street, and if you lay a hand on me¡ªhey, let go! Help! Police!¡±

    As I approached, he leaped back, yelling in a way that would attract attention. A passerby, a respectable-looking worker, glanced at us.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Mr. Moore seemed unfazed.

    ¡°Nothing yet, but there will be if he touches me.¡± The man continued on his way.

    ¡°You¡¯re quite the character,¡± I remarked. Moore flicked cigar ash with a mocking laugh.

    ¡°Not all of us can be as smart or as big as you. Your size is your only charm, you giant. You belong in a sideshow, not on the streets.¡± I was unsure how to handle him. In a private setting, I could have taught him some manners, but on the street, he had the upper hand. He seemed eager for a public spectacle, while I preferred to avoid drawing a crowd¡¯s attention. Before I could respond, he continued: ¡°You¡¯re quite the piece of work. All the lies you and Adair fed me this morning about Eddie Lawrence¡ªgot me thinking my sister killed him! What¡¯s your game? I almost wish she had!¡± He laughed loudly. ¡°Bessie killing Eddie Lawrence¡ªnow that¡¯d be a joke! I wish she had! You hear that? I wish she had! Chew on that!¡± He swaggered off. I let him go, attributing his wild words to alcohol. I wondered why he was headed to Philip Lawrence¡¯s; that much was clear before I interrupted him. But getting any sense out of him in his current state was futile.

    I arrived home and sensed someone in the bedroom beyond as soon as I entered the sitting room.

    ¡°If that¡¯s Hume again¡ª¡±

    It would have been trouble for him if it were, but it wasn¡¯t. It was Inspector Symonds and a colleague. I realized with a sinking feeling that I had left the room in disarray, with all my belongings scattered as Hume and I had left them. The cloak was still on the bed, a constant reminder. Why hadn¡¯t I disposed of it somehow? Burned it, torn it into shreds¡ªanything would have been better than letting it linger. The two men were examining it closely.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    A lump formed in my throat. They caught me off guard, and I knew physical resistance wouldn¡¯t help.

    ¡°We¡¯re doing our duty, Mr. Ferguson. We have a search warrant. Shall I read it to you?¡±

    ¡°What are you searching for?¡±

    ¡°Anything related to the murder of Edwin Lawrence. We¡¯ve found what seems to be crucial evidence. Whose cloak is this?¡±

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    ¡°Cloak? Oh, that¡¯s my cousin¡¯s, Miss Mary Ferguson. She was here recently and left it behind after a nosebleed.¡±

    ¡°Did the nosebleed cause these stains?¡±

    ¡°Yes, exactly.¡±

    ¡°She must have bled a lot. Did a blood vessel break?¡±

    ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t that severe.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±

    ¡°Yes, absolutely. She¡¯s had nosebleeds all her life.¡±

    ¡°When was she here?¡±

    ¡°A week ago, maybe more.¡±

    ¡°Odd that the blood is still wet in places.¡±

    ¡°Well, maybe it wasn¡¯t that long.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll need her address to return it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it myself, thank you.¡±

    ¡°Are you certain it wasn¡¯t worn by Miss Bessie Moore when she left Edwin Lawrence¡¯s room last night?¡±

    ¡°I swear it wasn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have a chance to say all that in court. But think carefully about the consequences of lying under oath. We have witnesses who will prove not only that Miss Moore wore this cloak but that you knew about it.¡± He began to roll up the cloak.

    ¡°You can¡¯t take it, Symonds¡ªit belongs to my cousin.¡±

    ¡°Your cousin¡¯s? Listen, Mr. Ferguson. I hear you¡¯ve lived abroad, but here, obstructing the law for a suspected criminal only harms them. A witness caught lying damages the defendant¡¯s case. I know Miss Moore wore a cloak when she visited Lawrence. Mrs. Peddar confirms she didn¡¯t have one in her apartment. What happened to it? It was in your room. I found it. Trying to claim it¡¯s your cousin¡¯s does more harm than good.¡±

    His words felt like a noose tightening around me. I tried to gather my thoughts but felt increasingly befuddled. ¡°You¡¯re mistaken, Symonds.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t stated my position.¡±

    ¡°You police often make mistakes. Let me save you from another.¡±

    ¡°How kind.¡±

    ¡°I killed Edwin Lawrence.¡± They exchanged glances, skeptical smiles appearing. The colleague chuckled.

    ¡°That¡¯s a weak story,¡± he remarked.

    ¡°I killed him.¡± Symonds eyed me shrewdly.

    ¡°What¡¯s your aim?¡± ¡°Nothing, except facing the consequences. Life¡¯s meaningless now with this burden.¡±

    ¡°To shift blame, I assume?¡±

    ¡°What? You¡¯re obsessed. I killed him. Take me. End of story.¡±

    ¡°Not quite. Explain the blood on Miss Moore¡¯s cloak.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Not from your cousin¡¯s nosebleed?¡±

    ¡°Damn it, Symonds!¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Mr. Ferguson. That¡¯s a tough sell. You expect us to believe you¡¯re well-informed on one thing but clueless about another?¡±

    ¡°Believe what you like. I¡¯ve confessed. If you won¡¯t arrest me, I won¡¯t argue.¡±

    ¡°You seem to be grumbling already. Explain the blood on the cloak. Maybe your story will make sense of your guilt, and then we¡¯ll happily arrest you.¡±

    I wished I had Hume¡¯s help to concoct a believable story. I¡¯m a terrible liar, always getting caught. I could feel their skeptical eyes on me, urging me to speak. I had to say something. ¡°I¡¯ll spill everything. Holding back won¡¯t help.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡±

    ¡°She saw me do it. She tried to save him. Blood stained her cloak as he fell.¡±

    ¡°But he fell forward, not back, as you claimed.¡±

    ¡°Well, maybe he did fall forward. I was a mess, not paying attention.¡±

    ¡°What weapon did you use?¡±

    ¡°A knife from West Africa.¡±

    ¡°Can I see it?¡±

    I didn¡¯t have it. I threw it in the river.

    ¡°Too bad. Doctors said fifty knives were used.¡±

    ¡°My knife had multiple blades.¡±

    ¡°All the same length?¡±

    ¡°No, different lengths.¡±

    ¡°But in one handle?¡±

    ¡°Yes, a unique handle.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯ll need to sketch this knife of yours for everyone to understand. Was Miss Moore already there when you entered?¡±

    ¡°Yes, she came to help.¡±

    ¡°Did she pause to explain?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°You seem to know a lot about some things but not others. How long after you arrived did the murder start?¡±

    ¡°I attacked him immediately.¡±

    ¡°Describe the crime in detail.¡±

    ¡°I stabbed him in the chest and face.¡±

    ¡°Did Miss Moore do anything?¡±

    ¡°She tried to stop me.¡±

    ¡°Physically?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re getting aggressive. I believe you now. But you¡¯re not great at this story. We need to figure out the cloak stains.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you arresting me?¡±

    ¡°Not yet. Let¡¯s see how this unfolds.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not good at this.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re no fiction writer. Let¡¯s wait and see what happens.¡± The Inspector left with the cloak. I felt foolish, having achieved nothing. Morley¡¯s praise of my persuasive manner seemed absurd.

 CHAPTER 18. I AM CALLED

    <hr>

    If it were up to me, Miss Moore would have found a safe place to hide until her name was cleared. Anything was better than her facing even a moment¡¯s risk of getting caught by the police. But Hume wasn¡¯t having it.

    As I sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating if suicide was the next best option since my attempt at murder had failed, there was a knock at the door. It was Hume. He gave me one of his sharp, assessing looks as he walked in.

    ¡°Anything new?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Man, I¡¯ve made an idiot of myself. A complete idiot.¡±

    ¡°Ah! But what I asked was, is there anything new?¡±

    I recounted my encounter with Symonds. Hume kept smiling as if I was telling a joke. When I finished, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

    ¡°You¡¯ve burned your bridges, that¡¯s for sure. You¡¯ll never hang for the lady now. No one could put that murder story of yours back together again. You¡¯ve really outdone yourself, Ferguson.¡±

    I didn¡¯t care about his sarcasm. My mind was occupied with other thoughts.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he¡¯s gone off to arrest her right now, all because of my stupid blundering.¡±

    ¡°I think not. She¡¯s safe for tonight. The police don¡¯t always move as fast as you think. They¡¯ll know where to find her when they need to.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the problem! Hume, couldn¡¯t we convince her to go somewhere they wouldn¡¯t find her?¡±

    ¡°I hope she¡¯s not that foolish. Running away would be like admitting she¡¯s guilty. She¡¯d have all of England chasing her. It¡¯s better to stay and face the music. The inquest is tomorrow. As a key witness, you can make everything clear and prove her innocence.¡±

    The inquest! I hadn¡¯t even thought of it, and it was set for tomorrow? The realization hit me hard. That¡¯s what Symonds meant with his comments about my conduct in the witness box. In my current state, with my muddled mind and stammering tongue, an experienced lawyer could easily trip me up¡ªmaybe even make me say something that would implicate her.

    I briefly considered fleeing to avoid the risk of saying anything that might harm her. But I remembered how she said she felt safe when I was around. And I had a hunch that, if things went south, I might still be able to help her. Unable to stay at home and think, I decided to be closer to her instead. After a hurried dinner, I took a cab to Brompton and spent hours loitering around Hailsham Road.

    I paced back and forth past the house. A light was on in an upper room. I wondered if it was hers. I would have given anything for the courage to find out, but my nerves were shot. I was as afraid of being seen as if I had some nefarious purpose.

    Whenever someone appeared in the street, I quickened my pace and almost bolted. Once, when someone raised a corner of a blind as if to peek outside, I actually took off running.

    I felt a slight sense of relief; as far as I could tell, the house wasn¡¯t being watched by the police. Miss Moore was free to come and go. I seemed to be the only one taking an obvious interest in her activities.

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    Maybe it was due to the dreadful weather, which was bad even for London. A thick fog hung in the air, strangely unaffected by the biting east wind, accompanied by a filthy rain. Despite my overcoat, I wasn¡¯t getting any drier as the night wore on. I wasn¡¯t sure what I was waiting for until, around midnight, a hansom cab sped into the street. As it passed, I caught a glimpse of Miss Adair¡¯s face. I dashed after it and reached the door of No. 22 just as she was about to step out into the mud and rain.

    ¡°Miss Adair!¡± I called out.

    ¡°Good gracious, Mr. Ferguson, is that you? What on earth are you doing here at this time of night?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI thought I¡¯d check on how Miss Moore was doing.¡±

    ¡°Well, have you called on her?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡ªI was waiting for you to come home from the theater and ask you.¡±

    From her position in the cab, Miss Adair looked me over, noting my disheveled and soaked appearance.

    ¡°And how long have you been waiting for me to come home from the theater?¡±

    ¡°Oh, just¡ªjust a few minutes.¡±

    ¡°A good few minutes, I¡¯d imagine. And where have you been waiting?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡ªI¡¯ve been hanging around.¡±

    ¡°In the mud, I¡¯d say, judging by your appearance. You look like a mess. I hope you enjoyed your vigil. For your information, when I left home, Miss Moore was ill.¡±

    ¡°Ill! Not¡ªreally ill?¡±

    ¡°Really ill. This time there¡¯s no doubt about it. She¡¯s in bed. Dr. Hume says it¡¯s a result of the breakdown from the overstrain she¡¯s been under.¡±

    ¡°Hume! Has Hume been here?¡±

    ¡°Certainly. And another doctor.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªwhat did Hume want?¡±

    ¡°My good sir! Dr. Hume is a doctor, and a very clever one.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but only for special cases. This doesn¡¯t seem like his kind of thing.¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯re mistaken. I¡¯d say everything is his kind of thing. Besides, he¡¯s a very old and close friend of Miss Moore¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡ªI¡ªI didn¡¯t realize they were quite that close.¡±

    I could feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing. She knew she was torturing me.

    ¡°Oh dear, yes. Not that I think Bessie is particularly fond of Dr. Hume. In fact, I believe she can¡¯t stand him. Though I don¡¯t know why. He¡¯s charming¡ªand so clever. Don¡¯t you like clever people?¡±

    No, I didn¡¯t. I never did and never would.

    ¡°Should I find out how Bessie is doing since I left, or would you rather not stay?¡±

    ¡°If¡ªif you could let me know how she is, I¡¯d appreciate it.¡±

    Miss Adair let herself in with a latchkey and asked the maid who appeared in the hall.

    ¡°How is Miss Moore?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think she¡¯s quite so well, miss. I sent for Dr. Nockolds, and I did think of sending for Dr. Hume,¡± the maid said.

    ¡°Hume!¡± I interjected. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t send for Hume. The other doctor is just as good, if not better.¡±

    Miss Adair turned to me. ¡°But, Mr. Ferguson, Dr. Hume is highly skilled.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but not in these types of cases. I¡¯m sure the other doctor is better. And if you¡¯d like, I can recommend someone; I know an excellent doctor.¡±

    ¡°And what did Dr. Nockolds say?¡± Miss Adair inquired.

    ¡°He thought she was progressing well, just a bit feverish. But he sent a nurse to stay with her tonight.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯ll be fine with the nurse. Good night, Mr. Ferguson. Thank you for coming.¡±

    She showed me to the door without giving me a chance to speak. I took the cab that had brought her from the theater. Hume indeed! Why hadn¡¯t I trained to be a doctor? That night, I felt like the most miserable man in London.

    The next day was worse. They held the inquest at a public house¡ªthe Bolt and Tun, a place no decent person would usually enter. The coroner, Dr. Reginald Evanson, was a small man with sandy hair who looked like he drank too much. I disliked him immediately, and I don¡¯t think he liked me much either. His jury was a questionable group that matched him perfectly.

    They started by viewing the body, then called witnesses. George Atkins spoke first. He and I had discovered the tragedy. He gave his account in a concise manner that I hoped to emulate when it was my turn.

    When Atkins finished, they called my name.

    ¡°Large size in blokes, ain¡¯t he?¡± one person whispered to another as I approached the table.

    The other chuckled. I was so sensitive at that moment that I could have knocked their heads together. I was mentally prepared to make a strong impression, knowing that everything¡ªhappiness, honor, even life¡ªmight hinge on my words.

 CHAPTER 19. I LEAVE THE COURT

    <hr>

    The coroner seemed to dislike me the moment I stepped up to the table, probably because he was one of those small men who instinctively resent anyone of a decent height. My stature has been a disadvantage more than once, and it certainly didn¡¯t help me here. Everyone in the room seemed ready to enjoy my embarrassment. They didn¡¯t have to wait long; I messed up almost right away.

    A small man who said he was representing the Treasury started questioning me. He could have been the coroner¡¯s cousin, with the same sandy hair and annoyed expression. His initial questions were straightforward, but they quickly became the kind that I would have preferred to ignore entirely. He had a habit of fiddling with a piece of paper as he spoke, his voice thin but piercing, reminding me of the sound of wood being sawed. He kept his eyes on my face, scanning every feature as if not wanting to miss a twitch. He was like a determined terrier, relentless and irritating. I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him.

    He asked if Edwin Lawrence was a friend of mine, how long I had known him, what I knew about him, and when I had last seen him. I told him about our card game but was surprised he didn¡¯t mention my loss or the terms on which we parted.

    Here¡¯s where I started blundering. I wanted the court to understand that when we parted, we were on terrible terms, and I was in just the right mood to commit murder. But Jordan¡ªthe little terrier fellow¡ªcut me off. He told me to stick to answering his questions and said I could make a statement later if the court allowed it. I wanted to explain right then, but with him, the coroner, and the idiot foreman all against me, I never got the chance.

    Jordan kept control. Then came the real struggle with his next question. He asked if I had been disturbed in the night after going to bed. I saw an opportunity. I said I had, by a dream. But when I tried to explain the dream, he cut me off.

    ¡°Never mind about the dream. Dreams are not evidence.¡±

    Some of the audience laughed. I had no idea what was funny. I would have liked to give them a real reason to laugh.

    ¡°But my dream is evidence¡ªvery much evidence. If you let me explain, it will shed more light¡ª¡±

    ¡°Thank you. But were you disturbed by anything other than a dream? For instance, by someone coming through your bedroom window?¡±

    ¡°I was not.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Ferguson, be careful. Do you say that no one came through your window?¡±

    ¡°I said no one disturbed me.¡±

    ¡°I see. You¡¯re particular about the phrasing. Let me rephrase. Did anyone come through your bedroom window after you went to bed?¡±

    ¡°I decline to answer. It¡¯s none of your business. I can have whatever visitors I choose.¡±

    ¡°Are you suggesting someone visited you in your bedroom, alone, at that hour? Think about what you¡¯re implying.¡±

    ¡°I never said anyone came.¡±

    ¡°You pretty much did. But let¡¯s get it straight. Who came through your bedroom window, Mr. Ferguson?¡±

    Beads of sweat were forming on my forehead.

    ¡°I told you,¡± I shouted, ¡°I¡¯m not answering that!¡±

    Jordan turned to the coroner. ¡°Mr. Coroner, if I may explain, the police have evidence implicating a specific person. The witness knows this and is being obstructive. He¡¯s even claimed guilt himself, which is obviously false and intended to mislead the police and undermine his own testimony. His testimony is crucial, and I need your help to prevent a miscarriage of justice due to his refusal to cooperate.¡±

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    ¡°Certainly. Witness, you will answer any proper questions put to you, promptly and without evasion.¡±

    ¡°I think that¡¯s up to me,¡± I retorted.

    The coroner banged his hand on the table. ¡°Don¡¯t speak to me like that, sir, or you¡¯ll find yourself in contempt of court.¡±

    ¡°Commit.¡±

    I would have liked to commit an assault on the coroner. But he ignored my challenge and turned to Jordan.

    ¡°Ask your question again. I¡¯m astonished that someone of the witness¡¯s apparent standing would behave so disgracefully.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Ferguson, did anyone come through your bedroom window after you went to bed?¡±

    ¡°And I say to you, Mr. Jordan, you have my sympathy in your position. Maybe if I asked you a few questions, it might break the monotony?¡±

    ¡°You hear that, Mr. Coroner?¡±

    ¡°I do. And I regret that such behavior is being treated lightly.¡± A titter went around the room. ¡°One more sound like that, and I¡¯ll clear the court. Witness, look at me.¡±

    ¡°If you wish, though there¡¯s not much to look at.¡±

    ¡°How dare you speak to me like that?¡±

    ¡°No offense, Mr. Coroner. Just stating a fact.¡±

    ¡°Have you been drinking, sir?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an insolent question. Can¡¯t an official person be courteous?¡±

    ¡°Your behavior is highly unusual. You clearly don¡¯t grasp the seriousness of this situation. Are you aware that if you refuse to answer these questions, I can have you jailed for contempt of court?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why I should answer impertinent questions, no matter the circumstances.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t argue with me. Will you answer the question that counsel has put to you?¡±

    ¡°My dear Mr. Coroner¡ª¡±

    ¡°I commit you for contempt. Officer, arrest this man.¡±

    ¡°If the officer is smart, he¡¯ll think twice before doing something so foolish,¡± I retorted.

    Hume, who was sitting opposite, leaned toward me across the table. ¡°Are you out of your mind? What do you hope to achieve by going to jail? Or by dodging these questions? You¡¯ll have to speak sooner or later. Speak now! Tell the truth! It¡¯s the only way to help her.¡±

    Jordan interjected, still twirling a scrap of paper in his fingers. ¡°Mr. Coroner, could you hold off on the arrest for a moment? Perhaps Mr. Ferguson might reconsider after hearing this gentleman¡¯s sensible advice. Don¡¯t you think, sir, that you should listen?¡±

    I laughed. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll answer your questions.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s better. I assure you, I don¡¯t wish to hurt your feelings. I understand and respect them. But I have a job to do, and so do you. You won¡¯t hurt anyone by just telling the truth.¡±

    ¡°Spare me the lecture.¡±

    ¡°Now, tell me¡ªdid anyone come through your bedroom window after you went to bed?¡±

    ¡°No one.¡±

    ¡°Do you swear to that?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely. Miss Bessie Moore did not come through my window.¡±

    ¡°Certainly not. How dare you drag her name into this?¡±

    ¡°Was she in your rooms at all that night?¡±

    ¡°She was not.¡±

    ¡°Did you go up, between one and two in the morning, to tell the housekeeper she had come through your window?¡±

    ¡°I did not.¡±

    ¡°Did the housekeeper come down and find her in your room?¡±

    ¡°She did not.¡±

    ¡°Did Miss Bessie Moore spend the night in the housekeeper¡¯s apartments?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t say.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t or won¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Are you aware you¡¯ve sworn to tell the truth?¡±

    ¡°I am.¡±

    ¡°Do you understand the consequences of perjury?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t measure others¡¯ knowledge by your own ignorance.¡±

    ¡°As you wish. At least we know we¡¯re not dealing with someone completely illiterate. Have you seen this cloak before, Mr. Ferguson?¡±

    From a bag which Inspector Symonds produced from beneath the table, he pulled out the plum-colored cloak I had expected.

    ¡°Yes, I have.¡±

    ¡°Where?¡±

    ¡°In my room. And on my cousin¡¯s back.¡±

    ¡°Your cousin? Not Miss Moore?¡±

    ¡°Certainly not.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve never seen Miss Moore wearing it?¡±

    ¡°Never.¡±

    ¡°To the best of your knowledge, this isn¡¯t Miss Moore¡¯s cloak?¡±

    ¡°Correct.¡±

    ¡°Do you swear to that?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve already reminded me I¡¯m under oath.¡±

    ¡°Just making sure you remember, Mr. Ferguson. So, if Miss Moore claims this cloak is hers, she¡¯s lying?¡±

    ¡°When she makes such a claim, we can discuss it then. Let¡¯s not speculate.¡±

    ¡°Fine. No more questions for now, Mr. Ferguson. But don¡¯t think I¡¯m done with you. Mr. Coroner, this witness has been lying to obstruct justice. I request that we keep a close watch on him.¡±

    ¡°He will be detained.¡±

    ¡°Detained?¡± I laughed, buttoning my coat. I walked out, and people parted like I had the plague. Maybe they saw something in my demeanor that they didn¡¯t like. A constable stood at the entrance. I gestured for him to move aside, and he did. I noticed a key in the lock on the outside of the door. An idea struck me. The door was solid, not easily forced from the inside. I shut it, locked it, and pocketed the key. Then I walked down the stairs and out into the street.

    For all I knew, the court continued its session.

 CHAPTER 20. A JOURNEY TO NOWHERE

    <hr>

    It was between three and four in the afternoon, but with the lamps already lit and the fog still blanketing the city, it might as well have been night.

    ¡°To her!¡± I muttered to myself. I hailed a cab. ¡°Hailsham Road¡ªthe Boltons!¡±

    I checked my possessions. There was no time to go back to Imperial Mansions. I wasn¡¯t sure what crime I¡¯d committed, but I had a feeling they¡¯d make me pay for it. Having lived in places where you keep your valuables on you for safety, I had the habit of carrying more money than most. I had over ¡ê100 in notes and nearly ¡ê20 in sovereigns¡ªenough to get two people out of town.

    As we turned onto Hailsham Road, I noticed a man standing at the corner. He scrutinized both the cab and me as we passed. A maid answered the door. Miss Moore was in; Miss Adair was out. Miss Moore was feeling better. She¡¯d check if I could see her.

    She led me to the sitting room, where a bright fire blazed. The room smelled wonderful, a scent I loved. I¡¯d never seen a room I liked so much. While thinking about the man at the corner, she entered the room with a flutter and a laugh, holding out both her hands.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m so glad you¡¯ve come. If you¡¯d been much longer, I would¡¯ve come to you. Where have you been?¡±

    ¡°I was out in the street last night, watching your window.¡±

    ¡°Out in the street? Why didn¡¯t you come in?¡±

    ¡°It was too late for a call. I asked about you, and they said you were in bed and ill.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t feeling well. I might have been a bit out of it. But I¡¯m better now; I¡¯m myself again¡ªnot the person you knew.¡±

    ¡°Really.¡±

    ¡°And I know.¡± She looked down at her foot peeking out from under her gown. ¡°I know what you did for me, how good you were.¡±

    ¡°Then you know nothing.¡±

    She looked up, eyes flashing.

    ¡°I know everything. I know I didn¡¯t do it. Aren¡¯t you glad?¡±

    ¡°I never thought you did.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s strange. Everything pointed to me; you knew nothing about me. I came into your room in a disgraceful way, with a flimsy story. My cloak was wet with blood. You have it now.¡±

    ¡°I had it.¡±

    ¡°You must have suspected me of something; it would¡¯ve been natural.¡±

    ¡°It would¡¯ve been unnatural.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s odd. I believe I¡¯m suspected by many, especially the worst kind of people. And you never doubted me?¡± She sighed. ¡°I¡¯m glad. As long as you know I wasn¡¯t a murderer sneaking through your window, I don¡¯t care what others think, which is absurd. I had no part in it, nor did you or Mr. Lawrence¡¯s brother.¡±

    ¡°But who then?¡±

    ¡°That, I can¡¯t quite see yet. It felt like a conjuring trick, something done by a dreadful creature whose presence drove me mad. I still don¡¯t know what it was.¡±

    She stood before me, eyes shining, lips parted to reveal small white teeth. I was at a loss on how to bring up my reason for coming. As usual, I blundered.

    ¡°Unfortunately, most men are fools and blind.¡±

    I paused, unsure of how to continue. She looked at me with a hint of anxiety.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Some people can¡¯t see what¡¯s right in front of them.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s true. Some are even foolish enough to believe that you had something to do with that scoundrel¡¯s death.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Her face lightened as she began to understand. ¡°You mean they suspect me of murder. That¡¯s nothing new.¡±

    ¡°But I fear they¡¯re moving beyond mere suspicion.¡±

    ¡°Beyond suspicion? Do you mean they have proof?¡±

    ¡°Miss Moore, you¡¯re being too harsh. What I mean is¡ªthey might try to arrest you.¡±

    ¡°Arrest me?!¡± She stood tall, fists clenched at her sides. ¡°They can¡¯t arrest me. You can¡¯t let them.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°How can you stop them?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be happy to act as your guardian. Maybe we should take a trip abroad until they realize their mistake.¡±

    ¡°A trip abroad¡ªwith you?¡±

    Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I hadn¡¯t considered that implication. I was stunned.

    ¡°Or, I could stay behind and come on the next train.¡±

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see how that would help me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d make sure they didn¡¯t touch you.¡±

    ¡°How could you if you weren¡¯t there?¡±

    I started pacing the room. I¡¯d forgotten how complicated things could get with a woman involved. This situation was more tangled than I¡¯d thought.

    ¡°Miss Moore, I¡¯m an idiot.¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    There was something in her questioning tone that softened the blow.

    ¡°But in some ways, I¡¯m not as much of an idiot as you might think.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    She said this with a twinkle in her eye.

    ¡°Can you trust me?¡±

    ¡°With my life; with what is dearer.¡±

    ¡°Will you do as I say?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    ¡°Go upstairs, put on your hat and coat, and pack a bag.¡±

    ¡°How much should I pack? What size bag?¡±

    ¡°Enough to take you to Paris.¡±

    ¡°To Paris? But I¡¯m needed at the theatre; they¡¯re clamoring for me.¡±

    ¡°Let them clamor. Will you please do what I ask? And excuse me, Miss Moore, but do you mind if I bring someone in here and make him comfortable until after we leave?¡±

    ¡°Please explain.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a man in the street who I believe is watching the house.¡±

    ¡°Is he going to try to arrest me? Does he have a warrant?¡±

    ¡°Not at all. But he might follow us, which would be inconvenient.¡±

    ¡°Do you plan to hurt him?¡±

    ¡°Not a single hair on his head, I promise.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to reason with him? You do have a persuasive manner. Maybe you can get him to see things our way. If you think it¡¯s necessary, go ahead.¡±

    Her sarcasm stung a bit, reminding me of old Morley¡¯s words. I winced.

    ¡°There¡¯s one more thing, Miss Moore. How many servants are in the house?¡±

    ¡°Just one. The cook is out.¡±

    ¡°Could you send that one on an errand that would keep her away for about an hour? We don¡¯t want her to know we left together.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re very detail-oriented. Looks like I¡¯m in for another adventure. If you take a stroll for about fifteen minutes, she¡¯ll be gone by the time you get back. I¡¯ll have my hat, coat, and a bag ready.¡±

    ¡°Good. When you¡¯re ready, leave quietly without coming in here or acknowledging me. Leave your bag in the passage; I¡¯ll carry it. Head to the Fulham Road and walk towards Walham Green. I¡¯ll join you as soon as I can.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t hurt him?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t harm him at all.¡±

    I opened the door for her. She went upstairs, and I headed out. The man was still at the corner, watching me. I ignored him, strolling leisurely across the Fulham Road, through some dirty backstreets, and into the King¡¯s Road. I bought a dozen yards of stout clothesline at an oilman¡¯s shop. Checking my watch, I saw I had been gone almost ten minutes. I walked back leisurely. The man was still at his corner.

    He was a large policeman, about five foot ten, muscular but with a face that didn¡¯t scream intelligence. I marched up to him briskly.

    ¡°You¡¯re from the Yard. Why didn¡¯t you signal me when I drove past earlier? You saw me looking right at you. I¡¯ve been on a wild goose chase because of your stupidity; you¡¯ll hear about this!¡± He touched his hat.

    ¡°I¡¯ve just come from the court; Inspector Symonds is detained. I¡¯m on this job now. Has anyone left 22 since I did?¡±

    ¡°A young woman, sir.¡±

    ¡°A young woman? And you let her go?¡±

    ¡°It was just the servant.¡±

    ¡°Just the servant! Which way did she go?¡±

    ¡°She came out, then got on a Piccadilly bus. My orders were to watch the young lady, not the servant.¡±

    ¡°Oh, really? Well, you¡¯ve made a mess of it. Come into the house; I might need you. Keep your eyes and ears open.¡±

    I started off quickly. He hesitated, then followed.

    ¡°Excuse me, sir, but do you mind telling me your name? I don¡¯t recognize you.¡±

    I ignored him and kept walking.

    ¡°Alright, get in here and remember to keep your eyes and ears open,¡± I ordered, pushing him through the gate. The lady had been quick; she left the door open.

    ¡°Hey, the door¡¯s open,¡± I shouted. ¡°That¡¯s suspicious. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the bird has flown. You thought she was just a servant girl? That¡¯s going to be a problem for you. Come into this room.¡±

    I led the way into the sitting room and immediately started unwrapping the rope.

    ¡°Look out the window and see if anyone¡¯s coming in.¡±

    He seemed confused, not quite understanding what was happening, but after a moment, he did as he was told and went to the window. While he was distracted, I quickly formed a lasso with the rope. The moment his back was turned, I slipped it over his head, pinning his arms to his sides. He struggled fiercely.

    ¡°So it¡¯s a setup, is it? I had a feeling! This is your game?¡±

    ¡°Yes, it is. And if you¡¯re smart, you¡¯ll admit you¡¯re beaten because you are.¡±

    He was. I quickly tied the rope around him, pulling him off his feet with a jerk. As he lay on the floor, I tied his hands and feet securely. I had experience with ropes and knots, and I made sure he wouldn¡¯t be able to move on his own.

    ¡°What are you going to do to me?¡± he asked, panicking.

    ¡°Nothing much. It¡¯s more comfortable in here than out on the street in this weather. But to make sure you don¡¯t make any noise, I¡¯m afraid I have to gag you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not going to gag me!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I must. But to show I don¡¯t mean any harm, I¡¯ll slip two five-pound notes into your coat pocket. When you¡¯re untied, you can use them to drink to my health.¡±

    ¡°Drink to your health? My God, I will!¡±

    ¡°Exactly, but let¡¯s keep it civil. No need for harsh language.¡±

    I had also bought some cotton wadding along with the clothesline. I stuffed a large piece into his mouth, enough to keep him quiet. Then, I carefully moved him behind a couch in the corner of the room. With him hidden and unable to move or make a sound, he could be there for a while without anyone noticing.

    I left the room and found the bag in the passage. Picking it up, I stepped out of the house. The lady was waiting just outside, looking worried.

    ¡°Did you¡ªdid you hurt him?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Not at all. I just tied him up to prevent him from following us.¡±

    I didn¡¯t mention the gagging part.

    ¡°Did you tie him very tight?¡±

    ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°Is he strong?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask.¡±

    ¡°But you could see. How big is he?¡± she asked as we walked towards the Fulham Road. She took a quick breath. ¡°I wish I were a strong man!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re stronger than any man I know.¡±

    ¡°How can you say that? Am I as strong as you?¡±

    I sighed. ¡°Are you as strong as me?¡±

    ¡°You speak in riddles. You know I¡¯d be like a baby in your hands. Where are you taking me?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not entirely sure. Hopefully out of the shadows and into the sunlight.¡±

    ¡°What if a policeman¡ªlook, there¡¯s one across the road¡ªwere to come and say I¡¯m his prisoner? What would you do?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d explain that he¡¯s mistaken.¡±

    ¡°Explain!¡± She laughed. ¡°You can¡¯t explain to everyone forever.¡±

    Her question startled me. I was also wondering where exactly I was taking her. The Paris train wasn¡¯t until nine, and it was barely five. Staying in London for another four hours seemed risky. Plus, they might have set a watch on the boat express by then.

    As we walked towards the Brompton Road, I considered calling a cab, but I wasn¡¯t sure where to tell the driver to go. Then, she exclaimed.

    ¡°Mr. Ferguson! Look! It¡¯s Mr. Lawrence!¡±

    I looked where she was pointing and recognized the figure ahead. I called out, ¡°Lawrence! Philip Lawrence!¡±

    He seemed to have noticed us and quickly hailed a cab, giving rapid instructions to the driver and disappearing in moments. I couldn¡¯t leave the lady to pursue him, so I waited for her to catch up.

    ¡°Are you sure it was Lawrence?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Absolutely! I¡¯ve seen him once, but I¡¯ll never forget his face.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s strange that he ran off like that.¡±

    ¡°I know, it¡¯s odd. What was that?¡±

    She sounded afraid, stepping closer to me, her hand trembling on my arm. Her face had turned pale.

    Through the mist, we heard a woman¡¯s laughter from the Fulham Road. It was the same eerie laughter from Edwin Lawrence¡¯s room¡ªsoft yet unsettling.

    At that sound, my heart skipped a beat.

 CHAPTER 21. A CHECK AT THE START

    <hr>

    We looked at each other, eyes wide with fear. ¡°You heard that?¡± Her voice trembled.

    ¡°I heard something. It was just a woman¡¯s laugh, somewhere nearby but hidden by the fog.¡±

    ¡°It was the same thing that did it. Do you think I¡¯m wrong? It¡¯s with Mr. Lawrence. It¡¯s his shadow, always following him.¡± She was shaking from head to toe, her face pale and eyes wide. I didn¡¯t know what to do. I quickly hailed a passing cab and practically lifted her into it. She had become completely helpless.

    I told the driver to head to Victoria Station¡ªfast. An idea struck me: the Ostend boat train left at half-past five. We might still make it. Anything was better than staying here. The sooner we left London, the better.

    She was still trembling beside me in the cab. I tried to comfort her. ¡°You¡¯re too sensitive. It was just your imagination running wild. If you¡¯re not careful, you¡¯ll make yourself sick. Then what will I do?¡±

    She pressed closer to me. ¡°Save me! You have to save me!¡±

    Her voice was like that of a frightened child. Her touch made me shiver too, a strange mix of fear and something else.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to save you from right now. But when there is, I¡¯ll be ready, I promise.¡±

    ¡°Put your arm around me.¡± I did as she asked, wondering if we were both losing our minds. ¡°How is it that I only feel safe when I¡¯m close to you¡ªand the closer, the safer?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s because God is very good to me.¡±

    ¡°To you? God is good to you?¡±

    ¡°Hasn¡¯t He made you feel safe with me?¡±

    ¡°You think so? Take your arm away. I¡¯m better now. I¡¯m not such a coward. You believe it¡¯s God who made me feel safe with you. I wonder.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure of it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a strange man.¡±

    ¡°I hope you won¡¯t always think that.¡±

    ¡°Have you had many women friends?¡±

    ¡°None, unless I can count you.¡±

    ¡°Oh yes, you can count me¡ªas a friend. Do you care for women?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know until now.¡± She laughed, and I was glad to see her mood lift.

    ¡°You are odd¡ªyou¡¯re really very quaint.¡± She leaned out of the cab.

    ¡°Where are we? I have no idea where you¡¯re taking me.¡±

    ¡°To Victoria Station, to catch the Ostend boat.¡±

    ¡°Ostend? Are we really going there?¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s the best option.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªwell, I wasn¡¯t expecting a trip to Ostend so soon. You mentioned Paris earlier.¡±

    ¡°And it might still be Paris; the Ostend boat just leaves first.¡±

    ¡°And time¡¯s critical. I get it. Between now and the Paris train, there¡¯s a risk of being arrested. That makes it very real.¡±

    I stood there, unsure of what to say. She was right; this was a situation where truth couldn¡¯t be played with. She, too, was silent, leaning back in her corner of the cab, looking into the fog. To me, taking off for the other side of the world at a moment¡¯s notice was nothing new. But to her, an unexpected dash to Brussels was almost terrifying. I checked my watch and called to the driver.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°Can you hurry up a bit? We¡¯ll miss our train.¡±

    ¡°Why rush? Let¡¯s miss it.¡±

    We disagreed on that; I wasn¡¯t about to miss it. But I kept quiet as the driver whipped up his horse. We soon reached the station yard, congested with vehicles. I realized threading through them would take too long. Time was running out.

    ¡°Come on,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s get out. We¡¯ll reach the platform faster on foot, and the train¡¯s about to leave.¡±

    We got out and navigated through the crowd of horses and people to the station. I rushed to the ticket office with her laughing close behind, treating the whole situation like a game.

    ¡°Two first-class tickets to Brussels!¡±

    ¡°Too late, sir. The train¡¯s just leaving.¡± As the clerk spoke, a whistle blew. ¡°There it goes. The platform¡¯s closed; you won¡¯t catch it.¡±

    She was all smiles. ¡°See? After all that rush! Isn¡¯t that annoying?¡±

    She didn¡¯t seem annoyed at all. Boys were shouting about the latest evening papers. Placards were up at the bookstall. I saw her glance at one, which had already caught my eye.

    ¡°¡®Imperial Mansions Murder. Extraordinary Scene at the Coroner¡¯s Inquest.¡¯ Has the inquest been held? What happened there? What¡¯s this ¡®extraordinary scene¡¯?¡±

    I felt exposed, like everyone was about to shout, ¡°There¡¯s the man who locked up the coroner¡¯s court! There¡¯s the woman he¡¯s spiriting away!¡± That placard rattled me. I snapped.

    ¡°Forget the inquest! We need to focus on that train.¡±

    ¡°Oh really? So you can be bad-tempered and civil too. I was wondering if you were always so perfectly polite.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I was determined to catch that train.¡±

    ¡°Were you? And you were also determined I wouldn¡¯t see what¡¯s in the papers. You¡¯re very thoughtful, Mr. Ferguson.¡±

    I glanced around, startled. Her loud use of my name took me by surprise. Surely everyone was talking about John Ferguson; looking for him; wondering where he was. I didn¡¯t want this crowd to know he was among them. My discomfort seemed to amuse her.

    ¡°Can I ask you just one question?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re too hard on me; ask a thousand.¡±

    ¡°Did you plan to take me to Ostend without feeding me? Maybe you don¡¯t know that four o¡¯clock is the actor¡¯s dinner hour. I haven¡¯t eaten all day.¡±

    ¡°Miss Moore!¡±

    I immediately regretted saying her name out loud. A man nearby turned towards us as if struck by it¡ªor so I thought. If he had shown any recognition, there would have been violence. But he was a mild-looking, grey-haired man, and the sight of my expression seemed to astonish him so much that he backed away quickly, fearful I might actually attack him. I pushed on.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. I didn¡¯t realize you were hungry.¡±

    ¡°Of course you didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Meaning I¡¯m the kind of guy who never knows anything? You¡¯re probably right. But where should we go? I think there¡¯s a place in the station where we can get something to eat.¡±

    ¡°Just the closest place, please.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m afraid it might be awful.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you know any place that isn¡¯t awful?¡±

    I was feeling more useless than ever. Missing the train, suggesting a foodless trip to Ostend, and hearing those paperboys yell, ¡°Extraordinary scene at an inquest!¡±¡ªall of it had my brain in a fog. I couldn¡¯t think of where to take her for a decent meal. I was heading to the station restaurant when someone grabbed my arm. It was Mr. Isaac Bernstein, looking half-crazed with excitement.

    ¡°Mr. Bernstein, please let go of my arm.¡±

    He started talking a mile a minute.

    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough, and I¡¯m not taking it anymore. Don¡¯t touch me, or I¡¯ll call for help. There are policemen nearby, and I¡¯m not unprotected! Even a worm will turn, and now I¡¯m turning; so listen to what I have to say.¡±

    ¡°Your issues, Mr. Bernstein, are of no interest to me. Did you hear me ask you to release my arm?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s as much your business as it is mine. Look, there¡¯s Lawrence!¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°Lawrence! He was trying to make a run for it¡ªto Ostend or some other place across the world, for all I know¡ªplanning to ditch me like he¡¯s done to the rest of you. But I was on to him. He would¡¯ve been gone if he wasn¡¯t drunk or crazy, and they wouldn¡¯t let him on the train. Now he¡¯s acting like a lunatic.¡± Mr. Bernstein let go of my arm and wiped his brow with his hat. ¡°I believe he¡¯s gone mad. Listen to the noise he¡¯s making!¡±

    As he spoke, I realized something was happening on the platform where the boat train had just left. It was becoming more noticeable every second. The railway staff seemed to be trying to eject someone from the station. This person, the center of a growing crowd, was loudly sharing his opinions on various subjects, especially about railway workers, in a voice that sounded oddly familiar.

    A sudden feeling hit me that things were coming to a head, that in a few hours, or even minutes, the whole mystery would be revealed. Though I had no clue what that revelation would be. As I looked around, I spotted my companion¡¯s brother, Mr. Thomas Moore, peeking at us from the crowd. He looked terrified, pale as a ghost. When he saw I recognized him, he slunk away like a scared puppy.

    I glanced at her to see if she had noticed her brother. From her demeanor, I guessed not. But as I watched her, I could tell she, too, sensed that something momentous was about to happen, something that would change everything for both of us.

 CHAPTER 22. A MIRACLE

    <hr>

    The crowd surged forward, pushing someone towards the entrance. Despite his loud shouting, he wasn¡¯t resisting but seemed to be treating the whole thing as a joke. Mr. Bernstein¡¯s voice cut through the commotion.

    ¡°Can you believe him? Isn¡¯t he a piece of work? And that¡¯s the guy who¡¯s taken so much money from me! And this is how he behaves!¡±

    I didn¡¯t care about Mr. Bernstein¡¯s complaints. As the crowd got closer, I started to wonder if I was dreaming, or if I was about to experience another nightmare. I turned to Miss Moore.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we go? Shouldn¡¯t I get you out of here?¡±

    My voice sounded hoarse. Hers was clear and strong, rising above the noise without being loud.

    ¡°Go? Now? When everything¡¯s coming to light, and I¡¯m finally starting to see clearly? No way. I¡¯ll stay and see this through to the end. Missing that train was meant to happen.¡±

    The crowd was almost upon us. Was I dreaming? Was I losing my mind? What was making everything spin? Who was this man they were pushing, the one yelling and screaming? Was he real or a figment of my imagination?

    Recognition came from the girl at my side first.

    ¡°It¡¯s him!¡± she cried. ¡°It¡¯s him!¡±

    It was him¡ªthe man who had thrown all our lives into chaos; who had deceived us all; who had played a final trick I still didn¡¯t understand. I pushed my way into the crowd.

    ¡°Let me through! Move aside!¡±

    They moved. It was a good thing for them that they did; I felt as strong as a dozen men. I stood in front of him.

    ¡°How have you come back¡ªfrom the gates of hell?¡±

    ¡°Ferguson! It¡¯s you!¡± He laughed, a sound filled with pain, not joy. ¡°But I haven¡¯t come back! The fires are still burning!¡± He gestured to the mocking crowd around us. ¡°Here are the demons¡ªcan¡¯t you see them?¡±

    I stood still, staring at him.

    ¡°It¡¯s Edwin Lawrence, as I live. Edwin¡ªnot Philip.¡±

    ¡°Yes, not Philip¡ªEdwin!¡± He laughed again. ¡°Do you want to see the strawberry mark? It¡¯s there.¡±

    ¡°What game have you been playing?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a game of my own invention¡ªand hers!¡± He pointed upwards. ¡°She inspired it. She set the stakes, made the rules, started the game, and has watched every move since. Her eyes! They never sleep or blink, always watching. They¡¯ve been on me since the game began. They¡¯re watching now! She haunts me, follows me everywhere. She¡¯s here now¡ªenjoying the joke. Listen! Can¡¯t you hear her?¡± He paused to listen. I heard nothing unusual, but he did. ¡°That¡¯s her laughter!¡± He laughed discordantly. ¡°I¡¯m Echo. She owns me, body and soul, and thinks it¡¯s hilarious!¡±

    He spoke like a man in a fever. Some around us thought he was mad. There were those who mocked, as fools do when they see a man¡¯s suffering laid bare. I had seen people like him before. He wasn¡¯t mad yet, but he was close, battling his demons. He had been drinking to fend them off, but it only made them come back stronger, closing in on him. He knew what they threatened. The knowledge made sweat bead on his brow.

    The railway officials must have thought he had the beginnings of delirium tremens. A man in authority addressed me.

    ¡°Are you a friend of this gentleman?¡±

    ¡°I know him well.¡±

    ¡°Are you willing to take responsibility for him? He¡¯s not in a condition to be left alone.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of him.¡±

    ¡°Then please remove him from the station immediately. He¡¯s already caused us enough trouble.¡±

    Lawrence tried to put on a grand air.

    ¡°My dear Mr. Railway-porter, or whatever you may be, I will leave your distasteful station without your prompting. My destination was Ostend but is now Pimlico. This acquaintance here owes me ¡ê1,880, but I don¡¯t need him to take care of me. Someone else already does that. Can¡¯t you hear her? That¡¯s her laughing.¡±

    ¡°Come on,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s get into a cab.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, but I prefer walking. Nothing like exercise when you¡¯re feeling off. Are you alone?¡±

    Miss Moore emerged from the crowd.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m with him.¡±

    He stared at her, puzzled, then suddenly recognized her.

    ¡°Ah! It¡¯s the sister of the brother¡ªthe loving relative of our dear Tom¡ªthe beautiful Miss Moore! It¡¯s like a scene from one of your plays where you¡¯re the shining star. The ghosts are gathering. You were there; you saw her?¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°The Goddess!¡±

    ¡°A Goddess?¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°That¡¯s a demon!¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± She grabbed my arm. ¡°Ask him what he means.¡±

    Lawrence answered.

    ¡°It¡¯s not something words can explain. Come, and you shall see; come together¡ªMr. Ferguson and you.¡±

    She looked at me, her eyes questioning. I asked him.

    ¡°Where do you want to take us?¡±

    ¡°To a little place of mine, where the Goddess is.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s this about the Goddess?¡±

    ¡°Come, and you shall see.¡±

    I glanced at her.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she said.

    He caught her words.

    ¡°There speaks the woman with the spirit of inquiry.¡±

    I repeated my suggestion.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get into a cab.¡±

    But he refused.

    ¡°No, I¡¯ll have none of your cabs. I¡¯ll walk. I feel trapped even in the open air; in a cab, I¡¯d suffocate. There¡¯s a hand on my heart, a grip on my throat, a weight on my head; it¡¯s hard to breathe. I¡¯ll be confined soon enough; I¡¯ll stay out as long as I can.¡±

    I turned to the officials. ¡°Can¡¯t you keep these people back? I don¡¯t want them following us through the streets. The man¡¯s not drunk; he¡¯s ill.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d get him into a cab,¡± one of them suggested.

    Lawrence, upon hearing the suggestion, exploded in a fit of rage, screaming, ¡°Get me into a cab? You¡¯d get me into a cab? I¡¯d kill you first!¡± His voice grew louder with each repetition, and the man stepped back, terrified.

    We left the station, a chaotic group¡ªLawrence leading with Miss Moore, me right behind them, and a mix of curious onlookers surrounding us. If I had my way, she wouldn¡¯t have come along. I whispered to her as we walked:

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you should be here. It¡¯s dangerous.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not scared. Are you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m scared for you¡ªof these people, of Lawrence¡¯s mood, of where he¡¯s taking us, and what might happen. I don¡¯t know what kind of trouble he¡¯s stirred up, but it¡¯s bound to be bad.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m safe with you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not so sure.¡±

    ¡°But I am. I want to see this through, for my own reasons. If you really think I should leave, I will. But can I stay?¡±

    Her determination was clear, and though I felt foolish, I couldn¡¯t refuse her. I grumbled, ¡°Fine, take my arm.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±

    I knew I should have insisted she stay behind, but when she held my arm, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to push her away.

    After a short walk from the station, Mr. Bernstein managed to push through the crowd to reach Lawrence. Though he had mustered some courage, he still seemed wary of Lawrence¡¯s reaction.

    ¡°Ted, my boy, let¡¯s not get too worked up. Be careful, don¡¯t go too far. I¡¯m your friend, always have been. Just be reasonable, please.¡±

    Lawrence stopped and addressed the crowd.

    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Mr. Isaac Bernstein, a usurer and fraudster. He deals in forged documents and teaches others to do the same. He¡¯s responsible for sending many good men to prison, and one day, he¡¯ll join them.¡±

    Bernstein stammered, ¡°D-don¡¯t say that! He¡¯s mad, absolutely mad!¡±

    ¡°Not yet. I¡¯m still sane enough to expose Isaac Bernstein, the forger.¡±

    Lawrence slapped Bernstein hard across both cheeks. The crowd laughed, and I turned to Miss Moore.

    ¡°You see? I have to go to him. I¡¯ll have to leave you.¡±

    ¡°No, we¡¯ll go together.¡±

    She stayed close as I approached Lawrence. I half-expected him to hit Bernstein again, but instead, Bernstein stood there, gasping, almost as if he might collapse. I grabbed Bernstein by the shoulder and shoved him off the pavement, sending him stumbling away.

    ¡°Leave him alone. He¡¯ll get what¡¯s coming to him,¡± I said.

    Lawrence clapped his hands like an excited child. ¡°Bravo! Spin him around¡ªroll him in the mud! She loves it; can¡¯t you hear her laughing?¡±

    He paused, raising his hand as if listening intently.

    ¡°I don¡¯t hear anything.¡±

    ¡°But I do.¡± Miss Moore spoke from behind me. ¡°I hear it.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked.

    ¡°The presence from the room. The sound we heard on Fulham Road just now. Listen! Can¡¯t you hear it too?¡±

    It might have been my imagination, but as she spoke, I thought I heard a woman¡¯s laughter, eerie and unsettling, as if coming from right next to us. It sent chills down my spine. I turned back to Lawrence, uneasy about where this was heading.

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving.¡±

    ¡°Gladly. Life is movement, and exercise is great for the liver,¡± he replied.

    ¡°What¡¯s the address of the place you¡¯re taking us to?¡±

    He touched his finger to his nose. ¡°That¡¯s a secret. There¡¯s a lady there¡ªa goddess! And a demon! You expect me to just tell you? She¡¯s with me always, never leaves me, yet waits for me at home. That¡¯s having a familiar, if you will.¡±

    I didn¡¯t respond. Despite his ramblings, I sensed there was some truth behind his words. I focused on keeping the crowd at a distance from Miss Moore, who clung to my arm.

    Lawrence moved at a brisk pace, his hat tilted back, his face animated, and his arms flailing as if pulled by invisible strings. He couldn¡¯t stay still, constantly muttering to himself. Soon, he touched on a subject I wished he wouldn¡¯t.

    ¡°So, Ferguson, you¡¯re a humorist. I read the news¡ªstill sane enough to read¡ªabout how you locked the coroner in his court. I¡¯d have given one of Bernstein¡¯s forged bills to see it, even if they were sitting on my case. The Goddess, she¡¯s still laughing about it.¡±

    Miss Moore asked, ¡°What¡¯s he saying?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s rambling about something he read in the papers,¡± I said.

    Lawrence cut in, ¡°Nonsense, he calls it! Haven¡¯t you heard? Has no one told you? Sweet sister of my dear friend Tom, today the coroner¡¯s been sitting on my corpse¡ªas I live, my corpse! Ferguson was there as a witness. They wanted him to say you had killed me¡ªyes, you, with your own two small hands; but he wouldn¡¯t. Said he¡¯d see them burn first, as hot as I am now. I feel like I¡¯m on fire inside and out. So they talked of sending him to jail.

    ¡°But they didn¡¯t know their man. Ferguson, a fellow of infinite jest, locked them up instead. Marched right out, turned the key, and left the coroner, jury, counsel, witnesses, audience, and police¡ªall locked inside, sitting on my corpse.¡±

    As expected, the crowd hanging around us caught on to what Lawrence was saying and passed it along.

    ¡°That¡¯s Ferguson, that tall bloke! He¡¯s the one who locked up the coroner this afternoon, Imperial Mansions murder case. Didn¡¯t you hear the other bloke? No lies! I¡¯m telling you, it¡¯s him!¡±

    While the street kids squabbled and tossed my name around, the lady leaned in and whispered in my ear. Despite the noise, I heard her clearly.

    ¡°So that¡¯s why you came to get me? Now I understand; the secret¡¯s out. Another favor you¡¯ve done for me! Aren¡¯t you afraid I¡¯ll be overwhelmed by all the obligations? But don¡¯t worry! These are the kinds of debts I don¡¯t mind owing you, because one day I hope to repay them all.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re exaggerating. And Lawrence is just being foolish.¡±

    ¡°Yes. But we¡¯re all fools in our own way; maybe that¡¯s what makes some of us wise.¡±

    I liked hearing her voice, feeling her hand on my arm, but my concern was growing. The crowd was getting larger and bolder. They could rush us any second, and I didn¡¯t want her caught in the middle of it. Lawrence was marching ahead as if he could go on forever. I started to wonder if he was leading us on another wild goose chase. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a building that looked more like a warehouse than a home.

    ¡°At last,¡± he cried, ¡°we¡¯ve arrived. The Goddess waits for us inside.¡±

    ¡°Is this your place?¡± I asked.

    ¡°It is¡ªand hers. Enter, everyone!¡±

    He flung the door open wide, as if inviting the whole crowd in. I stepped in front of it.

    ¡°No way it¡¯s ¡®everyone in.¡¯ You go first.¡± I pushed him inside. ¡°Now, you and I together,¡± I said to the lady.

    We stepped over the threshold. I was about to slam the door shut when someone hurried through the crowd. A voice called out¡ª

    ¡°Stop! Don¡¯t shut that door! Let me in!¡±

    It was Inspector Symonds, and it looked like he had a few friends with him.

 CHAPTER 23. IN THE PASSAGE

    <hr>

    I grabbed the inspector by his coat collar and pulled him inside, slamming the door in the faces of his companions. I kept my foot against the door as I bolted it shut.

    ¡°No more of your games! You let my team in!¡± the inspector demanded.

    By the light of a nearby gas-bracket, I glared at him. ¡°Understand this, Mr. Symonds, I won¡¯t tolerate any more nonsense from you.¡± He tried to whistle through his fingers, so I grabbed his wrist and pinned him against the wall. ¡°Watch yourself, or you¡¯ll get hurt.¡±

    Through clenched teeth, he gasped, ¡°I¡¯ll make you pay for this! Let my team in!¡±

    ¡°They stay out until we¡¯ve had a chat,¡± I insisted.

    The lady intervened. ¡°Don¡¯t harm him!¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t unless he forces me to. Symonds, there¡¯s been a big mix-up.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not listening. Open that door!¡±

    Again, I had to restrain him from whistling. ¡°No signals from you. We¡¯ve been chasing the wrong lead. Edwin Lawrence isn¡¯t dead.¡±

    ¡°Stop your stories.¡±

    ¡°Stories? Lawrence can speak for himself.¡±

    Lawrence, standing nearby, seemed amused by the commotion. Symonds turned to him. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m the supposed murder victim.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t play games with me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Edwin Lawrence, at your service. Although, currently, I¡¯m at the service of another¡ªa lady, tied to her in ways you can¡¯t imagine.¡±

    Symonds looked to me for confirmation. ¡°Is this true?¡±

    The lady immediately backed up my claim. Symonds remained uncertain.

    ¡°If this is some trick, who do you say the dead man is?¡± Symonds asked.

    Lawrence chuckled, a sound tinged with a touch of madness.

    ¡°Who¡¯s the dead man? Ah, that¡¯s the puzzle¡ªand the joke! The dead man must be me. It¡¯s in the papers, on everyone¡¯s lips¡ªthe talk of the town. The police are hunting for the person who supposedly killed me¡ªthe coroner and jury have inspected my body. It¡¯s clear the dead man must be me. And yet, strangely enough, he isn¡¯t. It¡¯s the most bizarre prank ever played¡ªand all her doing.¡± He gestured down the passage. ¡°It¡¯s her idea, from start to finish. And how she¡¯s enjoyed it! All she¡¯s done since is laugh. Can¡¯t you hear her? She¡¯s laughing now!¡±

    We all heard a woman¡¯s laughter through the door at the end of the passage. The lady moved closer to me; I clenched my teeth; the inspector, still unaware of the context, treated it as if it were nothing unusual.

    ¡°Who do you have in there?¡± Symonds asked.

    Lawrence raised his hands dramatically. ¡°A goddess! Truly divine¡ªa demon straight from hell!¡± He fiddled with his shirt collar, as if it were choking him. ¡°That¡¯s why she enjoyed her little prank more than I did. I lack the qualities needed to fully appreciate the jokes she plays. The laughter she evokes has a quality that doesn¡¯t sit well with me. It gets into my head, disturbs my sleep, squeezes my heart, and fills the world with faces¡ªgrinning faces, like his. So, I¡¯m going to tell the joke, and I promise not to ruin it in the telling.¡± He smiled, a hint of madness in his eyes once more. He threw his arms out wildly. ¡°Let them all come in¡ªthe whole street, the entire city! Let as many people as possible gather to enjoy the joke!¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Symonds and I exchanged glances. I whispered to him quietly. ¡°Listen to what he has to say. By the time he¡¯s done, the whole story will come out.¡±

    There had been knocks on the door all along. Now, someone outside stood out above the rest. A voice shouted through the door.

    ¡°Symonds! Is that you in there? Should we break down the door?¡±

    It was Hume¡¯s voice. I made a suggestion to Symonds.

    ¡°Dr. Hume should come in. He can confirm if this is Mr. Edwin Lawrence. Keep your men outside for now; they can come in if needed.¡±

    Symonds eyed me suspiciously, unsure of my role in the unfolding drama.

    ¡°You¡¯re quite the character, Mr. Ferguson. You seem to have your own rules about how justice is served in England. Let Dr. Hume in. My team will stay outside until needed.¡±

    I unbolted the door, keeping my foot against it to prevent a sudden rush. The crowd outside had grown larger. As they saw the door open, there were shouts and exclamations. Hume stood just outside, ready to enter. His friends with him made a move to push the door open wider, misunderstanding the situation. I struggled to keep it closed against their push.

    ¡°Hume, come in. Symonds, instruct your team.¡±

    ¡°Gray, stay put for now. We may need you soon. Send someone to disperse the crowd.¡±

    ¡°Understood, sir. Are you all right in there?¡±

    ¡°For now, I am. Stay alert. If I give the signal, come in immediately¡ªeven if you have to break down the door.¡±

    ¡°Got it, sir!¡±

    I secured the door again, eliciting boos and groans from the crowd outside as they realized they were being shut out from whatever was happening inside. Hume had entered and was looking around, clearly puzzled by the situation.

    ¡°Symonds, what¡¯s going on here? Ferguson, what new madness have you stirred up? Miss Moore, why are you here? This isn¡¯t a place for you!¡±

    ¡°I believe it is.¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not. You should be in bed. Who allowed you to leave your room?¡±

    ¡°I gave myself permission. I can take care of myself, and Mr. Ferguson is here.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Ferguson! He needs someone to take care of him.¡± Hume turned to me. ¡°If you brought Miss Moore here, you should be ashamed of yourself. Your sense of decency, if you have any, should have told you this is no place for her. What is this place you¡¯ve brought her to?¡±

    ¡°Someone else can explain better than I can. Ask him.¡±

    Lawrence burst into laughter. ¡°There you have it, Ferguson. Hume, ask the corpse.¡±

    Hume stared at Lawrence, half-believing him to be a specter. ¡°Lawrence! Edwin Lawrence! Is it really you, or some demonic impersonation, or a ghost? My God! Is it a ghost?¡±

    Again, Lawrence laughed. He approached Hume, eyes blazing, growing more animated as he spoke. ¡°A ghost, Hume, write it down¡ªa ghost! Can I convince myself that I¡¯m a ghost? Hume, you¡¯re an expert on madness. Look at me; do you think I¡¯m mad? It¡¯s a question I¡¯ve been asking since...she started being funny. I see things, hear things, like the thirsty men. There¡¯s a face that stares at me¡ªcut, slashed, torn into ribbons. Blood streams down, teeth grin inside the broken jaws, saying, ¡®This is the end after all I¡¯ve done!¡¯ I hit it, but it won¡¯t go away; it¡¯s always there. I can¡¯t sleep, afraid to close my eyes, because I see it clearer. I can¡¯t escape the face and words, no matter what I do or where I go. I¡¯ve been drinking, but it doesn¡¯t help; I can¡¯t get drunk. And she...she laughs, finds it all amusing. It¡¯s her idea of a joke. I hope I¡¯m mad, that it¡¯s just a madman¡¯s fancy, and when I regain my sanity, they¡¯ll disappear¡ªthe face and words. Tell me, Hume, am I mad?¡±

    Hume turned to me, looking pale. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Lawrence answered as if the question had been directed at him.

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly it¡ªa devil¡¯s trick! Her doing! She¡¯s like a demon! I¡¯ll¡ªI¡¯ll explain how it happened. She¡¯s got me¡ªcompletely under her control. But I don¡¯t care; I¡¯ll get even. She won¡¯t have all the power; I¡¯ll make a move, even if it means she drags me down to hell with her. Let her drag! I feel like I¡¯m already in hell. It can¡¯t be worse¡ªwherever she¡¯s come from.¡±

    Lawrence grabbed Hume¡¯s shoulder, looking intense and tormented. With his other hand, he gestured towards the door at the end of the passage. He was a frightening sight, as if he was already enduring hellish torments.

    ¡°She¡¯s in there¡ªbehind that door. But even though she¡¯s inside, she¡¯s with me here, always. Wherever I go, it¡¯s her, the face, and the words. You might think I¡¯m making this up, that it¡¯s the ramblings of a madman. I wish that were true. I wish these were just delusions of my own making. Come with me; see for yourself. I¡¯ll show you how this devil¡¯s trick was pulled off.¡±

    He led us down the passage, and we followed. I couldn¡¯t guess what was going through everyone else¡¯s minds, but I felt an intense unease. The lady held my hand, her touch cold and trembling. I wanted to shield her from what we were about to witness, but I couldn¡¯t stop it. It was like we were being swept along in a surreal dream. I sensed that Inspector Symonds was the most composed among us, while Hume seemed like a man resigned to witnessing something dreadful.

 CHAPTER 24. IN THE ROOM

    <hr>

    The room was large and bare, with an almost barn-like emptiness. The color-washed walls appeared a dull grey in the gaslight. The wooden floor was uncarpeted, and at one end stood a wooden platform, suggesting the space was meant to be an artist¡¯s studio. But there were no artistic touches to be found. The sparse furniture consisted of a camp bed, its bedclothes in disarray, two small tables cluttered with bottles and glasses, and a few mismatched chairs. Bottles of wine, spirits, and beer were scattered everywhere, with unopened bottles piled in a corner. The focal point of the room was a tall screen covered in crimson silk on the dais, drawing immediate attention.

    Lawrence placed a finger to his lips as he held the door open for us. ¡°Shh! She¡¯s behind the screen. Listen! Can¡¯t you hear her laughing?¡±

    This time, I heard nothing. The room was silent, and every nerve in my body was on edge. Just as we settled in, the door on the opposite side creaked open cautiously. Mr. Bernstein and young Tom Moore entered. At the sight of her brother, the lady drew closer to me. The inspector eyed the newcomers warily.

    ¡°Who are these men? Where do they come from?¡± Symonds demanded.

    Lawrence answered, ¡°Inspector Symonds, meet Mr. Isaac Bernstein¡ªdealer in forged bills and patron of penmen. Surely you¡¯ve heard of him.¡±

    Symonds nodded. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve heard of Bernstein. And the other one?¡±

    Lawrence glanced at the lady before responding, ¡°Just a thief.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m no thief!¡± Tom Moore protested, his voice a mix of whine and snarl. Bernstein stepped in.

    ¡°Mr. Symonds, pleased to meet you. Our friend here is fond of jokes. Don¡¯t take him seriously. I just needed a word with him in private¡ªjust one word. Lawrence, could we speak privately for a moment?¡±

    ¡°No, Bernstein. Anything you have to say, you¡¯ll say here. Loudly, so everyone can hear.¡±

    ¡°Lawrence, please be reasonable. Let me make just one remark.¡±

    Lawrence grabbed Bernstein by the shoulders and shook him. ¡°Speak up, Bernstein! Shout it!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t, Lawrence! You¡¯re hurting me!¡±

    ¡°Hurt you? If only I could hurt you as you¡¯ve hurt me! Why didn¡¯t you run when you had the chance? For me, there¡¯s no escape because of her, the face, and the words. But you had a chance. Now, there¡¯s none! Now, there¡¯s none!¡±

    He flung Bernstein across the room. The man stumbled, catching himself just in time. Bernstein turned to the inspector, his voice shaky.

    ¡°Mr. Symonds, he¡¯s not in his right mind. He¡¯s been drinking¡ªlook at all these bottles!¡± Bernstein pleaded, gesturing to the scattered bottles.

    Lawrence laughed, spreading his arms wide. ¡°Look at those bottles! Evidence of a giant¡¯s thirst! I¡¯ll have another!¡± He grabbed a bottle of champagne, expertly slicing the neck off with a palette knife. The wine foamed over as he filled a soda-water tumbler and downed it in one gulp. ¡°That¡¯s the stuff! I like my drink with a sting!¡±

    Bernstein pointed at Lawrence¡¯s actions. ¡°See? That¡¯s all he does¡ªdrink! drink! drink! You can¡¯t take his ravings seriously when they reflect on a respectable man.¡±

    ¡°Respectable man? Isaac Bernstein, respectable man?¡± Lawrence scoffed, tossing the empty bottle at Bernstein. The man ducked just in time.

    ¡°He¡¯s a liar, through and through. No one who knows him would believe him on his oath,¡± young Tom Moore chimed in.

    Lawrence pointed at him with his tumbler. ¡°A Solomon risen to judgment! See truth¡¯s imaged superscription on his brow.¡±

    Before I could react, the lady stepped forward. ¡°What he is, he owes to you¡ªand to him!¡± She pointed at Bernstein. ¡°You¡¯re older, with more worldly knowledge. You used him as a tool to save yourselves. You found him in a ditch, and instead of helping, you dragged him deeper, pressing him down so you could climb out. Though he¡¯s guilty, your guilt is a thousand times greater.¡±

    ¡°Spoken like an actress, Miss Moore. Your sentiments do you credit, though they¡¯re stagey. You assume you can make a good man bad. I doubt it. All you can do is bring out the badness in someone already flawed. Bernstein, your brother, and I were born with a twist¡ªa moral malformation. We were inclined toward a particular direction from the start. Could we have gone straight if we tried? I doubt it. I know I didn¡¯t. I liked my pleasures hot and spicy. Your insipid virtues never tempted me.¡±

    Lawrence took another swig. ¡°In this world, spice costs money. And there¡¯s the rub. I had none. But my brother¡ªan all-seeing Providence and an indiscriminating parent blessed him with plenty. I tried to make my own money, sometimes succeeding, often failing. When I failed, I naturally turned to my brother. He occasionally objected. Odd, isn¡¯t it? Then, one day, I met a man named Bernstein.¡±

    Bernstein, watching with parted lips and troubled eyes, stepped forward. ¡°Lawrence, my old friend, remember all I¡¯ve done for you. Be careful what you say.¡±

    ¡°I remember, and so will you. You¡¯ll never accuse me of forgetting. Bernstein was a Jew¡ªan usurer.¡±

    ¡°I lend money to gentlemen in need, that¡¯s all. There¡¯s no harm in it. If I didn¡¯t, someone else would.¡± Bernstein¡¯s voice trembled.

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    ¡°He negotiated loans on varying terms¡ªas I quickly learned. I had dealt with usurers before, but he was a new breed.¡±

    ¡°How new? Circumstances force one to adjust terms¡ªit¡¯s just business.¡±

    ¡°He lent me some money on what he considered reasonable terms.¡±

    ¡°And they were reasonable. You know they were.¡±

    ¡°¡®When you need more,¡¯ he said, ¡®bring me another name on the bill.¡¯ I asked, ¡®Whose name?¡¯ He said, ¡®Your brother¡¯s.¡¯ ¡®Do you think my brother would back a bill of mine? He¡¯d never agree!¡¯ ¡®That,¡¯ he said, ¡®is a pity.¡¯ And indeed, it was a pity. Brothers should be supportive; it¡¯s only right.

    ¡°¡®Come,¡¯ he said, ¡®dine with me.¡¯ I did. After dinner, he brought up the bill again. ¡®I¡¯ll give you ¡ê700 for a three-month bill for a thousand with your brother¡¯s name on it.¡¯ ¡®I told you, my brother would never back a bill of mine.¡¯ ¡®If you bring me such a bill, I won¡¯t ask how it got there.¡¯ Then he looked at me, and I saw what he meant. ¡®So that¡¯s it? I¡¯ve done some risky things, but never that.¡¯ He poured another glass of wine. ¡®You say you need the money. The sooner you give me the bill, the sooner your needs are met.¡¯ I gave him the bill the next morning. Three months later, there was trouble brewing.¡±

    ¡°I knew nothing of this¡ªhe¡¯s making it all up. The bill was paid when due.¡±

    ¡°After nearly coming to blows with my brother, I was still desperate for money. This time, Bernstein came to me.

    ¡°¡®I hear you¡¯re in a bind.¡¯ I acknowledged his accurate information. ¡®Small amounts won¡¯t help you. You need a substantial sum to get clear.¡¯ I admitted it, wondering where this sum would come from. ¡®Here¡¯s what I¡¯ll do,¡¯ he said. ¡®Bring me five bills for a thousand each with your brother¡¯s name, and I¡¯ll give you ¡ê2500 for the lot.¡¯ I told him it was impossible. I¡¯d promised my brother I wouldn¡¯t misuse his name again. ¡®Ah,¡¯ he said, ¡®that¡¯s a pity.¡¯¡±

    ¡°I never said that. Those who know me will confirm it¡¯s against my nature.¡±

    ¡°¡®I think I can help,¡¯ he continued. ¡®I know a young fellow who might be useful. He¡¯s a top-notch penman.¡¯ ¡®Are you saying he¡¯s a forger?¡¯ ¡®Lawrence,¡¯ cried Bernstein, ¡®you shouldn¡¯t use such words¡ªyou really shouldn¡¯t.¡¯¡±

    ¡°You hear him admit it? I said, ¡®You shouldn¡¯t use such words.¡¯ I¡¯ve always said that.¡±

    ¡°He introduced me to this expert penman over dinner. The penman was our young friend here¡ªTom Moore.¡±

    ¡°I never wanted to meet you¡ªnever. I told him that.¡±

    Mr. Bernstein interrupted, ¡°Now, Moore, that¡¯s not true. You were always willing to meet him; why not? He was a gentleman of family and fortune. Why wouldn¡¯t you want to know him?¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t turn out that way, did he? Look how he treated me!¡±

    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s different. We couldn¡¯t predict how he¡¯d turn out. We assumed he was a man of character.¡±

    ¡°Innocent-minded Bernstein! Naive Tom Moore! After dinner, Moore came back to my place.¡±

    ¡°You invited me.¡±

    ¡°I did, that¡¯s true; and you came. I said to him, ¡®I hear you¡¯re a bit of a penman.¡¯¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know what you meant.¡±

    ¡°Of course not. I laid five bill-stamps in front of him.¡±

    ¡°They were blank.¡±

    ¡°Yes, they were. I showed him my brother¡¯s signature on a letter and asked if he could make a nice, clean copy of it on each stamp.¡±

    ¡°You never said what you were going to do with it.¡±

    ¡°True, I didn¡¯t. But you asked, ¡®How much are you going to pay me?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Well, you were a stranger. You didn¡¯t expect me to do it for free, did you?¡±

    ¡°Of course not. I said I¡¯d give you a hundred pounds, which seemed fair for a little copying. But you demanded five hundred.¡±

    ¡°You never gave me five hundred pounds! You know that! Not even close!¡±

    ¡°Right again. I couldn¡¯t see my way to that much. I said you¡¯d get two hundred.¡±

    ¡°That night you didn¡¯t give me any money at all.¡±

    ¡°No, but the next morning, I took five bills for a thousand pounds each, with my brother¡¯s signature on them, to Mr. Isaac Bernstein. He gave me ¡ê2500, and you got two hundred out of that.¡±

    ¡°I took it as a friendly gesture.¡±

    ¡°Sure, from a complete stranger. Time passed, three months slipped by, and I started to worry. My luck was terrible. That ¡ê2500 vanished quickly; I lost almost every penny before I even realized I had it. When it was gone, I knew trouble was coming, big trouble. I started to fidget. I knew my brother, and considering last time it almost led to murder, this time it might really happen. Philip¡¯s temper was bad, very bad. We had fought before, and I usually didn¡¯t come out on top. Now, I foresaw the biggest fight of all, and I wasn¡¯t confident about the outcome.

    ¡°I began to hate my brother. As days went by, my hatred and fear of him grew. Those feelings took over, and I started to think about how I could get the upper hand when everything blew up and the fight began. Then I remembered something from India.

    ¡°One night, unable to sleep after some bad drinking, my mind was filled with thoughts of my brother. I thought about his luck, his strength, how he always won our fights, and how in the next one, he¡¯d probably win again. He was stronger in every way. How could I beat him? How?

    ¡°That¡¯s when I thought of the Goddess. The idea came from her; she planted herself in my mind. I suspected it then, and now I know it. She had stayed in the packing case I brought her home in. I had never unpacked her, never even looked at her. She might have felt neglected, but no¡ªshe knew she wouldn¡¯t be forgotten. She was just waiting for the right time. Now her time had come. She knew it, so she reminded me of her presence.

    ¡°At first, I found it funny¡ªThe Goddess. Her humorous side always appeals first. But that humor changes. I laughed at the idea of her appearing at such a moment. As I laughed, she laughed too. It was the first time I heard her laugh. The sound sent a chill through me. Even then, I wondered if I was going mad. She was in the cupboard across from my dressing room. It was strange I could hear her so clearly from my bed.

    ¡°¡®I¡¯ll go and look at her,¡¯ I said. I went. As I opened the cupboard door, she laughed again¡ªa soft, musical laugh, full of joy. It drew me in. ¡®I didn¡¯t know you could laugh,¡¯ I said. ¡®Where are you? Let¡¯s get you out of here. If you¡¯re as beautiful as your laughter, you¡¯re worth looking at.¡¯¡±

    ¡°There was the packing case, still nailed shut and tied up, just like it was when it came off the ship. When I touched it, she laughed again. This time, the sound had a strange way of boosting my spirits, fitting my mood perfectly. I dragged the case into my dressing room and unpacked it. There she was, in perfect condition, as ready, willing, and joyful as when I first saw her in her birthplace. She had weathered the voyage and her confinement remarkably well; there was no sign of resentment in her stance or appearance. As she demonstrated her powers, laughing all the while, I thought, ¡®With her help, I can definitely take on my brother.¡¯

    ¡°I got her out, but like the genie in that Arabian story, she wasn¡¯t easy to put back. Without her consent, it was impossible to get her back in the packing case. She flat-out refused to give it. When I insisted on trying, she nearly ended me right then and there. So, I gave up. I left her where she was. That display of power and her willingness to use it made me realize I had found not just an ally, but maybe something more. One thing was certain¡ªI had found an inseparable companion.

    ¡°From that moment on, in the silence of the night, when I couldn¡¯t sleep because of thoughts of my brother, she¡¯s never left my side. She¡¯s become part of my life, woven into the very fabric of my being, into the core of who I am. She holds me, body, soul, and spirit, with unbreakable chains. And to her, it¡¯s all a grand joke. Listen! She¡¯s laughing now.¡±

 CHAPTER 25. THE GODDESS

    <hr>

    As Lawrence spoke, I found myself wondering where the line was between truth and fiction, sanity and madness. I couldn¡¯t pin it down then, and I can¡¯t now. His wild speech and manner clearly showed his mind was in disarray; his brain was aflame with delirium. Yet, there was something in his story that rang true, some kernel of reality amidst the madness. His life of excess had likely taken a toll on his health, and his body¡¯s decline had affected his mind.

    Despite his craziness, there was such conviction in his words, a method to his madness, that even his wildest claims seemed to have a basis in fact. We were captivated, listening to his fantastical assertions, enthralled by tales that seemed to come from a dream world, yet told as if they were everyday occurrences.

    He raised a finger, repeating his last words as a question. ¡°Hark! Don¡¯t you hear her laughing now?¡±

    I don¡¯t know what we heard. We had been following his descent into madness so closely that our own minds were teetering on the edge. But I thought I heard a woman¡¯s laughter, and it seemed to come from behind the screen. I moved to uncover whatever was hidden there, but Lawrence jumped in front of me.

    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± he cried. ¡°She¡¯s there! You¡¯ll see her, I¡¯ll show you at the right time.¡±

    I could have pushed him aside, but something about him stopped me. When the lady placed her hand on my arm and drew me away, I let him continue his story in his own way. He wiped his brow, as if trying to gather his thoughts.

    ¡°Time went on, without bringing me any peace, until Bernstein wrote to my brother, asking where it would be most convenient to present the bills that were about to fall due.¡±

    ¡°Just standard procedure,¡± interjected Bernstein.

    ¡°Standard procedure, Bernstein says, and I¡¯m not denying it. When Philip got the letter, he came to me, furious, asking what it meant. I¡¯d had a rough few days and nights and was already on edge when he showed up. His sudden arrival caught me off guard. Seeing the anger in his eyes and the tension in his hands, I got scared. I lied, saying I had no idea what Bernstein¡¯s letter was about and that any bills he held had nothing to do with me. I could see Philip doubted me, but without solid proof, he left, warning me of the consequences if I was lying. It was a comfort to know what I could expect¡ªif he found out I was lying.

    ¡°I went to Bernstein, begging for mercy, knowing full well that mercy from him was as rare as water in a rock.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a businessman! You had my money! I run a business!¡± Bernstein retorted.

    ¡°He showed no mercy. I found young Moore and told him that certain bills bearing my brother¡¯s name had been discounted, and since he had signed them, I would have to tell the truth to defend myself.¡±

    ¡°When I signed them, there was nothing on those bills¡ªnot a word; I swear it. They were just five blank slips of paper, on my sacred honor. He filled them out himself, then tried to pin it on me,¡± Moore protested.

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s odd how I tried to blame everyone but myself; very odd indeed. That night I was troubled. I had a conversation with The Goddess, which gave me some comfort, though not much. The next day, I steeled myself for the inevitable, as men tend to do when they know the reckoning is at hand. That evening, I played cards with Ferguson. You remember?¡±

    ¡°I remember. You cheated me.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I did. Odd thing, too, because it was the first and last time I ever cheated at cards. You left thinking you owed me ¡ê1880, realizing that your so-called friend was just a crook. Knowing you saw me that way was a real blow. I always wanted to keep your respect, and it felt like I¡¯d failed. After you left, I turned to The Goddess for comfort.

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    ¡°I brought her from my bedroom and placed her on her stand. I was about to ask her to perform one of her incredible tricks when I saw a woman standing in the open doorway. That woman is here now.¡±

    He gestured towards Miss Moore. She seemed to recall the moment.

    ¡°I remember. I knocked on the door a few times, but no one answered. I tried the handle, and the door opened. You were there.¡±

    ¡°Which was lucky for me. I saw an entrancing figure in a stunning cloak, with a face that would haunt any man¡¯s dreams. It was late for such a vision to visit a single man, but when I learned she was Tom¡¯s sister, it made sense. I understood even more when she started talking. Sometimes even the most enchanting visions have plenty to say. Dear Tom had shared his version of events.¡±

    ¡°Everything I told her was true. I swear it.¡±

    ¡°No doubt you do. But as she told me the story, it seemed surprising. I had no idea I was so deep in sin and that Tom was so innocent. She made it sound like I had corrupted him completely, even teaching him to forge signatures. It was strange to hear. I knew Tom a bit and started to wonder if she really knew him at all. But it was nice to know such a lovely lady had such a virtuous brother, despite his dubious friends. She was in the middle of sharing her opinion of one of those friends when the door opened again, this time, I think, without knocking. My brother was the uninvited, unwelcome guest who interrupted our chat.

    ¡°I knew instantly that the game was up and it was time to face the music. It was written all over him. He had this way of swelling up when he was furious, like his rage inflated him. I¡¯d never seen him so large before. He was trembling, but not from fear. His fingers were opening and closing, a sign that he was on the brink of losing control. His lips were parted, he was taking deep breaths, and his eyes seemed to bulge. One glance told me he knew I had lied, and now it was going to get ugly.

    ¡°I can¡¯t say if he noticed I was with a lady. If he did, he didn¡¯t show it, not even by tipping his hat. The moment he saw me, he started edging into the room with these jerky movements, which I knew from experience meant an explosion was imminent. ¡®I¡¯ll kill you! I¡¯ll kill you! I¡¯ll kill you!¡¯ He repeated it like a mantra, half to himself and half to me, in a voice that was truly terrifying.

    ¡°My first thought was of The Goddess.¡±

    Lawrence moved with a dramatic flair, knocking the crimson screen onto the floor. He spread his arms wide and shouted, ¡°Behold! The Goddess!¡±

    I had no idea what to expect, nor did the others, I imagine. My mind had conjured up some vague horror, something neither fully alive nor dead. What I actually saw surprised me. A moment¡¯s reflection made me realize I should have seen this coming. Lawrence¡¯s words had pointed directly to it. Yet, this sight didn¡¯t fully explain everything, especially the weird vision I¡¯d had in my dream.

    The screen had hidden an idol, a Hindu goddess. She was squatting on what looked like an ebony pedestal, about a foot or so off the floor. The figure, nearly four feet tall, depicted a woman with her arms crossed on her chest, fingers interlaced. Two things stood out: the entire figure was a bright scarlet, and the craftsmanship gave it an uncanny lifelike quality. Lawrence pointed this out.

    ¡°See how alive she looks? Just a touch and she¡¯s filled with frenzied energy. That¡¯s what she waits for.¡±

    It was exactly what I had noticed. The figure seemed ready to spring to life with just the slightest provocation. I couldn¡¯t tell what it was made of, but it wasn¡¯t wood or stone.

    ¡°As Philip charged at me, I moved toward The Goddess. ¡®Be careful,¡¯ I said. ¡®Don¡¯t be a fool! There¡¯s a lady here!¡¯ He didn¡¯t seem to notice, or care. I doubted if he even saw The Goddess. In his rage, he was like a maddened bull, focused only on me. ¡®I¡¯ll kill you!¡¯ he kept muttering, his voice rough with fury. ¡®Don¡¯t be stupid!¡¯ I shouted back. But he was beyond reason. Then he rushed at me like a bull at a matador, and instead of me, he met The Goddess. If not for her, I wouldn¡¯t be here to tell the tale.

    ¡°The Goddess was between us. I had this little cord in my fingers¡ªyou see it here. Philip didn¡¯t consider her an obstacle. He tried to smash her, but she wasn¡¯t so easily dismissed. As he rushed at her, she leaped at him¡ªlike this.¡±

    Lawrence threw out his arms and shouted, ¡°Take me, for I am yours, O Goddess of the Scarlet Hands!¡±

    What happened next is still hard to believe. As Lawrence sprang forward, the figure rose to its feet and came to life. It opened its arms, revealing knives at its fingertips. It grabbed Lawrence with its steel-clad hands, an unbreakable grip. Blades emerged from every part of its body, and it pressed him against them repeatedly, spinning him around and cutting him all over. Knives sprang from its eyes, mouth, and nostrils, stabbing at his face and head. All the while, the eerie sound of a woman¡¯s laughter echoed, just like in my dream.

 CHAPTER 26. THE LEGACY OF THE SCARLET HANDS

    <hr>

    We couldn¡¯t do anything to help him. The shock froze us in place for a moment, but as soon as we realized he was being brutally hacked to death, we rushed to his aid. It was too late. He was likely dead instantly, given the mercy of that monstrous thing. A sharp blade, over eighteen inches long, had pierced straight through him from its stomach. The writhing, grotesque figure held him skewered in multiple places. Trying to free him would have meant tearing him apart. When I tried to drag him away, I only succeeded in toppling the whole thing over. It pinned him to the floor, continuing its horrific contortions, slashing him a hundred different ways. It was hard to believe it wasn¡¯t alive.

    Seeing that it wouldn¡¯t stop, I grabbed a heavy wooden chair and struck it on the back, again and again. Finally, it became still, its movements ceasing. It rolled over lethargically, leaving behind a gruesome sight. The creature¡¯s face wore a grim smile, as if satisfied with its work.

    Later, we dismantled it to understand its workings. The construction was diabolically ingenious. It was a light steel frame shaped like a human body, powered by strong springs set in motion by clockwork. The whole thing was encased in scarlet leather, resembling an artist¡¯s mannequin. Numerous eyelet-holes in the leather allowed blades to peek out. When activated, these blades sprang out and kept moving until the clockwork ran down. The head contained a mechanism like a phonograph, producing the eerie sound of a woman¡¯s laughter.

    Investigations revealed that the contraption was likely meant for sacrificial purposes. Lawrence had purchased it in Allahabad, probably from a native craftsman known for creating such devices for temple rituals. On certain days, priests would present this puppet with great ceremony, claiming miraculous powers. It would then perform its gruesome act before an assembled congregation. The thought of its original use was chilling. Strange things still happen in India.

    Edwin Lawrence must have been unbalanced to buy such a macabre toy. A sane person wouldn¡¯t have wanted it at any price, and Lawrence must have paid a fortune for it. The brothers had a history of constant quarreling. Edwin would provoke Philip, who would then attack him violently. After the rage subsided, Philip would feel remorse and spend vast sums to make amends. This cycle had continued until Edwin left for India, funded by Philip¡¯s latest act of repentance. Edwin¡¯s resentment festered, leading him to buy the scarlet puppet.

    The final crime might have been a spur-of-the-moment decision, as Edwin claimed. But it was clear he had prepared for it. He had a suit of clothes identical to Philip¡¯s hidden in his room. After the puppet killed Philip, Edwin dressed the body in his own clothes, ignoring the fact that they weren¡¯t torn and bloody like his brother¡¯s. He then put on the prepared suit himself.

    Whether Edwin noticed me, or even if I was truly there, remains unclear. He either didn¡¯t see his visitor leave or didn¡¯t care about the implications. After the tragedy, his actions were strangely deliberate. The catastrophe must have finally shattered his already unstable mind. It¡¯s the only explanation for how he maintained his composure, even as he expected to be caught red-handed at any moment.

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    He disguised himself to look as much like his brother as possible, and wrapped the ¡°goddess¡± in a cloth to carry it out into the street. Turner saw him and thought he was seeing the man who was actually lying mutilated on the floor. Turner knew both men well, so the disguise must have been incredibly convincing.

    No action was taken against Mr. Isaac Bernstein. There was no concrete evidence against him apart from the dead man¡¯s words. But the fact that Edwin Lawrence¡¯s story might have been true was suggested by Bernstein¡¯s sudden disappearance from London a few days later. Since then, no one has seen or heard from him. Whether he feared being implicated in other shady dealings or was haunted by the memory of the dual tragedy, we can¡¯t say. The fact remains that he hasn¡¯t tried to claim the large sums of money due to him when he vanished.

    With the brothers being the last of their line, Philip¡¯s estate eventually reverted to the Crown, becoming one of those numerous unclaimed properties. Old Morley and his wife had been in the family¡¯s service for years, staying out of loyalty. They were left comfortably off, inheriting a small property in the Surrey hills, where they live to this day. Their once rural neighborhood has since become more developed, adding to the value of their property, though they find it a bit unsettling.

    Hume remains unmarried and increasingly disengaged from active medical practice. However, he is still an authority on obscure brain diseases and has written several books on the subject. I haven¡¯t read them, as such works aren¡¯t my interest, but he claims we are all somewhat mad, and he provides convincing arguments for this theory. He hasn¡¯t changed his low opinion of my mental faculties and once told me that physically strong men like me are inherently mad. Despite this, we get along reasonably well, and he concedes I am better off outside an asylum.

    Rumor has it that Miss Adair plans to retire from the stage soon, possibly influenced by Hume, who has been close to her lately. If they do end up together, they¡¯ll make a fitting couple, both being sharp-tongued.

    Bessie, who I now feel comfortable calling by her first name, never returned to acting after that horrific night. She fell seriously ill with brain fever, teetering between life and death for weeks. The doctors gave up hope several times, but miraculously, she recovered. Her first coherent words were, ¡°Where is Tom?¡±¡ªher wayward brother. Despite all she had endured for him, he was still on her mind.

    ¡°I hope he¡¯s on the road to fortune,¡± I said. When she asked what I meant, I explained that I had given him the means to seek gold in the Klondike. He had set off on his quest but never found what he was looking for. Months later, I learned he had fallen into the Yukon River and drowned, drunk at the time. I kept that detail from Bessie, not wanting her to think poorly of his end.

    Bessie and I have been married long enough for me to fully realize my happiness. I won¡¯t say exactly how long, but our children are a clear testament to it. There was no courtship; I knew as I watched over her that if she lived, she would be mine, and I hers. As soon as she was strong enough, we married and have been lovers ever since. Sometimes, as I sit holding her hand, watching our children, I feel as if our courtship is just beginning and will never end.

    God has been exceedingly kind in giving me my wife. Through what seemed like chance but was surely Providence, I have ended up with the woman of my dreams. Both in sleep and wakefulness, she is mine, proving that sometimes a man¡¯s good fortune far exceeds his deserts.

    THE END