Murder on Millionaires' Row

by Erin Lindsey

  His reply was a long, drawn-out groan.

  A flurry of footsteps on the stairs signaled the arrival of Mrs. Sellers. The housekeeper took in the scene with a gasp, her hand flying to her breast as though her heart might quit right then and there. “Dear God! Clara Freeman, what have you done?”

  Clara ignored her, still brandishing the skillet at the figure on the floor. “I mean it. You stay put now.”

  “When Mr. Wiltshire sees this—”

  “Thomas!” I shoved past the startled housekeeper and took the bottom three steps in a single bound. “Thomas, come quickly!”

  “Thomas?” Mrs. Sellers echoed incredulously, looking even more horrified than when she’d entered the kitchen to find a half-conscious stranger on the floor.

  He must have been halfway down the stairs already, because he appeared on the landing only moments later. “Rose, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. There’s a man—”

  “Yes, I know, he’s been in my study.” Thomas swept into the kitchen, touching my shoulder as he passed—a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the housekeeper. “Is anyone hurt?”

  “Just him.” Clara pointed with her frying pan. “That’s gonna need stitches.”

  “Well done, Clara.” Thomas circled around the prone intruder, tilting his head to get a better look. “Do you recognize him, Rose?”

  “No.”

  “Nor I. He wasn’t at the gasworks.”

  By this time the man had recovered enough to roll onto his back. He touched his head gingerly, wincing.

  “Who sent you?” Thomas demanded.

  The rough eyed him balefully but didn’t answer.

  In a single smooth motion, Thomas whipped out a derringer and clicked back the hammer. “Speak quickly, please. Miss Gallagher and I have had an extremely trying day, and I promise you my current temperament is not to your advantage.”

  “I got nothing to say to you, Pinkerton.”

  Well, you can imagine the look on Mrs. Sellers’s face now. As for Clara, she cut him a sidelong glance but otherwise held her peace.

  “Suit yourself. Mrs. Sellers, kindly fetch Sergeant Chapman at the police station. If he’s not on duty, see to it that they send for him. Rose, we’ll need something to bind this one. A curtain tie ought to do the trick. Clara, I’ll need a knife. Something small, I think, for fine work.” Only one of us hesitated. “Now, Mrs. Sellers, if you please.” He could have asked her to telephone instead, but I think he wanted to get rid of her, and I wasn’t sorry.

  “So,” Clara said as we tied the bleeding man to a chair, “this is how you all spend your time, is it?”

  “It’s been quite a day.”

  Thomas lowered himself to eye level with the rough. “Now, I’ll ask you again, whose man are you?”

  “I told you, I got—”

  “—nothing to say. Yes, I did hear you, but I wondered if perhaps you’d rethought your position, given the circumstances.”

  “Think I’m afraid of you? You ain’t gonna carve me up, Englishman.” Brave words, but his tone didn’t quite live up to them, and his gaze kept sliding to the paring knife in Clara’s hand.

  “You’re right, that’s a trifle extreme. I did, however, think you might be interested in learning about those papers you came here to steal.” Reaching into the man’s jacket, Thomas pulled out the ciphered pages he’d shown me this morning. The rough must have taken them from the study. “Did he tell you what they are, the man who sent you? Genuinely fascinating. The magic in these pages can do all sorts of things. For example, do you see these runes here? Inscribing this one into your flesh supposedly makes your bones as brittle as a dry twig. This one here inflames the nervous system, so that even a breath of wind feels like fire against your skin. You’ll be off to the Tombs in a few minutes, and both of these strike me as inconvenient afflictions to have in prison.”

  The man sneered. “You believe in that stuff, Pinkerton?”

  “Your employer does, or he wouldn’t have sent you to steal these pages. Myself, I’m a man of science, which means I’m terribly fond of experiments. Clara, shall we put those talented hands of yours to good use?”

  Bluff or no, this was asking a lot of poor Clara—or so I thought, but she played right along. “Seeing how he was fixing to do worse to Rose here, it would be my particular pleasure.”

  I can’t help wondering if the man would have reacted the same way if it had been me holding the knife. As it was, he took one look at Clara and said, “Drake.”

  “Edmund Drake?” I made a disgusted sound. “Doesn’t that just figure.”

  Clara eyed me askance. “Sounds like you know the man.”

  “Oh, we know him, all right. He hypnotized us this morning. Sort of.”

  Thomas didn’t react straightaway, but I could see the gears turning in his head. “We would have to take precautions this time,” he said at length.

  “This time? You can’t mean for us to go back there?”

  “We need answers. Drake didn’t know about my kidnapping—I’d bet my estate on it. So how did he know about the pages?”

  “You gonna let me go?” the rough interjected. “I told you what you wanted to know.”

  “My dear fellow, didn’t you hear me? You’re off to prison.” Turning to Clara, Thomas said, “Rose and I haven’t time to give a statement. We won’t leave you alone with this lout, but once the police arrive we’ll make a discreet exit through the downstairs door. That will leave you to speak with the sergeant, and I’d appreciate it if you kept Drake’s name out of it for now. Are you comfortable with that?”

  Clara scowled at the both of us. “All right, but I expect a full accounting when you get back.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t want to know,” I reminded her.

  “That was before Mr. Wiltshire asked me to carve up a white man with a paring knife. If he’s a Pinkerton, that means trouble follows him wherever he goes. I need this job, but I don’t need it that bad. Before I decide whether I’m staying, I’d like to know what I’m in for.”

  “That’s fair,” Thomas said. “Now, in the meantime, are you sure you’ll be all right with the police?”

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that.”

  “Splendid. Rose, I’ll meet you at the door. There’s something I have to fetch first.”

  Clara watched him go, still wearing a scowl. “Pinkerton. Well, well. Looks like you got your adventure after all. Is it everything you hoped?”

  She already knew the answer to that or she wouldn’t have asked, but I don’t think she was quite prepared for the force of my reaction. I flinched visibly, and for a moment I couldn’t even speak, teetering on the brink of tears. “Please, Clara, I don’t think I can handle I told you so right now.”

  Her scowl melted away, replaced by a look of genuine concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Let’s talk about it later, all right?”

  Thomas returned, and we waited by the servants’ door until the creak of floorboards overhead signaled the arrival of the coppers. Then we slipped out into the night like a pair of thieves, skulking along Fifth Avenue for a full block before hailing a cab.

  Twenty minutes later we arrived at the Dragon’s den.

  “Here,” Thomas said, pressing a derringer into my hand. “Just in case.”

  So far, my weapons had included a crucifix, a shovel, an inkbottle, an umbrella, and a hairpin, so this was a definite improvement. On the other hand … “Don’t you have something with a little more kick?”

  “A Colt .45, perhaps?”

  He was being sarcastic, but that’s exactly what I had in mind. “What happened to the gun we took off the Irishman at the gas factory?”

  “Tucked away safely in my office. We have all the firepower we need right here.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. “You wouldn’t get any respect in my neighborhood with one of these,” I said, brandishing the little one-shot pistol.

  “Pe
rhaps not, but in my estimation, Burrows has the right of it: A weapon concealed is far more powerful than one your opponent knows about.”

  When he put it that way, I saw the sense in it. The derringer fit easily into the pocket of my dress, and it was light enough that I had no fear of being able to handle it. But I still felt ill at ease contemplating another encounter with Edmund Drake. “We can’t let him use our names,” I said.

  “Sorry?”

  “That power of his … It seems to rely on his using our Christian names.”

  “Is that so? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “That’s because he did it to you first. You were already under his spell by the time he did it again. But I heard everything he said to you, and he even repeated your name when it seemed as if you might not answer him.”

  “Well spotted. Hopefully that will give us some measure of protection. If he says either of our names, the other must intervene immediately.”

  So armed, we were as prepared as we could possibly be to confront the Dragon.

  Which was not very prepared at all.

  CHAPTER 24

  THE DRAGON’S HOARD—DR. LIVINGSTONE, I PRESUME—AN UNLIKELY ALLIANCE

  The butler made no effort to hide his umbrage when he answered the door, but after duly consulting with his master, he led us back to the unwelcoming parlor. There, Drake awaited us. “Wiltshire,” he said. “And Miss Gallagher. Again.”

  “I do apologize for the hour,” Thomas said, “but I’m afraid we couldn’t get away any sooner. I had a deuce of a time getting your man to answer my questions, and the police were slower to arrive than one would have liked.”

  Drake didn’t even bother to deny it. He just snorted, his mouth twisting sourly. “It is so hard to find good help these days, don’t you agree?”

  “Actually, no. I appear to be particularly blessed in that regard, though I daresay at least two of my staff are contemplating a career change. Shall we sit? I have a few more questions, if I might.”

  Drake gave an impatient growl and said, “Thomas.”

  He’d scarcely finished lingering over the S before I had the derringer cocked and pointed at his chest. “Don’t.”

  Warily, he raised his hands. “You catch on quickly, Miss Gallagher.”

  “You’re not the first to say so.”

  “And if I simply spoke your name as well?”

  “You tell me. How fast does your little magic spell work? Faster than a bullet, do you think?” It was immensely satisfying to be able to vent just a little of my anger. In fact, if I wasn’t careful, my anger might not be the only thing that got vented this evening.

  Maybe Drake sensed it, because he didn’t put up much of a fight. “You are released,” he said, with a dismissive gesture in Thomas’s direction.

  Thomas didn’t react right away. It wasn’t until he saw my gun that he even realized anything was amiss, at which point he stiffened and started to reach for his own pistol.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, “nothing happened. Not for lack of trying, mind you.”

  “Your associate is rather quick on the trigger,” Drake said, eying me coldly. “Then again, I suppose I oughtn’t be surprised. The Irish are a notoriously violent race.”

  “I’m not entirely sure insulting her is the best strategy under the circumstances,” Thomas said.

  “Then perhaps you could convince her to point that instrument elsewhere.”

  “Why would I want to do that? You did just send a hired thug to burgle my home, after all.”

  “You cannot steal that which already belongs to you. Those papers are my property, Wiltshire, and if you know what’s good for you, not to mention the rest of this city, you’ll give them back.”

  “How did you know I had the papers?”

  “I didn’t, until this very moment. It was a guess, and apparently a good one. You were first on the scene of Frederick Crowe’s murder, after all. My man on the force found no sign of the folios, so it stood to reason that either you had them or the killer did.”

  Thomas frowned. “Why should they have been at Freddie’s house at all?”

  “Because he stole them from me, you imbecile. He or his brother. Roberts must have tipped them off. I was a fool to trust him.”

  “Stolen, is it?” Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “When was this?”

  “Nearly a month ago, from the strongbox in my study.”

  “If you thought I had them, why not simply ask me to return them?”

  “My dear fellow, we barely know each other. How am I to know what you want them for?”

  “I don’t want them,” Thomas said irritably. “And as it happens, I have only a few pages anyway.”

  “Maybe we could talk about how they came to be in your possession at all,” I interrupted. I still had my gun trained on Drake; I didn’t trust this man any farther than I could spit. “You say he didn’t know about your kidnapping, but I’m not so sure.”

  Drake frowned. “Your what?”

  Damn. Thomas was right—Drake obviously hadn’t known. Which meant we were no closer to figuring out who’d taken him captive, unless … “Roberts. It must have been.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Roberts is the one who hired me in the first place. Why would he have done that if he were the killer?”

  “I beg your pardon,” Drake said, “but what’s all this about a kidnapping? When did this happen?”

  “You’ll recall, perhaps, that I mentioned being detained these past few days? I meant that quite literally. As to why, it was in order to decipher these.” Thomas tugged the folded pages just far enough out of his jacket that Drake was sure to recognize them.

  “Decipher them?” Drake’s frown deepened.

  “I know, it’s a simple cryptogram, and yet my kidnapper was apparently incapable of breaking it.”

  Drake grunted. “The bulk of the folios are simple, I grant you, but the annexes are another matter. The more sensitive the material, the more sophisticated the cipher becomes. It took me several weeks to work out the final chapters. But I did, eventually, and Jacob Crowe could have done the same, given enough time. Why should he resort to kidnapping?”

  “Jacob Crowe couldn’t have been behind my kidnapping. He was murdered before I was taken captive, and Freddie within hours of my release. As for Roberts, he was the one who hired me to find Jacob’s killer, as I’ve just said. Clearly, there’s another party involved.”

  Drake swore under his breath. “It just keeps getting worse. Look, will you give the folios back or not?”

  “I told you, I haven’t got them. Just these few pages, and harmless ones at that. I suspect the idea was to test my skills before moving on to something more sensitive. That way, if I didn’t prove out, he hadn’t put his more precious materials at risk.”

  “They didn’t sound so harmless to me,” I said, recalling the threats he’d made to Drake’s man.

  “Fabrication,” Thomas said with a wave. “Those so-called runes were merely Hebrew letters. The special vaults of the Astor Library contain more dangerous material than this.” As if to emphasize the point, he tossed the pages on the table beside Drake. “What I want to know is, what’s in the rest of those folios?”

  “If you have to ask, Wiltshire, you’re not much of a detective.”

  “Dangerous magic.”

  “The most dangerous I’ve ever come across. I had them from an old friend in London. He’s been taken ill, and feared they would fall into the wrong hands once he passed.”

  “And now they have,” I said, “thanks to you.”

  Drake scowled. “My only mistake was trusting Roberts.” Coldly, he added, “Not that I have to explain myself to you.”

  “Actually,” Thomas said, “I rather think you do. This city stands on the brink of calamity. Perhaps more than one, if those manuscripts are as dangerous as you say. They must be recovered and the portal sealed. That means we ought to work together.”

  Drake glanced between us, visibly turning the prosp
ect over in his mind. “Very well,” he said, “if only to encourage your associate to stop pointing that blighted gun at me.”

  Reluctantly, I lowered the weapon. “If I feel so much as a hint of your luck…”

  “Yes, yes.” Drake sank into a chair, an irritable gesture inviting us to do the same. “What exactly do you want to know?”

  Thomas crossed his legs, the high polish of his oxfords glinting in the lamplight. “You say the manuscripts came from London. Who authored them, and for what purpose?”

  “No idea. All I can tell you is that whoever drafted them was very knowledgeable indeed. Much of the text is, as you say, harmless. But the annexes … that’s another story. They contain all manner of highly delicate spells, including one that claims to allow the living to enter the otherworld.”

  “Good Lord. Whatever for?”

  “I can’t speak to the intentions of the author, but in Jacob’s case, his interest was of a scientific nature. He was intoxicated by the idea of exploring and cataloguing the otherworld. A would-be paranormal Dr. Livingstone, if you will.”

  Something sparked in Thomas’s eyes, a glimmer of that same fervor he’d shown when he’d explained luck to me. “I can understand that. It would be fascinating, wouldn’t it? To shine the light of modern science on the great spiritual questions of humanity?”

  Drake snorted softly. “You sound just like him.”

  “I take it you didn’t share his enthusiasm.”

  “Doors work both ways, Wiltshire. Or have you forgotten our recent outbreak of shades? And that’s not even the worst of it. That spell I mentioned purports to act as a kind of magical rope, the sort a mountain climber might use to cross a particularly treacherous patch.”

  “The ribbon of light,” I murmured.

  Drake frowned again, but before he could ask, Thomas said, “Go on.”

  “According to the manuscripts, clinging to that rope would enable a man not only to enter the otherworld but to cross the bridges separating its various realms. Think on that for a moment, Wiltshire. A rope that allows free passage between the realms of the otherworld. Perhaps all the way to the kingdoms of the fae, or even beyond.”