He and Giles turned and strode down the hall toward the other office, Dr. Maxwell’s. He knocked, and at no reply, tried opening the door to the unlit office. It was locked. Simpson screwed up his face and cursed his inspector. He was about to break down a door and no doubt find Mr. Ashton entangled with Miss Everleigh and be in all sorts of trouble. Sighing, hemotioned for his man to move aside. He should have told the caretaker to stick around. Using the technique he’d mastered after being caught out without a key one too many times, he kicked the door open, keeping the frosted glass panel intact.
Inside, Simpson did indeed find Mr. Ashton and Miss Everleigh entangled on the floor, but in a very different way than expected. Giles flipped the light switch, and Simpson rushed to Mr. Ashton, whose eyes were narrowed against the sudden glare of the lights.
“What happened?” Simpson gasped, noting Saffron Everleigh next to him, eyes closed and motionless.
Alexander Ashton’s brow was damp with sweat and his breathing labored, but he managed to say “Bin.”
“What? Bin?” Simpson was confused and looked up at the other officer, whose mouth was agape as he scanned the wrecked office.
“Get me a bin, man!” Ashton groaned. The young deputy snatched up the waste bin and put it under him just in time. Simpson helped him up and held him in place for several minutes while he retched. He was heavy and seemed not to be able to hold himself up.
As Mr. Ashton was ill, Simpson told his deputy to call for the inspector and a doctor from University College Hospital across the street.
“Mr. Ashton, what happened here? What’s wrong with Miss Everleigh?” Simpson demanded weakly, lowering the oddly slack man back down onto the floor.
“We’ve been poisoned by Berking and Blake,” he managed, gulping breaths. “I’ll be all right for a moment. Get Miss Everleigh off the floor.”
Simpson blinked at Mr. Ashton’s pronouncement, then dashed into the hall and shouted to Giles to include that information in his message to the inspector. He returned to the roomand, his nose wrinkling as he stepped between the pools of sick to pick her up, brought Miss Everleigh to the couch.
As he set her down, noting proudly that he’d managed to carry her without too much effort, he caught sight of her hands. “What the blazes is this about?”
“From the poison,” Mr. Ashton replied. “Can’t move when they’re present. Paralyzed.”
Simpson looked from Miss Everleigh, whose arms were covered in blue marks, to Mr. Ashton. He rushed to his side, gaping at his neck. “Y-your neck—”
Mr. Ashton frowned. “Yes, I can’t move. Tell the inspector that Berking and Blake were making a run for it with the money. They’re probably going out of the country. And Blake’s real name is Harper.”
Simpson, alarmed at the cool way Mr. Ashton declared he couldn’t move and provided all this new information, said, “The money? Blake is Harper? You can’tmove?”
Simpson, avoiding the vomit on the floor, began to pace around the room, then thought better of it. He’d probably trip and wind up with vomit splattered on his uniform. A paper on the desk caught his eye. He picked up the paper and saw a signature at the bottom: Alexander Ashton. “Mr. Ashton, did you write a note?”
His eyes were closed in a grimace. “No.”
Simpson scanned the note, which explained that Dr. Maxwell, crazed, had forced them to drink a xolotl infusion, whatever that meant, at gunpoint and that Mr. Ashton was sorry he couldn’t have done more to stop the professor.
Despite himself, Simpson snorted. “Not exactly masterminds, are they? We cleared Dr. Maxwell ages ago. He’s not even in London. And considering you’re just paralyzed and not in a coma, I guess it really wasn’t that xolt—xlot—er, that foreign plant after all.”
Simpson looked up from the note to see that Mr. Ashton was still, his eyes closed. Alarmed, he hopped across the room and checked his pulse. It was steady and strong. Poor bloke must be exhausted,Simpson mused. Must be tiring, being poisoned and all.
CHAPTER 22
“Glad to see you looking well, Miss Everleigh,” the inspector said as he and Simpson entered the plain hospital room.
“Thank you, Inspector Green,” Saffron said. She rather doubted she looked well. No one put their best face forward in hospital pajamas and messy hair. It was barely ten hours after she’d been admitted to the hospital, according to Elizabeth, who hadn’t left her side since she’d woken up a few hours ago. Though Saffron was fatigued from the xolotl dose, not to mention the marathon of tests and doctors’ visits that curiosity about her poisoning had incited, she was eager to hear news. “Have you caught them?”
“We have Dr. Berking in custody. I need to take your statement.”
“Not Richard Blake?” Elizabeth asked, frowning at him. Her shadowed eyes moved to the door involuntarily, as if Blake would walk in any moment. Saffron knew Elizabeth was exhausted, having spent hours in the waiting room while Saffron was being poked, prodded, and questioned by a parade of doctors. Despite her dramatic claims that she was going to kill Saffron for nearly giving her a heart attack, Elizabeth had been her fierce advocate, demanding she be left alone to rest when still another round of doctors came to observe Saffron’s recovery.
Of course, that was twenty minutes before the inspector had arrived, and now Saffron wasn’t resting, but preparing to relive what had been the worst sort of nightmare.
“Dr. Berking was apprehended a few hours ago, and we have men out searching for Blake. The relevant services have been alerted and are on the lookout for him too,” Inspector Green said.
“And Alexander?” Saffron asked impatiently. She’d heard nothing about his condition or recovery, not even whether he’d woken up. Elizabeth had tried, but not being family, she hadn’t been able to get any information.
“I haven’t seen him yet,” the inspector replied.
Swallowing rising panic, she gripped her blanket with fingers no longer tinged blue. “But what happened? He must have been paralyzed far worse than I was—he had blue lines to his neck!”
