“I think we can dispense with the gag now,” he said. “This house is very stoutly built. I doubt that anyone outside in the street would hear you if you screamed. Nevertheless, if you make any attempt to do so, I will slit your throat. Do you comprehend me?”
She nodded once, furious. Stilwell untied the gag. She spit it out, gasping for air.
“You have company, Jones,” Stilwell called loudly. “I have brought your charming bride with me. I must say, she has an excellent tailor.”
Silence echoed.
“Show yourself before I lose my patience and gut her like a fish.”
His voice boomed through the big house. There was no response.
“You’re too late,” Venetia said. “Mr. Jones no doubt found the formula and left.”
“Impossible.” Stilwell gripped her arm and jerked her along the hallway. “There is no way he could have located it, not in such a short period of time.”
She made an attempt at a careless-looking shrug. “Then perhaps he abandoned the effort and departed.”
“Come out, Jones,” Stilwell yelled, louder this time. “When all is said and done, this is merely a business matter. I want an original version of the picture that Mrs. Jones made of the strongbox. As soon as I examined the photograph that I took from Montrose’s house I knew it had been retouched. Did you really think you could fool me so easily?”
“Kill me and you’ll lose the only bargaining chip you’ve got,” Venetia said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “Mr. Jones will hunt you down like the mad beast that you are.”
“Silence,” Stilwell hissed.
He certainly did not care to be called a beast, she thought.
“I know he is in here,” Stilwell said. He pulled Venetia toward the staircase. “I saw him get out of that cab and circle around the house. I’ve been watching him. I knew he was getting closer to discovering that I am not Lord Ackland.”
“He was here but now he’s gone,” Venetia said quietly.
“No. He won’t leave until he has found what he came here to find. I know how he thinks. We are alike, you see.”
“No,” Venetia said. “You are not at all alike.”
“You are wrong, Mrs. Jones. Perhaps, under the circumstances, you will be glad that you are mistaken. After all, I will soon be taking your mate’s place in your bed.” He laughed. “Perhaps, in the dark, you will not notice the difference.”
She was so shocked, she could not find words. He truly was mad, she thought.
When they reached the top of the stairs, the darkness closed in on Venetia. She stopped abruptly
“What is that dreadful moldy smell?” she asked. “You should instruct your housekeeper to clean the drains more often.”
Stilwell yanked her forward. He paused in front of a door that Venetia could hardly see in the deep shadows of the hall.
When he opened the door, the damp, fetid odors grew stronger.
“Welcome to my laboratory, Mrs. Jones.”
He pushed her a short distance into the room, reached out with his free hand and turned up the gas in the nearest wall sconce.
The glary light penetrated only weakly into the darkness. The far corners of the room remained shrouded in shadows but Venetia could see well enough now to realize that Gabriel was nowhere in sight.
Perhaps he really had found the formula and left, she thought.
“Bloody bastard,” Stilwell said. “I refuse to believe that he found it. Not this quickly. Not ever. It is in the very last place anyone would search.”
Venetia looked around uneasily. A large, plant-choked aquarium occupied the center of the room. Most of the unpleasant odors were emanating from it. But it was the array of Wardian cases set against the walls that made her skin crawl.
She had believed that she could not possibly grow any colder or more frightened but in that moment she knew she had been wrong.
“What have you got in those cases?” she asked.
“An interesting array of small predators,” Stilwell said, pushing her forward. “One can learn so much from observing creatures that have not been burdened with the strictures of civilization.”
She realized that he was angling her toward one of the larger Wardian cases. It stood on an iron stand. She could see exotic ferns growing inside. Malevolent, inhuman eyes watched her through the glass.
Stilwell was pulling her past the massive aquarium. Venetia looked down and saw a veil of wide green leaves and a couple of dead fish just beneath the surface. The water was so dark she could not make out anything else.
“I find it difficult to believe, but it appears that the situation has changed, Mrs. Jones,” Stilwell said. “I shall have to go into hiding for a time. You will accompany me, of course. I will need you to convince Jones to turn over the untouched photograph of the strongbox.”
“What is so important about that strongbox?” she asked.
“It contains the list of ingredients required for the antidote, of course.” The words were laced with frustration and rage.
“What are you talking about?”
“The damned formula works, according to the alchemist’s notes, but only for a short period of time. It is, in fact, a slow poison. The founder of the Arcane Society was a devious bastard, indeed. He inscribed the ingredients for the antidote on the strongbox, knowing that whoever tried to steal the formula would in all likelihood leave the heavy box behind.”
A slight movement of the water made her glance down again. She saw the canopy of aquatic plants heave. Something large was stirring beneath the surface.
She wanted to scream but there was no time. A monstrous creature draped in dripping plants and what appeared to be primordial slime surged up out of the depths of the aquarium.
Stilwell was astonishingly quick, but he had been taken by surprise. He was still turning to confront the menace when the creature from the aquarium landed on top of him.
The gun in Stilwell’s hand roared as he went down. Glass shattered in one of the Wardian cases.
Venetia reeled to the side and came up hard against the edge of the aquarium. She saw Gabriel grab Stilwell’s gun arm and slam it against the heavy wooden frame.
Stilwell grunted in pain. The weapon landed on the floor and slid beneath the broken glass case.
Stilwell twisted violently to the side, reaching beneath his coat.
“He’s got a knife,” Venetia shouted.
Neither man seemed to hear her. They were locked in savage combat. The sickening sound of fists slamming into flesh reverberated across the room. The cold, jeweled eyes watching from inside the glass cases glittered.
Venetia circled the aquarium, hurrying toward the gun.
Just as she crouched down to retrieve the weapon from beneath the case stand something moved in the broken glass case above. She jerked back reflexively.
A dainty-looking snake dropped from the shards of glass. It landed on the floor. Acting on some elemental instinct to seek concealment, it darted under the stand and stopped when it encountered the gun. It coiled around the barrel as though seeking protection.
Venetia stepped back, shuddering, and turned around, searching for some object she could use to kill the snake so that she could grab the gun.
She realized that Stilwell had somehow regained his feet. He had the knife in his hand. He launched himself toward Gabriel, who was sprawled on the floor.
Venetia watched in horror. She was too far away to do anything.
But Gabriel was already moving, rolling fluidly to his feet. The arcing blade ripped through the air an inch from his ribs.
The missed blow left Stilwell off balance for an instant. Gabriel swept out one leg and slammed his foot against the other man’s thigh.
Stilwell yelled and went down hard to his knees. The knife skidded and slid across the floor. Gabriel bent down and caught it.
Stilwell skittered backward toward the broken case, flung out a hand and groped for the gun.
Venetia never s
aw the snake strike. It happened too quickly in the shadows beneath the broken case. It was Stilwell’s cry of horror and sudden violent thrashing that made her realize he had been bitten.
He yanked his hand out from beneath the case, shaking his fingers wildly.
Gabriel halted warily, knife in hand.
“No, no, it can’t be,” Stilwell whispered. Then he peered desperately beneath the stand. “Which one? Which one?”
Venetia saw that in his frantic flailing he had delivered a damaging blow to the snake. There was something wrong with the way it was writhing.
Gabriel moved toward the snake. In a move that seemed to Venetia as swift as that of a striking viper, he pinned the twisting creature with his heavily booted foot and used Stilwell’s knife to sever the head from the body.
A shocked silence filled the room. Stilwell sat up a short distance away, clutching his hand. He stared at Gabriel, ashen-faced.
“I am dead,” he said tonelessly. “You have won. After all my planning, all my careful strategy, you have won. This is not the way it was supposed to end, you know. I was the fittest. I was the one who deserved to survive.”
“I’ll send for a doctor,” Venetia whispered.
Stilwell gave her a scornful, enraged look. “Do not waste your time. There is no cure for the venom.”
He gasped, convulsed violently and fell backward.
He did not move again.
After a moment, Gabriel leaned down to check for a pulse at Stilwell’s throat. When he looked up again Venetia knew from his expression that he had not found one.
A SHORT TIME LATER Gabriel put on a pair of heavy gloves that he found on a workbench and cautiously opened the hidden panel embedded in the bottom of the Wardian case that had housed the venomous snake.
“Just in case there are any more surprises,” he explained to Venetia.
He reached inside and carefully removed an old leather-bound notebook.
“The formula?” she asked.
“Yes.”
41
THEY GATHERED in the library of his parents’ town house the following morning to talk about the events of the past few days.
The last remnants of the hunting lust that had heated his blood had faded and Gabriel was now uncomfortably aware of the second layer of bruises he had acquired. But it was the knowledge that he had allowed Stilwell to come so close to harming Venetia that had kept him from getting any sleep. He was on his third cup of strong coffee.
“In addition to the alchemist’s formula, Venetia and I also found Stilwell’s journal of notes concerning his experiments,” Gabriel said. “He was, indeed, a naturalist. He also possessed certain psychical abilities that were very similar to my own.”
Venetia’s brows snapped together in annoyance. “As I have pointed out on more than one occasion, the similarity in psychical talents means nothing. The two of you were as different as night and day.”
Marjorie bestowed a smile of warm approval on her. “Quite right, my dear.”
“What was Mr. Stilwell’s connection to the Arcane Society?” Edward asked. “How did he learn of the formula?”
Montrose cleared his throat. “I believe I can answer that question, young man. When I heard the name Stilwell, certain facts fell into place. Isn’t that so, Hippolyte?”
Hippolyte nodded somberly. “John Stilwell’s father was Ogden Stilwell. Ogden held a seat on the Council of the Arcane Society for a time until he resigned for reasons he never explained to the rest of us. He possessed some of the same psychical gifts that his son exhibited. More to the point, he was obsessed with the founder’s private codes.”
“What happened to him?” Amelia asked.
Hippolyte sighed. “I regret to say that Ogden Stilwell was a noted eccentric in a society that is populated with eccentrics. Toward the end of his life he became increasingly reclusive, fearful and paranoid. He lost contact with all of his acquaintances in the society. Eventually we learned of his death and marked him down as deceased in the records.”
“What of his son, this John Stilwell person?” Beatrice asked.
“That is where the tale turns complicated,” Montrose said. “The records show that Ogden Stilwell had a son named John who perished of consumption several months ago.”
“Shortly before he followed Caleb and me to the site of the alchemist’s laboratory and stole the formula,” Gabriel said. “He hid his tracks very well. Caleb and I, after all, were looking for a suspect with connections to the Arcane Society who was still very much alive.”
“Stilwell further muddied his tracks by murdering Lord Ackland and assuming his identity,” Montrose continued.
“Why did he do that?” Amelia asked.
Hippolyte looked at her. “In part because he needed an identity that was entirely different from his own. He achieved that by becoming a doddering old man. But there was another reason why he selected Ackland as his victim.”
“The oldest reason in the world,” Marjorie said briskly. “Money. When Stilwell became Lord Ackland, he naturally gained access to Ackland’s fortune.”
“He needed the money to pursue his experiments,” Gabriel said. “But he also got a dark thrill out of moving, undetected, in Society. He saw himself as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A hunter, prowling, unnoticed, among his prey.”
“Why did he form a connection to Rosalind Fleming?” Beatrice asked.
Gabriel had been dreading this question. He swallowed more coffee and lowered the cup. He was very careful not to look at Venetia.
“Stilwell saw himself as a superior, more highly evolved man. He felt it was his duty to produce offspring who might exhibit his psychical talents. So he sought a worthy mate.”
“Huh.” Hippolyte turned thoughtful. “Perfectly natural, I suppose.”
Gabriel glared at him. Hippolyte blinked a couple of times and then reddened.
“Man was insane, of course,” Hippolyte said quickly.
Gabriel sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Stilwell went hunting for a suitable mate among the hundreds of females in London who claim to possess psychical powers. In the course of his search he discovered the woman we know as Rosalind Fleming. She was Charlotte Bliss at the time.”
Edward’s eyes widened. “Does Mrs.Fleming also possess some psychical senses?”
“We’re not certain,” Gabriel said. “And neither, in the end, was Stilwell. He writes that she is most certainly a skilled mesmerist, however.”
“Stilwell eventually concluded that she possesses some rudimentary psychical talents that allow her to enhance the power of her hypnotic trances,” Hippolyte added. “But he believed that her abilities were quite weak.”
“Whatever the case,” Gabriel continued, “she convinced Stilwell of her talents, at least for a while. He was very impressed by some demonstrations of her so-called mind reading and decided that she would make an excellent mate. For her part, Mrs. Fleming was thrilled to have acquired such a wealthy paramour, even if she did have to pretend that he was old and senile.”
“Unfortunately for Mrs. Fleming,” Hippolyte said, “Stilwell became suspicious of her claims of paranormal senses. At about the same time that he started to become disenchanted with her, he finally succeeded in deciphering the formula.”
“And discovered the passage at the end of the notebook that warned that the alchemist’s elixir was, in fact, a slow poison that would drive a person mad if the antidote was not taken simultaneously,” Gabriel said.
“The passage in the notebook let it be known that the antidote was etched on the lid of the strongbox,” Hippolyte said. “So Stilwell sent those two men to Arcane House to steal it.”
Montrose nodded gravely. “Stilwell knew the location of Arcane House and precisely where the museum was located inside because his father, as a member of the Council, had known those things and passed the information on to his son.”
“I was able to prevent the theft of the strongbox,” Gabriel said, “but I realized at
that point that the thief was very determined and had to be stopped. So I transferred the strongbox into the Great Vault at Arcane House and then put out the word that the box had been destroyed and I had died in a fire on the premises. I thought it would cause the villain to lower his guard and induce him to come out of hiding. Instead, he remained in deep cover.”
Hippolyte cradled his cup in his hands. “Stilwell records in his notes that although he viewed the news of Gabriel’s death with some suspicion, very likely because he had faked his own death and knew how easily it could be done, he nevertheless believed that he had been defeated in his quest to obtain the antidote. He decided to abandon his efforts to recover it.”
Venetia wrinkled her nose. “And then a certain Mrs. Jones appeared on the London scene, a widow who happened to be a photographer. Stilwell’s suspicions were aroused immediately, not only because I was using the name Jones but because he knew that a photographer had recently been hired to record the collection of antiquities at Arcane House. There was also the fact that Gabriel was supposedly dead and I was going about as a widow.”
“The combination of coincidences aroused his hunting instincts,” Gabriel said. “Just as they did mine. It occurred to Stilwell that if Venetia was the person who had photographed the collection, there might be a picture of the strongbox that he could use to decipher the antidote. But he also knew that the Arcane Society would never have allowed the photographer to keep copies of the pictures she had taken, let alone the negative. Still, he concluded that it might be worth his while to keep an eye on Venetia.”
“So he hired Harold Burton to follow her around for a while to determine what was going on,” Amelia said.
Beatrice frowned. “How did he know that a photographer had been employed at Arcane House?”
“Bear in mind that Stilwell knew the location of Arcane House,” Gabriel said. “The two men he sent to steal the strongbox had watched the abbey for a day or two from a vantage point on a nearby hillside. With the aid of a spyglass they had seen Venetia taking pictures of some of the relics out on the terrace.”
“I do like natural light when I can get it,” Venetia said wryly.