Langdon St. Ives: Beneath London Part 20

"Good news, Bill," he said. "Finn and Clara and their lot are free of Klingheimer's house. A knot of villains was chasing them, but I put paid to their capers. Two notches on my stick, and a third man sent packing. A good afternoon's work, although I learned nothing of Klingheimer, nothing at all. It was dumb luck that I came along when I did."

With that, Tubby turned away and mounted the stairs, keeping his head judiciously turned away from the patrons, who in fact paid him no mind.

In the silence that followed, Hasbro considered what Kraken and Mother Laswell had told him about the dead house, about Shadwell driving the cart away with a coffin in the back, about the man nailed into what might be his own coffin if he weren't set free, and his freedom dependent upon his honesty. "We must a.s.sume that they have taken St. Ives," he said, looking at Kraken, who still hadn't touched his food.

"Or maybe this Klingheimer means to draw all of us into his web now that we know enough to be a danger to him," Mother put in.

"Possibly," Hasbro said to her, "but we must find out in any event. There is no choice. What do you know of Wimpole Street, Bill? I can picture the surgeries and the general lay of things. Most of the buildings are fenced a broad, open street, as I recall."

He watched as Kraken rubbed his chin with his fingers and stared into his ale gla.s.s. Bill Kraken had lived on the streets of London for years, and he knew every inch of it. He fairly loathed the city, however, for what it had done to him driven him mad for a time.

"Posh houses out that way," he said after thinking for a moment, "and the medicos, like you spoke. There's an alley runs along behind it, the back way into doctors' houses, deliveries and such. All sorts coming and going, early and late. Corpses in and out, greengrocers and fishmongers...."

Tubby reappeared wearing a fresh shirt and vest, his face washed clean. His hat still stood atop his head, pulled down tightly. "By G.o.d this is food to set a person up," he said, plunging his fork into his portion of pie and hacking up the crust. In a lower voice, he said, "Here's the way of it: Finn and his lot came out of a door in Klingheimer's house and made away toward the river. Miss Bracken was with them, along with a dwarf in a beaver hat."

"Lord have mercy," Mother Laswell said. "I saw the Bracken woman through a high window, and I knew it was no good that she was there a prisoner, I thought. It's a blessing she's out."

"What manner of dwarf?" Kraken asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Smallish," Tubby told him, "but a game dwarf. He gave me a fierce look as he pa.s.sed me. If Finn had not called out my name, I'm certain the dwarf would have savaged me. Pardon me if I don't remove my bowler, Mother. It's currently holding my head together."

"You'll want a doctor," Mother Laswell said.

"To the contrary, I want nothing more than my share of this capital pie, two gla.s.ses of ale, and to know what's up. Where are Alice and St. Ives?"

"Missing," said Hasbro. "The both of them."

"Neither returned?"

"No, sir," Kraken said.

While they ate, making a job of it but wasting no time, they caught each other up. Kraken told what happened to Alice, and Mother showed Tubby the missive from Finn welcome evidence that they might yet find a way into the underworld to search for Gilbert.

"Now that we're all a.s.sembled," Hasbro said, "I can think of no better plan than to proceed to Wimpole Street, Bill leading the way. Tubby and I will approach from the street, and Mother and Bill from the alley front and back, and no hullabaloo. Whoever succeeds first will let the others in. And mark me, the asylum is full of innocents. We cannot be careless."

"And yet we must a.s.sume that no one is innocent," Tubby said. "Klingheimer's house is full of cutthroats. The same must be true of Peavy's."

"I'll attend to the boarders," Mother Laswell said. "Hereafter Farm has seen its share of those who have been touched. It's them who first called me mother, aside from my own sons. I have a way with them."

"Well then," Tubby said. "Death or glory, I say. More notches for my stick, if my luck is in."

"I counsel a quiet glory," Hasbro said. "Our friends are in a precarious way. These men mustn't know of our existence until we're upon them."

"Agreed," Tubby said, "but they'll know of it then, by G.o.d."

THIRTY-FIVE.

THE MADHOUSE.

So this is how it ends, St. Ives thought, and it came into his mind that he had never in his life done anything more suicidally foolish than he had today looking into the asylum alone, betting his life on the kindly demeanor of the old gatekeeper. When Pule had locked the gate, trapping him inside, the tale had been told, all but the epilogue.

But was that true, or was there a larger, more d.a.m.ning truth? He thought about the murder of Sarah Wright and his saying that he would "look into it." He had visited Pullman and learned the details of the woman's death. He had visited the icehouse and had his suspicions verified, or something near to that. He had pa.s.sed the false policemen on the road, and he had known that there was something wrong with them. He had been happy with the notion that Clara's problem could be solved by whisking her away to Yorkshire, and had left for London without a backward glance in order to take a scientific ramble that had come to nothing beyond ruination. Klingheimer was forthright in his self-regard and his contemptible undertakings, but St. Ives had believed in himself no less in his own rationalizations and not in the apparent truth.

The squeaking of wheels interrupted his thinking. He could see nothing of what was transpiring behind him, although he knew that the door was still open could smell the fresh air blowing in. He was unable to turn his head, however. Then a rolling table came into view, followed by Shadwell, who was pushing it, Klingheimer following. On top of the table lay a simple wooden coffin.

St. Ives's mind went dark with fear. He had no doubt, no doubt at all, that Alice lay in the coffin, but whether alive or dead...

"Your face tells the tale, Professor," Klingheimer said. "You a.s.sume correctly. I told you that you would soon be reunited with Alice, and I have kept my promise. She is perfectly well, however. I am told that chloroform often makes the head ache when the effects of the drug diminish, but the pain pa.s.ses away quickly."

"Open it," St. Ives said in a voice that cracked.

"In the fullness of time, sir. We will open it when she stirs. I am told that she was very gallant in her efforts on your behalf, Professor. She put the wind up our man Lewis at the Board of Works. She brazenly accused him of blowing up the entrance to the sink-hole in an attempt to murder you and Mr. Frobisher, which was near enough to the mark to paralyze Mr. Lewis with fear. I can a.s.sure you that Mr. Lewis was guilty of stupidity, however, rather than attempted murder. I care nothing for Gilbert Frobisher, dead or alive, but I was positively elated when you appeared here at the asylum today, demanding to see Dr. Peavy. If you had died in the explosion, I would have been compelled to dispose of Mr. Lewis. But the man has redeemed himself by contriving to send Alice to me."

There was a rustling in the coffin now and a knocking against the side. Klingheimer nodded to Shadwell, who prised off the lid with a crowbar and then carried it out of sight.

"She's a great beauty, sir," Klingheimer said, gazing into the box. "I congratulate you on the several years that the two of you shared."

Alice sat up, holding her head and looking about her, mystified. Her eyes focused on St. Ives, and after a moment of evident confusion, a look of horror crossed her features, followed by something more calculating. Shadwell returned then and stood nearby.

St. Ives shook his head slightly. Peavy's was a madhouse in every sense of the word, and Alice was in mortal danger something that she appeared to be increasingly aware of. She mustn't do anything rash, or even think of doing so. She was staring past St. Ives now at the heads in the basins, no doubt. She looked at him again, at the device that encircled his neck. Shadwell placed his hands upon her shoulders. If he had the power to murder the man, St. Ives would have done so in an instant, but he willed himself to keep his composure to watch for his chance, although he knew he had no chance at all.

"Be at ease, ma'am," Klingheimer said. "You are powerless here. You wonder where you are, no doubt, and I can tell you. You have made your way to the center of a grand experiment in the science of human ascension."

Hasbro and Tubby crossed Wimpole Street just up from the gatehouse, not showing any undue haste. The window shutter slid along a track, and was half closed against the wind. There was an old gentleman within the lamplit interior, his magazine turned toward the light, his spectacles reflecting the glare. The door in the side of the gatehouse stood open three or four inches, and Tubby planted himself very near it, ready to step inside in order to beard the old man in his den. Through the open door Tubby saw that a drawer stood open near the man's left hand, a small pistol lying within.

Hasbro rapped twice on the shutter, leaned his head into the hut, and said, "I am Detective Newnes of Scotland Yard."

"A pleasure to meet you, sir," the old man said, making no move toward the pistol. "How can I accommodate you?"

"I have a warrant for the arrest of Dr. Peavy on the charge of kidnapping and murder. You can accommodate me by opening the gate."

"Might I see the warrant, sir? My job requires it."

"Not any longer, it doesn't," Tubby said, pushing the door fully open and stepping into the hut. "Your job requires that you keep your hand away from that pistol." Tubby watched the man's face as he reached into the drawer for the weapon, and put it into his pocket. "Now, the gate key, sir. If you cry out or make an attempt to warn your employer of his impending doom, you doom yourself into the bargain. In short, I mean to break both your kneecaps with my stick if I'm required to do so. It'll take several blows, no doubt, but I'll put my weight into it. Do you understand me?"

"Completely, sir," the man said, looking at Tubby over the top of his spectacles. "There is no need for violence, no need at all. I had no idea of..."

"Of wasting our time while your cohorts escape? Quick now, the gate key."

"I have no cohorts, sir. I'm a mere..."

"You're a mumping villain," Tubby said, seeing a ring of keys hanging upon a hook. He plucked it down and handed it to Hasbro, who set out at once to try them.

"I was just going to say so. If you had given me another ten seconds..."

"Success," Hasbro said in a low voice.

"Listen here," Tubby said to the old man. "You must cross the street at a steady pace, turn left at the end of the block, and disappear. If you hesitate or call out, I guarantee that you will crawl away carrying your head in your pocket. And that, sir, will be your condition when Scotland Yard picks you up out of the street. Here take your coat with you. The wind is chill."

Tubby opened the door wide and stepped out, bowing and gesturing at the street. The old man set out straightaway, pulling his coat on as he walked. He dodged a coach by a narrow margin, stepped up onto the far pavement, and hurried toward the corner, not looking back. By the time Tubby and Hasbro ascended the stairs to the entry doors of the asylum, he was gone.

Through the gla.s.s, Tubby could see a man sitting at a desk just inside, clearly asleep, his chin on his hand. Some distance away a number of people, the more well-behaved inmates perhaps, sat at a long table in a far room eating their candle-lit supper. Hasbro rapped on the gla.s.s, and the man at the desk jerked awake and turned toward them, a look of puzzlement on his face. He stood up but made no move to open the door. Tubby smashed out a leaded gla.s.s pane, reached inside, and turned the key in the lock. Hasbro pushed the door open and collared the attendant as he was turning away, Tubby following him into the interior, pistol in hand.

Klingheimer looked away when the cellar door open yet again. A voice shouted, "Sir! Sir!" followed by the appearance of Flinders, out of breath, holding his hat in his hand.

"What is it?" Klingheimer asked him, evidently unhappy with the interruption.

"The girl Clara is run, sir."

"Clara, do you say? How can that be?"

"The dwarf murdered Penny and Smythe. They were in the girl's room, no one knows why, knocked about, their throats cut. The girl bolted with a cutthroat boy, mayhaps the very boy as was in the house this morning. The dwarf must have hidden him. Smythe's woman is with 'em. Brooks and Pinwinnie gave chase but were beaten by a fat man in the alley. All hands have been out searching, but there's no sign of them."

"What fat man?"

"Frobisher," he said, "who a.s.saulted Penny at the inn."

"G.o.d d.a.m.n my eyes! When did this occur?"

"An hour ago, or suchlike."

"Suchlike!" He struck Flinders in the face with the back of his hand now, knocking him sideways. "I'll give you suchlike! Why wasn't someone sent to me immediately?"

"It seemed right to search for the girl first, in daylight. We all went out, but they foxed us."

"Peavy!" Klingheimer shouted, riding right over Flinders' excuse. "You, Pule! Keep watch."

"Shall we take his head?" Pule asked anxiously.

"Yes. But do so with particular care. The woman will fly out at you, however. Lock her into the back room. Do not underestimate either her physical strength or the strength of her mind. You have your truncheon about you?"

"Yes."

"Keep it by, but do not harm her. She'll fetch a good price if she can be tamed. She is more valuable to me than you are. Dr. Peavy! Do you hear me, sir?"

"I'm not deaf," Peavy said, having come in from the hallway carrying a teacup.

"Set up the camera. I want a record of the beheading and the activity of the fungi when they are offered a particularly fresh head. Jimmy, you have the pistol, I see. Use it only in the extremity of danger. Mr. Shadwell, put the wizard's head into his cage and bring it along. Mr. Flinders, you will drive the coach. You'd best pray that we find the girl."

Trees moved in the dark backyards behind the fences that lined the deserted alley behind Elysium Asylum. The night was full of the noise of leaves and twigs skittering along the pavement. A dog howled somewhere nearby, which set other dogs to howling and barking. The moon floated clear of the clouds, and the night was illuminated. Bill Kraken drew Mother Laswell into the shadows. A piece of newsprint flailed toward them, fixing itself to her ankle, and Bill bent down to detach it.

"I wish that the lot of us were drinking punch at the Half Toad," Mother Laswell said in a whisper. But whatever Bill started to say in return was lost in an eruption of loud, angry talk from nearby. Kraken pulled Mother Laswell further into the shadows. Horses' hooves clattered, and out through the open gate of the asylum came a carriage, already moving out, the driver plying his whip, the headlights dark.

"It's Shadwell!" Kraken shouted as the coach swept past, and without another word he let go of Mother Laswell's arm and ran hard down the alley in the wake of the coach, shouting imprecations at the top of his lungs and waving his fist in the air. A second man within the coach turned in his seat to look back through the window, the moonlight showing his bearded face clearly. Even at a distance Mother Laswell could see that his face was seething with anger, and it came to her with uncanny clarity who the man must be. She was glad that Clara had somehow escaped his clutches. She saw a brick lying in the dust against the wall, and she picked it up and dropped it into her tapestry bag. With the brick inside, it swung like a heavy pendulum.

Tubby crammed the pistol into the midsection of the helpless attendant and said, simply, "Where is Dr. Peavy? Hesitate and you're a dead man."

There was no hesitation. The man jerked his head toward the back of the building and said, "Through the kitchen and down the stairs," and in the same moment shrugged out of his coat, spun around, and went straight out through the door, running through the gate in his shirtsleeves. Tubby and Hasbro wasted not a moment on him, but pushed on through the spa.r.s.ely populated lobby. The inmates continued to eat their supper at a long table. They seemed strangely nonplussed used to strange carrying-on, perhaps.

"A jolly good evening to the lot of you," Tubby said, saluting an old soldier in a red uniform, who looked back at him skeptically.

In the kitchen, three men worked, cleaning up. "Scotland Yard!" Hasbro said to them, and none of them offered to interfere, possibly persuaded by the pistol in Tubby's grasp as well as by Hasbro's admonition. They pa.s.sed between the long counters and steaming sinks, Tubby covering the three men with the pistol, until they arrived at the top of the broad stairs. All three men cut and ran then, bound for freedom, pitching ap.r.o.ns and towels aside as they went.

It was a den of iniquity, and no doubt about it, Tubby thought, but without any loyalty to Dr. Peavy, apparently.

For the sake of silence they slowed as they descended the stairs, hiding for a moment behind the doorframe at the bottom landing. Tubby took in the underground chamber at a glance: Alice visible within the coffin, a thin, pockmarked man standing near her; St. Ives strapped into the heavy chair, with an odd yoke-like device resting on his shoulders; and yet another man Peavy the mad doctor, Tubby guessed setting up a camera tripod. The pockmarked man who stood near Alice saw Tubby and Hasbro now, his eyes widening in surprise. Strangely, he remained mute, putting a finger to his lips and drawing a black truncheon from his pocket. He crossed silently and casually to where Peavy was just then mounting the heavy camera to the tripod, and he clubbed Peavy hard over the back of the head with the truncheon.

Tubby and Hasbro stepped into the room now, Tubby seeing a movement near a rear door a heavy youth who looked at them stupidly for a moment before raising the pistol in his hand. Tubby fired a round from his own, failing to aim it in his haste, and the youth flung the door open and ducked out into the darkness, slamming the door behind him.

Mother Laswell took Bill's arm when he returned from his futile chase. He was breathing heavily and muttering under his breath. She pulled him in through the gate, heading past a wagon with two skittish horses and an enclosed van with something painted on the side of it. She heard a shot, just then, fired from within the hospital. The back door of the asylum swung open, and a man issued from the doorway, his arm bent at the elbow, a pistol visible in his hand. Kraken jerked free of Mother Laswell's grip and ran like a hare across the gra.s.s, flinging himself at the man's knees, which buckled, the man sitting down hard on Kraken's shoulders with a look of wild surprise on his face, his pistol flying away into the darkness, clattering down behind the stone wall that half-hid the cellar windows.

The two men rolled across the lawn, Bill battering the other with his fists and being battered in kind. Mother Laswell hovered around them, looking for a way to help, swinging her brick-laden purse in case she could get a blow in. Bill's foe was heavier and much younger, and he heaved himself up now and c.o.c.ked his arm back, and in that moment Mother Laswell swung her purse at his head. He grunted, rolling free and clambering heavily to his hands and knees, staring at the leafy gra.s.s, obviously stunned. He was even younger than she had thought, with heavy, ape-like arms, criminal eyes, and a lowering forehead.

She strode toward him, her face set. "It's done," she said. "They're closing the asylum tonight. Peavy will hang."

He gave her a long look, evidently thinking hard, and then he turned without a word and loped out into the alley. She watched him go, her brick-laden bag at the ready in case he changed his mind. Bill appeared by her side. His head wound was bleeding through its bandage and his eye was swollen.

"He'd have shot one of us with that gun if you hadn't clipped him," she said. With that she removed the brick from her purse and tossed it away. Tubby was just then coming out, bent low and holding a pistol of his own.

"It's finished," Tubby told them, herding them away from the door and around the side of the house. "Alice and St. Ives are safe, thank G.o.d." Leaves swirled roundabout them, and the night was dark once again, the moon behind clouds, stars visible in the east. Inside they found a troupe of patients milling about in the lobby.

"h.e.l.lo, friends," Mother Laswell said in a hearty voice, falling straight into her role. "Are there any among you who can lend a hand? There's been trouble, as you know, and so we have to rally round...."

Alice entered just then, disheveled but apparently fit, and so Tubby left them to it, hurrying downstairs again, where he found St. Ives in conversation with the pockmarked man, whose name, apparently, was Willis Pule.