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“I, Sara,” Mr. Picton answered, starting to organize some papers on his desk, “am a particularly superstitious person. Which I’m sure hasn’t escaped you. I would not care to make any predictions about what will happen tomorrow morning.”
“What about you, Doctor?” Lucius asked.
The Doctor had wandered over to Mr. Picton’s window, and was looking down at the Presbyterian church. “Hmm?” he noised.
“Any prediction to make?” Lucius said. “Or is there still something that doesn’t feel right about it to you?”
“Not about it, Lucius,” the Doctor answered. “About her. The deal itself is quite sound, and I’m convinced that Judge Brown, though possessed of a singularly rigid mind, will approve it.”
Mr. Picton made a little hissing noise; and though he was smiling, he seemed more than a bit uneasy. “I do wish you wouldn’t say things like that, Doctor…”
“Oh, come on, Rupert!” Mr. Moore said, allowing his spirits to rise a bit. “Leave all that mumbo jumbo to the darker regions of the world! You’re the master of your own fate in this case, I don’t know how you could have demonstrated that any more clearly. You and Kreizler-yes, and you, too, Sara. You’ve pulled off a coup, and I say we ought to get back to your house and crack open some of that very excellent champagne I saw hidden away in one corner of your cellar.”
“Hear, hear,” Marcus agreed. “Come on, all of you. We’ve been on the ropes for so long that we’ve forgotten what it feels like to land a solid blow. Solid blow, hell-we’ve knocked the stuffing out of them!”
Watching the Doctor carefully, Cyrus said, “It does seem like the tide’s turned.”
I was starting to get swept up in the growing mood of victory, myself; but then a practical thought struck me. “What about Kat?” I said. “Shouldn’t we try to get word to her?”
“Not yet, Stevie,” the Doctor answered quickly. “Not until Judge Brown has made the arrangement official. Miss Devlin will only put herself in danger, if she makes any unusual moves before we have returned to New York to assist her.”
I nodded to that; and as I proceeded to think the rest of the matter over, I really couldn’t see any reason why we shouldn’t go home and celebrate. “So why are we standing around here?” I asked. “And how come it doesn’t feel like we can just cut loose?”
Miss Howard turned to me. “Remember those men in Stillwater, Stevie?” she said. “You wouldn’t have thought they’d have had anything to fear, either-it’s been years since the Muhlenbergs’ house burned down. But the feeling never went away…”
“Oh, fiddle-faddle, as my grandmother used to say,” was Mr. Moore’s answer to that. “We’ve got the woman caged, and her fate is sealed. Come on, all of you, let’s get back home and start patting ourselves on the back!”
“Yes,” Mr. Picton finally agreed with a nod. “I do think we owe ourselves at least one evening free of anxiety. Why don’t you all go along and get started? I just want to review a few things and get my proposal to Judge Brown ready-and I’ll thank you not to dispose of all the champagne before I join you, John.”
So the rest of us departed, passing out into the warm night and starting the walk home at a good clip. Our spirits continued to pick up as we moved down High Street, and though I can’t say that we were exactly ecstatic when we reached Mr. Picton’s house, we were feeling sound enough to break into general cheers when we discovered that our host had called ahead and had Mrs. Hastings bring a few bottles of the champagne up from the cellar and put them on ice. Di
Then, just before midnight, we began to hear a bell tolling in the distance.
Marcus was the first to take note of it: in the middle of laughing at a story what Mr. Moore was relating about being chased around Abingdon Square by a bunch of Hudson Dusters during his recent trip to New York, the detective sergeant suddenly cocked his head and looked toward the front of the house. He didn’t stop smiling, but his laughter died down pretty quickly.
“What the hell,” he mumbled. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Mr. Moore answered, going for more champagne. “You’re delusional, Marcus-”
“No, listen,” the detective sergeant replied, taking his napkin from his lap and standing up. “It’s a bell…”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Doctor’s head jerk up: in an instant he, too, had registered the noise, and the rest of us soon did likewise.
“What in the world?” Lucius said.
El Niño moved quickly to the screen door out front. “It comes from one of the churches!” he called back to us.
“Services?”Cyrus said. “A midnight mass in August?”
Feeling suddenly uneasy, I looked to the Doctor, who was holding out a hand in an effort to get the rest of us to be quiet. As we followed his instruction, another sound began to rise over the pulsing chirp of the crickets and grasshoppers outside:
It was a man’s voice, calling desperately for help.
“Picton,” the Doctor whispered.
“That’s not Rupert’s voice,” Mr. Moore answered quickly.
“I know,” the Doctor said. “And that is precisely what frightens me.” With that he raced for the front door, while the rest of us followed close behind.
CHAPTER 51
Moving with a sense of purpose what wiped out all the growing joy we’d felt during di
“It’s the other guard!” I called to the Doctor. “The one what was on the front door when we left!”
“Are you certain?” the Doctor called back to me.
“I talked to him before they brought Libby up from her cell!” I answered, listening to the voice again. “Yeah, that’s him, all right!”
Peering into the near darkness ahead of us-there were only two or three streetlamps between Mr. Picton’s place and the court house-I tried to make out any signs of activity; then I noted that the bell had stopped ringing. When we got near the court house lawn, I caught sight of a figure on the front steps of the building, one whose arms were frantically waving to us.
“There he is!” I called out, when I could see for sure that it was in fact the guard what I’d had words with earlier.
The Doctor’s face opened wide with horror when he saw that I was right, but he never let up his pace; and soon we were face to face with the panic-stricken man.