We talked for another ten minutes, until I was satisfied both that I had as much from him as I could get, and that he was not going anywhere for a while. I undid the belt, gently kicked him along the floor until he lay limply on top of the carpet, and then went downstairs to make another phone call to Mycroft.
“I'm sorry to wake you a second time,” I said, and gave him the address of the house, and the request that he find someone at Scotland Yard who could rouse Lestrade and send him here to pick up Marcus Gunderson.
“He should be unconscious for another couple of hours,” I said. “I located the Veronal that Brothers probably used on Yolanda. And turnabout's fair play-it works a treat on large men, too.”
31
Magic (1): The world is an alembic writ large, where
forces may be brought to bear on Elements. Elements are
Power, pure and simple. The greater the Elements, the
greater the Power summoned, that the man of knowledge
may free and take into himself.
Testimony, III:5
LESTRADE RANG ASKING IF YOU WERE HERE,” MYCROFT greeted me the next morning. He was beheading his second egg; I had not wakened him when I got in the night before-or rather, earlier that morning. I squinted at the clock.
“Already?”
“He seemed quite determined.”
“You told him I wasn't here, I trust?”
“I rarely tell direct lies to the police,” he replied, then to my relief added, “I merely said that I had not seen you for some time.”
“You'd think he would know, after all these years, how to listen to a Holmes.”
“Oh, you may find he does. In any case, I don't think the Chief Inspector entirely believed me.” He tipped his head at the window; I took a swig of the coffee Mrs Cowper had poured for me, and took up a position behind the curtains to study the street: In thirty seconds, I had him. “Damn. He's already got a man down there. I'll have to borrow Mrs Cowper's dress to get out of here.”
“Disguise will not be necessary,” Mycroft said. “After the last time, I thought it expedient to arrange a back door. I now have not one, but two concealed exits-one onto St James's Square, the other into Angel Court.”
“Don't tell me-the entrance is behind a moving bookshelf in the study?”
“I admit, I could not resist.”
I laughed, but at his next remark, my amusement died.
“I'm afraid Lestrade has also loosed the dogs on Damian.” Mycroft pushed the morning paper over to me: front and centre, Damian's face. The article that went with the photograph made quite clear that The Addler was wanted for arrest, not just questioning, and should be considered dangerous.
“Dangerous?” I exclaimed. “Didn't Lestrade see the walled house last night? Didn't he question Gunderson?”
“The police saw that Damian had been there, but was no longer. And they haven't been able to question Gunderson yet; he keeps falling asleep.”
“Hell,” I said. The only faint hope was that the newspaper's image of Damian showed a man with freshly cut hair and a beard, trimmed back to the jaw-line; when I'd seen him last night, his hair was to the collar and his beard full.
“Am I to understand that you now entertain the possibility of Damian's innocence?” Mycroft asked.
“There were no newspapers,” I blurted. He raised an eyebrow, and I realised that I needed to be methodical about this. I began by retrieving the things I'd taken from the walled house; when I returned, Mrs Cowper laid my breakfast in front of me. When she was in the kitchen again, I went on.
“Last night was indeed a meeting of the Children of Lights' inner circle. Hmm,” I said, distracted by a thought: Circle. Was that in some manner related to that shape they used? I shook my head and set before Mycroft a sturdy capped glass jar filled with a bilious green liquid in which floated an assortment of objects that looked a bit like shoe-leather. “This is what the Circle were drinking. I found several of these bottles in the pantry-whatever those things are, the liquid they're steeping in is honey wine, despite the colour. Judging by their reaction, it's considerably stronger than mead. Can you have the contents analysed?”
He eased off the cork and held the bottle under his nose. “An unconventional choice of beverage.”
“Yes, but I don't know that it has any relationship with Holmes.”
He set it aside; I went on.
“The man they call The Master was there-and yes, Gunderson and the estate agent agreed that he has a scar beside his eye, and yes, Gunderson was under the impression that this is the author of Testimony. He even helped transport the copies of Testimony from the printers. Unfortunately, I only caught glimpses of The Master, mostly from the back. Brothers, or whatever his name is, talked to them for a few minutes, but before he could start their services, a dog belonging to one of the Circle found me.” No need to tell him that the creature would have fit into the pocket of his overcoat.
“I managed to get away from the animal, but the Circle left, and then Gunderson, Brothers, and Damian got into a car and drove away-that was the number plate I gave you. Damian was carrying a child with black hair.”
“Ah, that is a relief.”
“Yes. I went into the house and saw where they had been staying, but then Gunderson came back and I had to deal with him.
“But three things happened to… not ‘change my mind,’ because my mind was not made up, but let us say, shift my point of view. First, when Damian came out of the house with the child, he deliberately stood with his face to the light, as if he knew someone might be watching, and wanted to reassure us that he was fine. Second, this.” I slid over the ink drawing I had found-I had gone through that room to remove anything that might link Damian to Holmes, but this particular drawing I would have taken in any event.
Mycroft brushed the crumbs from his fingers and took the heavy paper by one corner, appraising the black lines of my portrait as if analysing a finger-print.
“What does it tell you?” I asked.
He considered the question, and his answer, then laid the drawing back on the table before he replied. “This is not a drawing Damian Adler would have done even a month ago.”
“Exactly!” I said, pleased that we were in agreement. It was an exquisite thing, a stirring use of delicate lines to depict strength in the subject: I did not for a moment think that I looked like the drawing, but I was very happy that Damian had imagined me so. “Holmes thought his son's mistrust of him had begun to fade, following the days they spent together. I should say this drawing indicates that Damian had a profound change of heart: If he accepts his father's wife to that degree, there could be little doubt that he accepts his father.”
“It is hard to imagine that even a fine artist could feign affection so thoroughly,” Mycroft agreed.
“And third, the newspapers. Damian had been in that house for days-perhaps since Friday, but certainly for long enough to ask for paints and a work-table. However, the only newspaper I found in the entire house was from Saturday. Since Monday morning the papers have been full of Yolanda's death, but if Damian has been in hiding since then, and if he has not seen a paper, he may still not know.”
Mycroft's eyes went out of focus as he reviewed everything we knew, taking pieces of the case out of their pigeon-holes and comparing them. Finally, he nodded. “I am not sure I agree unreservedly, but I can see that you would be willing to move your attentions off of Damian.”
Huge relief, that Mycroft saw firm foundations beneath my judgment. “However, I don't entirely understand the link between Brothers and Damian. Brothers hired Gunderson in October and started setting up the Children of Lights soon afterwards. Brothers is British-I heard him speak-but Gunderson thinks he was recently arrived, that he knew London a little but hadn't been here for some long time, certainly not since the War.