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“Yes. Pounding at my brain! I tell you, Richard, it's likethey're trying to get inside of me!”
Trounce looked at the little poet. “By James, I know what hemeans!”
“An invisible force of some sort is trying to influence us,”Burton answered. “It succeeded before with Algy, but this time it'smet with some resistance.”
Detective Inspector Honesty turned to his fellow officer.“Better summon reinforcements. Riot in progress. Could be bad.”
Trounce ran a hand over his forehead. “Of course. I'm forgettingmy duties. By Jove, I can hardly think straight! Captain Burton,Detective Inspector Honesty and I had better get to work. We'llwhistle for constables, see if we can get that rabble undercontrol.”
Burton put Fidget down, clipped on the lead, then shook the twomen's hands. “Very well. Good luck! And be careful.”
The Scotland Yard men dashed away, and the king's agent turnedto the vagrant philosopher.
“Thank you, Herbert, you helped us out of a tight squeeze. Whatwere you doing there, anyway?”
“Workin’ the crowd, Boss.”
“You mean begging?”
“Yus.”
“But you're gainfully employed now!”
“More or less, but I like to keep me hand in, so to speak. Wasteo’ time, though. Them what was a-givin’ were givin’ to theClaimant, not to me!” He looked down at Swinburne, who was leaningheavily on Burton for support. “How you feelin’, lad?”
“I need a brandy.”
Burton snorted. “I think you've had quite enough!”
“Bloody Vincent Sneed, of all people!” the poet moaned.
“Herbert, you'd better come home with us. I'll dress that woundon your forehead,” Burton said.
They moved along Edgware Road then turned into Seymour Place.People ran past, all going in the same direction. Velocipedes andhansoms clattered by, too, pumping steam into the already ladenatmosphere as they fled from the disturbance. Burton clearly saw awell-dressed wraith materialise in the vapours and drift across thecobbles to where a chaunter was leaning against a lamppost. Theman's eyes were closed and he seemed oblivious to both theapproaching phantom and the panic around him as he mournfully sang“Molly Malone:” “She was a fishmonger,
But sure ‘twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they each wheeled their barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, ‘Cockles and mussels, alive, alive-o!’”
The wraith hovered around the man. For a moment the apparitionbecame almost completely opaque, taking on the appearance of atall, stooped bearded man, then it faded from sight. The chaunterpaused, winced, shook his head, then continued singing, but hissong had changed, though he didn't seem to realise it: “Give me theman of honest heart,
I like no two-faced dodger,
But one who nobly speaks his part,
Like Kenealy does for Roger!
One honest lawyer's found at last,
Who'll ne'er desert his client,
He knows right well the cause is just,
He stands up like a giant. “Then say men say,
Be you low or rich born,
And have fair play,
For Kenealy and for Tichborne.”
“Aye!” a passing costermonger cried. “Give a cheer for brave SirRoger!”
Various voices answered his call: “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”
“Bastard upper-crust bastards!” a milk deliveryman yelled.“Bastard bloomin’ bastards!”
He bent, pulled a loose cobble from the road, and threw itthrough a house window.
Burton and Herbert Spencer, dragging Swinburne and Fidget along,entered Montagu Place and mounted the steps of number 14.
The front door was open. A table had been overturned in thehallway, pictures on the wall were hanging askew, and young OscarWilde, the newspaper seller, was picking pieces of a shattered vaseup from the floor inside. His face was scratched, as if gouged byfingernails.
Muffled screams and thuds sounded from the cupboard beneath thestairs.
“What's been happening here, Quips?” Burton exclaimed, plonkingSwinburne onto a hall chair.
“Oh, there you are, Captain,” said Oscar. “I was passing by andheard some sort of brouhaha from your house. As you know, my ownbusiness always bores me to death, I prefer other people's, so Ipoked my nose in. It seems your little maid has lost her mind. Shewas attacking Mrs. Angell, so she was.”
“What? Young Elsie? Is Mrs. Angell all right? Where is she?”
“Don't be worrying yourself, Captain, she's fine and dandy. Shetook herself downstairs to rest awhile. I said I'd clean up themess.”
“Thank you, Quips. You're a good lad.” Burton set the tableupright. “You locked Elsie in the cupboard, I take it?”
“To be sure. ‘Twas the only way to keep the young madam fromwrecking the entire house. Phew! What a wildcat!”
Burton sighed. “Well, she can stay in there until she calmsdown. I'd ask what the devil got into her, but I suspect the answerwould be Tichborne!”
“Aye, something of the sort. She was screaming incoherently, butfrom what I could make out, she seems to have acquired a bee in herbo
“Tichborne isn't working class,” Swinburne mumbled.
“You're right there, Mr. Swinburne! But the man who says he'sSir Roger most certainly is, don't you think?”
“It seems obvious,” said Burton, “but a surprising number ofpeople don't see it that way. If what I witnessed today is anyindication, three-quarters of the population are supporting a manthey know is a liar and charlatan. It's utter lunacy!”
“Ah well, now I know you haven't been affected,” Oscarresponded. “To disagree with three-fourths of the British public isone of the first requisites of sanity!”
A lgernon Swinburne pulled his legs up onto the saddlebagarmchair and crossed them. He accepted a cup of coffee-hissecond-from Admiral Lord Nelson, rested the saucer on his ankles,and gazed down into the liquid.
“Whatever that headache I had was, it's been replaced by adifferent one. A hangover. Strange to say, that's actually arelief!”
Herbert Spencer, sitting opposite, his eyes fixed on theclockwork valet, nodded distractedly, and took a sip from his owncup.
Burton, ever the observer, was standing by the window lookingdown at the street. He saw isolated instances of vandalism andmisbehaviour but, in the main, the riot had bypassed Montagu Place,though distant shouts and crashes suggested that it was in fullswing elsewhere.
“I daresay the food helped, Algy. It was good of Mrs. Angell tocook for us after her ordeal.”
“She's everything her name suggests,” Swinburne responded. “Ifeel much happier now that my stomach is full.”
“Here's something else to cheer you up. I meant to tell youearlier but it slipped my mind. There's a second rotorchair in mygarage. A gift to you from His Majesty.”
“My hat! A present from the king! How splendid!”
“Don't get too excited. We're going to have to be cautious aboutusing the flying machines during this Tichborne business. Ouropponent has already demonstrated an unca
“Blast! I have a new toy and I can't play with it!”
“We may have to drop our ideas about John Speke, too. Whateveris going on, it seems less and less likely to me that he's behindit.”
“Why so?”
“Because what began as the theft of diamonds has broadened intosome sort of political agitation. That's not John's style at all.He's far too selfish a man to care about such matters.”
“Then who? Edward Kenealy?”
Herbert Spencer interrupted: “No, lad. Back at the house, afteryou left, Kenealy was a-holdin’ seances to consult with LadyMabella. If you ask me, the ghost is the one pullin’ thestrings.”
Burton made a sound of agreement, but then the words thepuppeteer is herself a puppet flashed through his mind.