“I am not,” he retorted. “I had to attend one of the autopsies and I sicked up my breakfast.”
I was not surprised. The ferocity of the crimes was appalling, and I found it endearing that a London policeman who had seen his share of atrocities was still gentle enough to be affected by the humanity of the victims.
I tapped the tickets. “You must allow me to repay you.”
He waved. “No need between friends.” He jerked his head towards Stoker’s workbench. “Promise you will take him.”
I smiled. “I am surprised you are so eager to give Stoker the pleasure of an evening at the theatre.”
His answering smile was thin. “Oh, it isn’t a pleasure for him,” he reminded me. “That’s why I gave you the tickets.”
He touched his brow and inclined his head. “Until we meet again, my dearest Miss Speedwell.”
“Good-bye, Mornaday.”
The dogs trotted after him as he left, sniffing eagerly and inelegantly at the crotch of his trousers.
“Those dogs have the most appalling manners,” I told Stoker as he left his eyeballs and came to sit.
“I hope they bite where they sniff,” Stoker said. “What did he want?”
I brandished the tickets. “To give us these.”
“Theatre tickets? For tonight?” He swore softly. “The bastard does know how to torment me. If there is one thing I cannot abide, it is harnessing myself into evening dress to listen to three hours of pattersongs and caterwauling.” He gave me a narrow look. “I suppose you want to go?”
“Not with you,” I told him in my sweetest voice. “I am very happy to ask Tiberius. I know how much he enjoys the theatre.”
Stoker snatched the tickets out of my hand. “Be ready by seven.”
“I planned to.”
CHAPTER
4
We worked comfortably for the next few hours, Stoker at his latest large-scale mount—a hippopotamus that had been badly handled and was shedding ears and long, wiry hairs as well as emitting a fragrance that can best be described as insalubrious—and I at my correspondence. I had just finished penning a rousing rebuttal to a criticism of my latest contribution toThe Lepidopterist’s Quarterly Guide to South American Butterflies and Greater Mothswhen another visitor appeared, also unannounced. Stoker and I had worked through luncheon, taking only sandwiches and cold tea for our refreshment, and I was nibbling the last egg and tomato sandwich when Inspector Archibond popped his head around the door.
“Good day, Miss Speedwell,” he began.
I beckoned to him, dusting the crumbs from my hands. “Inspector Archibond,” I said, coming forwards to welcome him. “What brings you here?”
His smile was weary. “I wanted to look in on Lady Wellie.”
“She is holding steady,” Stoker said, emerging from his hippopotamus. As ever, he had discarded his shirt in the process of his labors. Hewas sweat streaked and filthy, covered in sawdust and cobwebs and other unimaginable horrors. But nothing could conceal the splendor of his musculature, and I gave him a lingering and appreciative look before primly removing my gaze to the inspector.
Archibond spoke. “I am glad to hear it. I did not want to disturb the household, so I thought it best to come here.”
“You are most welcome,” I assured him. “Stoker, do wipe off the worst of that filth and put on a shirt for the inspector. We will have something to drink.”
The inspector held up a hand. “No tea for me,” he said.
“I was thinking of something rather more interesting,” I assured him. I retrieved my flask of aguardiente and poured out a thimbleful for each of us. He took one sip and his eyes went wide, his color harsh.
“My God,” he managed hoarsely. It took him some minutes to recover, but when he did, he gave a nod. “I do not generally indulge in spirits before nightfall, but I thank you, Miss Speedwell. These are unusual times, and a stiffener is most welcome.”
I made to pour him another but he thrust his hand over the top of his glass. Stoker joined us, having performed a minimal toilette, and settled himself in his customary chair. “What else brings you to our lair, Inspector?” he inquired.
The inspector’s smile was sudden and oddly charming. He had a tiny dimple in his cheek that I had never had cause to notice before. He settled himself gingerly on the camel saddle, his manner confiding.
