Abberline turned to them when he was done conversing with the leading duty officer. “Only one body found. That bloke you shot, Professor Challenger. Burned to a crisp, of course. No way to identify him. It seems everyone else got out.”
“What about the tunnel?” asked Burton.
“Some men followed it back to the old house,” said Abberline. “No one there but some street urchins what bolted as soon as they saw the coppers come through that hidey-hole. No signs of any regular occupants, and no trace of this King in Yellow.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Burton said irritably.
“He’s still around somewhere,” said Challenger, his dark eyes scanning the surrounding buildings. “Probably watching us right now, laughing at us.”
“But where?” asked Abberline. “How?”
“Remember Professor Moriarty’s carriage?” asked Burton. All eyes turned to him.
“Something struck me about it this morning. It was designed for not only security, but comfort. Like Captain Nemo’s Nautilus.”
“Odd’s Bodikins!” declared Challenger. “The blackguard lives in it.”
“Perhaps,” said Burton. “At least some of the time. Maybe our King in Yellow has a similar setup. He’ll want to stay mobile yet remain close to his operations here in the East End.”
“And he no doubt has a small legion of people helping him,” said Abberline. “Keeping him hidden. And we’ll never be able to pry his whereabouts from them.”
The four of them thought on this for a while.
“Ho!” the Time Traveler called from amid the blackened rubble. “What’s this?”
Burton, Challenger and Abberline stepped carefully through the ruins toward their companion.
“What is it?” said Abberline.
Herbert pointed to the blackened shape resting on the ground. Burton still recognized it as the blasphemous carved visage hanging above the tabernacle.
“That is a rendition of Dagon,” said Burton.
Herbert’s knees buckled, and he placed his hands on his hips to steady himself. “No. It can’t be. It’s happening here, in London, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Burton.
“We didn’t stop it at all, did we?” asked Herbert. “Our jaunt through Time did nothing. Nothing.”
“We stopped that damnable island from returning to the surface,” said Challenger.
“We may have done more damage than anything,” Burton murmured.
“We have to stop this,” said Herbert.
“I admire your zeal, my friend,” said Burton. “But what else can we do? We’ve destroyed the cult’s meeting place and sent their leader into hiding. It’s a matter for the police now.”
“I’m afraid he’s right,” said Abberline.
The Time Traveler appeared to consider this for a moment, then shook his head. “This is bigger than the police. Bigger than all of us. We need Captain Nemo.”
“And how do you propose we contact him?” said Challenger. “He could be anywhere in the seven bloody seas.”
“I might have a way,” said Herbert. “But it requires my Time Machine.”
“All right, then,” said Burton. “Let’s pay Mycroft Holmes a visit.”
“Of course,” replied Abberline.
The four men returned to the carriage, where Abberline gave the driver the address for the Diogenes Club.
As the carriage moved away from the ruins of the church, Burton noticed a large group of people watching them, their dirty, wretched faces filled with anger. Someone hurled a large rock, striking the carriage’s driver. He fell from his box with a heavy thud, the horses slowing to a halt at the loss of their driver.
“Stop that, you wretches!” called Abberline.
The policemen who had been inspecting the ruins ran over to chase off the ruffian rock-thrower, but the crowd was quite vocal, and some had picked up burned pieces of wood and other implements to use as makeshift weapons.
“Help him, Frederick,” said Burton, indicating the carriage’s driver. “I’ll drive us out of here.”
Abberline nodded and exited the carriage from the side facing away from the crowd and went to assist the fallen police officer.
Burton hurried out of the carriage and up onto the driver’s box, picking up the reins and giving them a strong tug. The horses obeyed, pulling the carriage a foot or so forward.
Burton glanced down at Abberline who, along with two other policemen, were helping the driver to his feet.
“He’s all right,” said Abberline. “Just got the wind knocked out of him.”
“Get back I say!” said one of the policemen.
“This crowd is getting full of themselves,” Challenger called from inside the carriage. “And they have us outnumbered. A hasty retreat would be in our best interest.”
“We’ll take care of them, sir,” one of the officers assured Abberline. He blew into a whistle hanging round his neck, calling for more men. Abberline returned to the carriage and Burton started the horses off at a fast trot.
“You’re not wanted here!” a member of the crowd shouted.
Something else was thrown, but it went in a high arc over Burton’s head and was gone. He had never seen Londoners act this way. It had to be this abysmal cult, he reasoned. He and his group were being attacked on purpose. The Dagon cult would not let them leave the East End alive.
Other objects flew past Burton’s head, much too close for his liking. More police came running, but more people joined in the revolt, and it was a mob the officers greeted. Burton lashed the horses into moving at their top speed, Challenger shouting something from the carriage, no doubt a barrage of profanity at their attackers.
Burton drove the carriage west as fast as the gray beasts would carry it, his eyes ever wary for another assault. Suspicious eyes looked out at them from darkened doorways and partially boarded-up windows. An old woman made the sign of the evil eye at them as they passed.
Burton heard a gunshot and felt something hot fly much too close past his left ear. The gunshot was met with an answering volley of gunfire from the carriage below, Professor Challenger brandishing his revolver in the general direction of where the shot had come from. Burton spurred the horses onward and did not slow them until they reached the relative safety and congested traffic of Tower Bridge.
Burton went a few blocks more, then slowed the beasts to a stop and climbed down from the driver’s box. He opened the left-hand carriage door and peered in at Challenger, Herbert, Abberline, and the carriage’s poor police driver, who introduced himself as Murphy. They all looked thoroughly jostled.
“Is everyone all right?” asked Burton.
Challenger holstered his revolver and glared at Burton. “Those fiends! Take me back there. I’ll burn them all out.”
“Calm down, Professor,” said Burton. “You may yet get your chance. But they have us at an advantage right now, I’d say.”
“Good heavens,” declared Herbert. “That was quite a ride. Let’s never do it again, shall we?”
“Agreed,” said Abberline. “I wish I could go back to rounding up pickpockets.”
Everyone climbed out of the carriage, Officer Murphy reclaiming his rightful place atop the driver’s box. He appeared a bit dazed, and had a small cut on his temple, but he insisted he was in fine fettle.
“What do we do now?” said Challenger.
“I need to make sure our lads back there have enough help to deal with that angry mob,” said Abberline. “I also need to check in with Mr. Holmes.”
“Let’s go and call on our mutual employer,” said Burton. “Not only does he have Herbert’s property, but I think he knows more about this cult business than he previously let on.”