“In that case, go back to the warehouse and wait for me,” Archibond directed.
“Oh, you’d like that, I suppose, with the police sniffing around, ready to arrest whoever sets foot on that property,” de Clare snarled.
Archibond pricked like a pointer. “What the devil do you mean?”
“I mean, the police have been there. You think I don’t know a fellow in plainclothes even when he has the stink of Scotland Yard about him? I know what I saw. And I had one of my lads keeping watch on you. As soon as he told me you were bound for Hampstead Heath, I knew what you were about. You meant to get your hands on these two and cut me right out of the plot,” he accused.
“I thought you had fled,” Archibond pointed out calmly. “And if you had not, taking these two back into my own custody assures I am not circumvented.”
“Circumvented! And what put that thought into your head?” jeered de Clare.
“Perhaps the fact that you took Madame Aurore’s body off the premises,” Archibond returned.
De Clare flushed, a deep mottled red. “Do not play games with me, you English prick. I know you took her, and I know why. You mean to frame me for her murder and keep the girl under your control,” he said, jerking his chin at me.
Archibond’s tone was arctic. “I would hardly need to frame you formurdering Aurore since your man slashed her throat on your orders. And as for playing games, you are scarcely in a position to talk after what you did with the body.”
They had squared off, each man’s temper flaring, Archibond’s cold and de Clare’s blazing. It made for an interesting study. I glanced back at Stoker and he shrugged. I knew him well enough to interpret the gesture. He would do nothing so long as the two of them were at loggerheads. If the quarrel played out and they did violence to each other, so much the better for us. We might well escape in the confusion. Along with poor Mr. Pennybaker, I thought. But the gentleman was staring at the pair of combatants, eyes wide with interest as he took in their contretemps with all the avid interest of a spectator who has wagered his last guinea at a horse race. Stoker moved, angling his body in front of Pennybaker so the man would be shielded from any possible violence.
De Clare was fairly leaping at Archibond’s accusation. “I tell you, I did nothing with the body! It was you who spirited her off to God knows where.”
Archibond rolled his eyes heavenwards. “And when, precisely, would I have had an opportunity to do that? I was with you, or have you—in your paranoiac fantasies—forgot that? It is perfectly apparent that you must know where the body is.”
“I do not!” De Clare was fairly vibrating with rage at this point. He raised his pistol to Archibond, who countered by leveling his own revolver at de Clare, and there were quite enough guns in that room for my taste. I decided to step in, holding my hands up.
“Stop this brangling at once,” I instructed. “I know where the body is. So I suggest you both calm down and discuss this rationally before gunfire breaks out.”
Archibond gave me a suspicious look. “You know where the body is?”
“Yes, someone left her for us to find,” I told him. “We rather thought it was the pair of you, intending to notify the police and have us arrested on suspicion of murder.”
Archibond’s tone was one of chilled scorn. “Why the devil would we want you accused of murder when you are the linchpin of this whole endeavor?”
I shrugged. “You might have intended to catch Stoker in your little trap,” I pointed out. “It is one way of eliminating him from the equation.”
“There are other ways,” he said.
And before I understood what he meant to do, he shifted his stance, turned to Stoker, and pulled the trigger.
Time stood still as the scarlet bloomed across Stoker’s shirtfront and he slid to his knees. He looked up to me, an expression of disbelief on his face. “Not again,” he said, half laughing. “I don’t bloody well believe this.”
And then he collapsed onto the carpet at my feet.
CHAPTER
24
The instant Stoker fell, several things happened. De Clare, believing Archibond had shot at me, immediately fired at Archibond. His aim was not as true and he merely caught the inspector in the arm. Archibond lifted his other arm to return fire, but before he could, a form vaulted through the window.
“Mornaday!” I cried as our old acquaintance entered, his own revolver drawn.
“Inspector, surrender yourself,” he instructed. “The rest of you are under arrest, except for Miss Speedwell.”
Archibond did not lower his weapon. “I don’t know what you think you are playing at, Mornaday, but that is enough. As your superior, I order you to lower your weapon and take these people into custody.”
“I am afraid not, sir,” Mornaday said evenly. “I have my own orders and they come from higher than you.”
Archibond’s features twisted into a snarl, but before he could pull the trigger, a shot rang out. He pitched forward, surprise registering on his face. De Clare and Mornaday had not moved, and neither had Quiet Dan. But behind Archibond, his wide eyes as stunned as the restof us, a smoking musket of some antiquity in his hand, stood Mr. Pennybaker.
