The Zeppelin Deception Page 14

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t,” my partner replied briskly. “Instead, I suggest a better use of time would be for you to enlighten us as to the purpose of your presence, as well as why you believe Pix did not escape on his own recognizance, but was—did you say forcibly removed? As in, he didn’t wish to be freed?”

  “There are clear indications that he was removed from the cell against his will. And I’m here, obviously, because I deduced”—he arched a brow at Mina—“that Miss Stoker, once learning of his disappearance—something I had to make certain she was aware of; thus the real purpose of my visit and the suggestion that she might have been involved—would attempt to find him. Of course I knew he must have a secret lair, and I concluded if anyone knew where it was, it would be Miss Stoker. And possibly yourself, Miss Holmes.”

  “Of course,” Mina replied absently. “So someone took Pix out of his jail cell or otherwise made him leave. At Scotland Yard, did you say? Why was he there and not at Newgate?”

  “There was a preliminary court hearing, and so he was moved to the Met for the convenience of the personnel involved,” Grayling replied. “Och, then. How long have you been here, Miss Holmes? Is it possible he’s come and gone without your knowledge?”

  “Other than this morning, I’ve been here since those fools attempted to arrest me for murder,” she replied. “And I would know whether someone had been here in my absence. He has not.”

  “You’ve been here? All along? So this is the home of a friend…?” Grayling seemed to catch himself, and though I didn’t quite follow the reason why, I noticed his demeanor eased slightly. If I had to put a word to it, I’d say he was relieved.

  Angus barked sharply, and I jumped. “What is it?”

  “He merely wants attention, or, more likely, something to eat,” Grayling said, shaking his head affectionately. “He seems to ken as though it’s his due—particularly from Miss Holmes.”

  Mina’s cheeks were slightly pink as she bent to pat the dog on his head. “I suppose it’s because I’ve spoiled him with those Stuffin’ Muffins that Mrs. Raskill makes. I’m sorry, young sir, but I haven’t any with me today. You’ll have to be patient.”

  To my surprise, Angus seemed to understand. He sat, landing his bum on Mina’s foot, and panted happily at her. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was smiling.

  Clearly, both hound and master were besotted with my friend.

  This was all fine and good, this little domestic scene, but I had something more important on my mind. “Inspector, when you say Pix was forcibly removed from his cell, well, what exactly do you mean?”

  “I venture to say it’s nothing good,” Mina replied. “Unless he was clever enough to stage it to appear that he didn’t want to leave in order to throw us off. I must admit…he is cunning enough to do such a thing. But if that were the case, surely he would have at least made an appearance here. Since he has not, one must surmise that he is not free to do so.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked, feeling increasingly nervous.

  “I’m saying that the most likely explanation for his disappearance is that Pix has been abducted.”

  “Now, Miss Holmes, I’m not certain I’d go so far as to say that—”

  She was shaking her head, barreling on in her customary manner. “And I suspect the purpose of his abduction is either to elicit some information from him, or to silence him before he divulges the fact that he, Edison Smith, is innocent of the murder of Hiram Bartholomew—and goes on to identify the real murderer. After all, he was only put in jail in order to keep him safe. Protective custody, as it were.”

  Instead of echoing my gasp of shock, Grayling looked at Mina and sighed in exasperation. Yet there was a glint of admiration in his eyes. “How long have you known, Miss Holmes?”

  She opened her mouth, and I could already anticipate the words that would tumble out, explaining in far too many syllables how brilliant she was and how it was elementary if one observed and deduced and if one were a Holmes and so on and so on…

  And then she closed her mouth. A sheepish expression crossed her face—something I’d never seen on Mina Holmes before. “I confess I didn’t actually know until just this moment when you confirmed it, Inspector. Although I have long suspected,” she added a trifle too loudly.

  But Grayling was chuckling, and Angus had begun to bark and weave his way between the two of them as if trying to decide who was the more likely to give him attention. Or food.

  I, on the other hand, was far more than merely confused. “What are you talking about? Protective custody? Innocence?” I demanded in a voice designed to be heard over the yapping of the beagle. “And more importantly, if Pix is in danger, why are the two of you laughing?”

  They sobered and looked at me.

  “You’re quite right, Evaline. This is not the time to be overcome with levity. Pix is quite possibly in considerable danger, and I venture to say that Inspector Grayling is here because he wishes to see to the matter in the most expedient way possible.” She transferred her attention to him. “It would be very helpful if I could examine the cell from which he was taken. Perhaps there are clues as to who has abducted him.”

  Grayling lifted a brow. “Surely you don’t need to examine the scene in order to surmise who it was, Miss Holmes. It’s rather obvious, is it not? However, if you’re in need of proof, perhaps you might like to know that this was found on the floor of the cell, amidst the signs of struggle I described previously.” He withdrew a small paper packet from his pocket and handed it to Mina, who carefully opened it.

  “A wire.” She withdrew it from inside the envelope with careful, ungloved hands and looked up at Grayling.

  “Look closely. Perhaps this will help.” He handed her a small ocular-magnifyer, and she fitted it over her eyes.

  “Hair. And…is that a bit of skin and blood on the end?” Mina looked up, her hazel eyes magnified and glowing catlike green behind the lenses. “This wire appears to have been inserted into someone’s flesh. The other end—surely it was connected to one of those controlling battery devices! The Ankh,” she whispered. “I knew it.”

  “Who else?” Grayling replied, taking the wire back from her. He tucked it away in its packet.

  “Indeed. Who else?” Mina began to pace, the ocular-magnifyer swinging in her hand. Her long legs swished against each other inside the woolen trousers she still wore. I couldn’t help but notice how Grayling’s eyes followed her figure as she stalked to and fro across the room. I might have found it amusing if the situation hadn’t been so dire. “She had Pix captive before, did she not? Down in the underground cavern, where she had her laboratory. And now we have two instances of innocent victims being set up—framed—for murders they didn’t commit. Myself and Edison Smith. Despite the time lapse between the two crimes, with the Ankh involved, it’s no coincidence.”

  “No, of course not. Although I wouldn’t go so far as to call Smith innocent. The bloke has certainly bent—if not outright broken—a number of statutes,” Grayling said dryly.

  “Yes, yes, but that’s not important at the moment.”

  Mina was still pacing. Grayling was still watching her. Angus had taken to gnawing on a table leg.

  I might just as well have not even been present.

  All at once, I remembered something. “The airship!”

  Whether it was my strident tone or the fact that they’d completely forgotten my presence, I don’t know, but all three of their heads swiveled in my direction.

  “What are you talking about, Evaline?” Mina asked.

  I shook my head as I patted Angus, who’d come over to investigate me. “I don’t know if it means anything, but I saw the airship. The night Pix escaped—I mean was kidnapped. I saw it sliding through the sky, not far from the Met. The sleek black zeppelin—remember, Mina, we saw it last autumn? The wicked-looking one.”

  “The one you were hiding from?”

  I nodded. She could make fun of me all she wanted, but
the sight of that vessel slipping through the dark like a wraith had made every hair on my body stand on end. And I knew it had done the same to Pix.

  What I didn’t know was why.

  “Please explain, Miss Stoker.”

  I did, thankful it was my tale to tell Grayling and not Mina’s, or we would have been listening for an hour. “Since the very first night I met Pix, every time he saw the airship, he ducked into the shadows as if he was afraid it would spot him. He warned me about it, but—of course—he never told me why. He just made a lot of vague warnings. Could it be a coincidence that I saw it the same night he disappeared? And much earlier in the evening than I’ve ever seen it before.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” Mina announced (as if this was news). “But in this case…I don’t see that it could be anything but chance. We have no reason to connect the airship with the Ankh.”

  Grayling, on the other hand, appeared quite fascinated. “Describe it to me in more detail, if you please, Miss Stoker. I’m quite versed in all types of vehicular transport, and I don’t recall seeing anything of that nature. And all vehicles are to be registered and licensed.”

  “Even illicit steam-cycles?” Mina muttered. Grayling ignored her.

  I said, “It’s long and it usually flies rather low—even down some of the air canals and past the sky-anchors. Once I actually saw it navigate between buildings.”

  “So it must be quite slender. And silent,” he mused. “In order for it not to have been noticed. And if it’s black, it would meld into the shadows and hardly be noticeable at all.”

  “Yes. And it has spiky, pointy fins at the back. It’s ugly. Black, dark, and horrible.” I couldn’t contain a shudder. I didn’t know why the zeppelin affected me so strongly. “And sometimes there’s a white light beaming down toward the ground. As if it’s looking for something. All I know is, Pix didn’t want to be seen when that airship was around.”

  “Very well. Thank you for that information, Miss Stoker.”

  “Well, now what do we do?” I was aware that my voice sounded high and tight, but the thought of Pix being in the clutches of the Ankh made my stomach pinch and twist.

  Then I realized—why was I waiting for the two of them to decide? I was a woman of action; they were intellectual pedants who traded conclusions and deductions and theories.

  I started for the door, snatching up my warm cloak as I went.

  “Evaline! What on earth? Where are you going?”

  “To Cosgrove Terrace, of course!”

  Miss Holmes

  ~ Of Paris, Trousseaux, and International Relations ~

  No!” I cried in an effort to stop Evaline from what would likely be the most foolish, impetuous, irrational action of her life.

  “Cosgrove Terrace?” Grayling said, and I winced.

  Drat! He didn’t know the true identity of the Ankh—that it was Lady Isabella. And any moment, Evaline was going to spill the beans over that, and then what a fine mess we would be in. Such information was going to have to be imparted to Grayling in a very careful, factual manner. But not at the moment.

  “Evaline,” I said from between clenched jaws, blocking her from the doorway. I was fully aware that she could brush me aside like a gnat, but I was counting on my reasonable tone of voice to keep her from doing so. “I don’t think now is the time to go rushing off without thinking everything through.” I held her eyes with mine, desperately sending her the message to think, think, think.

  But her eyes were wild with what I could only assume was fear for that sneaky knave Pix—which, I need not say, was completely inappropriate, considering the fact that her nuptials to a very different man were three weeks away.

  “Evaline,” I said again, holding up a hand in entreaty. “We have only one chance—”

  “Cosgrove Terrace?” Grayling said again.

  Once again, I ignored him and continued pleading with Evaline for sense. “We have only one chance to manage this, and if the villainess is somehow alerted and ready for us because you go haring off like a madwoman, we might lose our opportunity to—”

  “Fine.” She spun and whirled back, her cloak whipping dramatically about her body. I got the impression she enjoyed the flair of that movement as an underscore to her pique. “Fine. But if Pix dies because the two of you only want to talk and deduce and plan then I’ll never forgive you.” Her voice was still high and tight.

  And—good gad—were those tears glistening in her eyes? Things were far worse than I’d imagined.

  “Evaline,” I said more calmly. “Perhaps we should allow the inspector to see what—if anything—he can learn about the black zeppelin, along with anything else about Pix’s escape. Abduction, I mean,” I amended swiftly when I saw the furious light blaze in her eyes again. “Recall that everything so far is merely conjecture. And I assure you, the villain is not about to—er—do away with Pix until she—or he—is satisfied he’s imparted all of the information and proof he—or she—needs. Until she’s certain he’s no longer the least bit valuable to her.”

  “So instead she’ll torture him? Like she did before?” Evaline cried furiously. “And that’s somehow better?”

  “No, no, Evaline. Please, be calm. If the villain meant only to eliminate Pix, and not to—er—keep him for some other reason—”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as…bait. Or leverage. Or as a hostage. Which is, I’m quite certain, what someone as cunning as the Ankh would do. For once her bargaining chip is gone, then she’s left with nothing to use.” I employed reasonable tones, and I saw that she began to believe me. At least a little.

  “That’s true,” she said quietly. “She wouldn’t dump the bucket of water until she was certain she had no more use for it.”

  “And if all she meant to do was to kill him, Evaline, that deed is surely already done, for he’s been in her clutches—if indeed that’s where he is—for well over twenty-four hours. And there’s nothing that could be done to save him if that’s the case. So we must plan and take care. We cannot let this be another Chess Queen Debacle, with the Ankh anticipating us every step of the way.”

  “Right.”

  I felt confident I’d calmed her and convinced her to wait. But there was still the matter of Grayling…

  “Why would you go to Cosgrove Terrace?” he asked.

  I tried to think of something reasonable to say, something that would throw him off the scent—for I feared that if he thought I believed (even though I knew for certain) that Lady Isabella was the Ankh, he would not only think me mad, he would do something noble, like warn the woman, or—or attempt to save me from myself.

  I will never forget the shameful, confusing moment when Grayling and I arrived at Cosgrove Terrace on the night Evaline and I escaped from the Ankh and her opium den. I expected to be triumphant in my conclusions, and prepared to impel Grayling to close the case.

  But then I realized I was wrong about Lady Isabella being the Ankh—or, rather, that she’d made me believe I was wrong.

  I had been humiliated in front of Grayling, and I was certain he hadn’t forgotten it either. I suspected he felt he’d need to save me from myself, and that was why his ears had perked up at the mention of Cosgrove Terrace—for I had said very nearly the exact same thing on that fateful night: I must get to Cosgrove Terrace!

  As I pushed through these tangled thoughts and emotions, I realized Evaline was speaking.

  “‘Going to Paris,’ I said,” she told him. “Not Cosgrove Terrace.” She gave him a look as if to suggest he was the one who had cotton in his ears.

  I had to give her credit for fast thinking while under pressure. That was one thing at which Evaline had excellent technique—bluffing her way into conversations and getting people to give her information by playing the innocent ingenue, or the besotted young lady.

  “Going to Paris?” Grayling seemed even more confused.

  “What I meant to say,” Evaline said rapidly and a bit loudly, “was
that I learned that Sir Emmett Oligary has just gone to Paris. And that reminded me that I would like to go, and—and leave all of this behind me.” She cast me a desperate look behind Grayling’s back, and I leapt into the verbal fray.

  “Well, who wouldn’t want to go to Paris?” My voice was very reasonable. “I’m certain your trousseau would be all the better for it, indeed, Evaline. I understand they have the best prices on Betrovian silk on the Champs-Élysées—unless, of course, you go to Betrovia. Which is rather difficult now that relations between our two nations are horribly strained since the disappearance of Princess Lurelia.”

  My little speech had the hoped-for result, for the three of us exchanged glances. I suspected we, along with Pix, and perhaps Miss Adler and Dylan, were the only people in London who were aware that Lurelia had last been seen in the company of the Ankh, as well as her vampire minions, at The Carnelian Crow.

  “Right, then,” Grayling said. He might have gone on to speak further, but interrupted himself with a horrified cry. “Angus, no!”

  The inspector lunged across the room, but he was too late—for the inquisitive beagle had just discovered a pair of brand-new leather boots.

  Evaline and I muffled our chuckles, for Grayling seemed severely put out by the little beast’s appetite. It felt good to experience some mirth, for the last days had been very trying. Which brought another topic to mind.

  “Inspector, is it safe for me to return to my home? Have you put to rest the accusations against me?” I asked as he made the chastened Angus sit in front of the door, safely distant from any sort of leather or woven carpet.

  “Er…perhaps not quite yet, Miss Holmes,” he said. “I’ve not been able to convince Sergeant Blaketon to see reason. I shall be speaking to his superior tomorrow, but until then, I suggest you remain in hiding. If you get thrown in jail, it would be that much more difficult for me to get you released.” He glanced around. “Not that it appears to be much of a hardship to remain here. Smith’s one toff of a bloke.”