The Steampunk Megapack

by Jay Lake

  “I’m afraid not, Inspector. All of our clients’ property is strictly confidential. They provide the safes and their contents, and we simply provide the vault and make it available whenever a client needs to access it.”

  Mueller made a little frown. “Wait a moment.… It was the middle of the night. How were they even able to open the vault? Don’t you have time locks?”

  “Certainly not!” The manager was aghast at the idea. “We provide access for our clients day and night. That would be impossible if we couldn’t open our vault at a moment’s notice!”

  Mueller placed his hand over his eyes and pinched his nose, as if suffering from a headache. “I understand, sir, but you realize that none of this would have happened if the robbers hadn’t been able to force your Mr. Barnaby to open the vault.”

  The manager turned bright red and raised his finger in Mueller’s direction. “Now see here, Inspector—”

  “Why don’t we make ourselves somewhat more productive?” Wilde interjected. “For instance, who owned the safe that was broken into?”

  The bank manager shrank back and cleared his throat. “Yes…yes of course,” he said. “That would be…let me see.…” He removed a small printed paper from his coat pocket and inspected it. “Ah, yes, Number Seven: Witherspoon Machine Works. One of our most respected clients.”

  “We’ll need their address and information,” Wilde said. He turned to Mueller. “Charles, any idea what they used to cut open the safe?”

  Mueller opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a woman’s voice.

  “Presumably an acetylene torch, Inspector Wilde.”

  The speaker was a beautiful young woman whose pallor and refined features spoke of aristocratic breeding. Her long dark curls were tied up behind her head with a single red ribbon and then tucked carefully beneath a small black hat. Her clothing, while expensive and impeccable, was remarkably casual for someone of a wealthy background: a simple shirtwaist, coat and skirt combination in a dark ashen gray with a red velvet scarf. The cut of the garments were clearly intended to mimic the shape of a man’s suit without crossing the unspoken line.

  “Doctor Bell, thank you for coming,” Wilde said, instinctively taking a step back from the woman’s unnerving expression.

  Bell entered the vault and looked at the walls and surfaces disdainfully. “I will remind you, Inspector, that I do not make a habit of leaving my surgery every time the Legion of Peace discovers a new corpse. I was told that this incident would be of great interest to me. For your sake, I do hope the message I received was correct on that point.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed, Doctor.” Wilde motioned toward the corpse that lay near the safe. “This way please.”

  Bell nodded curtly and followed Wilde across the vault. With very precise and deliberate movements, she set her surgical box down on the floor and then removed her hat and gloves, which she held out for Wilde to take. After a moment’s hesitation—during which, Bell’s expression became very impatient—Wilde accepted the accoutrements with a measured sigh. Bell knelt on the vault floor with little attention to propriety and drew back the sheet covering the corpse. What she saw made her blink in astonishment.

  “Inspector Wilde, please accept my apologies,” she said. “This is most certainly worth the inconvenience of travel.”

  The corpse was a man rapidly approaching middle age, with neatly trimmed sideburns and a short moustache. His face was frozen in an expression of utter shock, and he appeared to have died rather abruptly. The cause of death was obvious: the left side of his chest had been horribly burned, and a hole had been cut directly through his heart. It was a ghastly sight, although there was remarkably little blood to be seen in spite of the wound’s location.

  Bell placed a pair of multi-lens spectacles over her eyes and began inspecting the wound with a probe, every so often making a “hmm” sound to indicate something of great interest. At length, she sat up again and narrowed her eyes in thought.

  “Most remarkable…” she mused.

  Mueller crouched by the body and peered at the hole. “What is it, Doctor?” he asked.

  “Most remarkable indeed.…” Bell looked at Mueller, her reverie broken. She removed her spectacles and set them back inside her case. “To put it simply, my good Inspector, this is one of the most remarkable corpses I have ever had the pleasure of examining.”

  Wilde crouched down to join them. “I don’t think ‘pleasure’ is quite the right word for this, Doctor.”

  Bell gave him a disapproving look. “It is, Inspector. And I will thank you not to interrupt with trivialities of vocabulary.”

  “Uh…right.…”

  “What is your analysis, Doctor?” Mueller asked, steering Bell’s attention away from Wilde.

  “The cause of death appears to have been a trauma-induced heart attack, caused specifically by the burning of a hole through the heart itself. Whatever caused the burning appears to have cut a line across the man’s side before boring through the chest itself.”

  “What caused it?” Wilde asked.

  “That is the question that puzzles me,” Bell replied. “Whatever it was, it scorched the flesh and clothing it came into contact with, but it did not set them aflame. As you can see, the burns as extremely localized, constituting the area of approximately a fingertip. I would have thought this to be caused by a cutting torch, presumably the same device used to open the safe, but I am quite certain that would have caused secondary burning of the surrounding materials.” She snapped her box shut and slowly picked herself up off the floor. “In all honesty, gentlemen, I am at a loss for an explanation.”

  Wilde exchanged nods with Mueller. “Looks like it’s time for some footwork.” He turned to the bank manager. “We’re going to need the address of Witherspoon Machine Works. I assume you have it on file.”

  “Of course, Inspector. Just a moment, if you please.” The manager hurried out of the vault, holding out hope for a speedy recovery of the stolen property.

  Wilde turned to Bell. “Doctor, thank you for your assistance. We won’t keep you from your work any longer, although we’ll have the body sent along to your establishment. If your autopsy comes up with anything else, especially a profile of the weapon used, please send a cable to Headquarters.”

  Bell replied with a soft smile, which was extremely unnerving against her otherwise cold expression. She took her hat and gloves back from Wilde. “Actually, Inspector, I must confess I am intrigued by this corpse in a way I have not been in quite some time. I would like the opportunity to study the weapon that caused this wound firsthand. If it is all the same with you, I will accompany you on your investigation. Perhaps my medical expertise will be of some assistance as your search progresses.”

  Wilde and Mueller exchanged looks again.

  “I’m not so sure…” Mueller began.

  “It’s out of the question,” Wilde said, more forcefully. “We can’t simply bring a civilian along during an investigation. Not without good reason, anyway. It would be against protocol.”

  Mueller pointed at Wilde. “What he said.”

  Bell’s smiled widened even as her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Is that so? Perhaps I should speak to your Chief Inspector regarding this refusal to accept the help of a valuable diagnostic resource. I suspect she will be displeased.”

  Wilde scoffed. “The Chief will be ‘displeased’ because at this hour of the morning she’s only into her second cup of coffee and she’s staring down a mountain of paperwork that some idiot clerk thought needed to be placed on her desk before she arrived.”

  “And she was up all last night finishing a report on gang activity down in the slums,” Mueller added. “She wasn’t in a good mood last I saw her. If someone disturbs her, she’ll be furious.”

  Wilde closed his eyes, realizing what they had just said. “Oh, Hell.…”

  “Well, shall I disturb the poor dear about your refusal to accept my assistance?” Bell aske
d. When no answer was forthcoming, she turned toward the door with a flurry of skirts. “Then I suppose I shall.”

  Wilde held up a hand. “Stop!”

  Bell looked back over her shoulder with a wicked smile. “Yes, Inspector?”

  Wilde’s expression was firm, but he accepted what he hoped would be the path of least aggravation:

  “Okay,” he said, “you may come with us, on the condition that you do exactly what I say, when I say it.”

  “But of course, Inspector,” Bell replied, bowing her head and seeming almost sincere. “I wouldn’t dream of causing you any trouble.”

  * * * *

  Despite Wilde’s deep misgivings, Bell proved to be as good as her word. She remained quiet as they drove to Witherspoon Machine Works, reading a small monograph in the back seat of the motorcarriage. At the Witherspoon offices, she followed Wilde and Mueller demurely into the building and said nothing as they explained their business to the secretary in the lobby.

  After a short wait—reduced by a careful application of Wilde’s winning smile and public reputation—they were taken to the private office of Mr. Witherspoon. Witherspoon was a curious amalgamation of a man: a brilliant engineer with the eyes of a ruthless businessman. His appearance was slightly unkempt, but he smiled gamely as he shook hands with Wilde and Mueller.

  “Inspectors, have a seat,” Witherspoon said, sitting behind his cluttered desk, which had been covered by all manner of papers and small curiosities and apparatus. After a moment, he took notice of Bell, who had been partly obscured behind Wilde. “Um…who is this, may I ask?”

  “I am the medical consultant,” Bell replied, her expression remaining blank. Without another word, she took a seat a short distance away and returned to her book.

  Witherspoon turned his attention back to Wilde and Mueller, immediately sizing them up. He instantly recognized Wilde, whose face was a common sight on the various recruitment posters plastered around the city. Mueller was less recognizable, but his appearance was slightly disheveled, similar to Witherspoon’s, and this seemed to satisfy Witherspoon after a moment’s thought.

  “Well, gentleman, how can I be of service?” Witherspoon asked. When Wilde opened his mouth to speak, Witherspoon added, “I must remind you, however, that I am an extremely busy man. Please keep this brief and to the point.”

  Wilde cleared his throat and kept his face serious. “Mr. Witherspoon, I’m afraid it’s my unfortunate duty to inform you that the safe your company holds at the Martins and Wentworth Bank was broken into last night and its contents stolen.”

  Witherspoon’s eyes fairly bulged out of his head, and he stared at Wilde with his mouth half-open. “What?”

  It was Mueller who spoke next. “I’m afraid so, sir. Sometime this morning shortly before first light, parties unknown broke into the bank and managed to make off with the contents of your safe.” Mueller specifically avoided mentioning the murder.

  “Do you have any idea who might have a motive for doing such a thing?” Wilde asked.

  “And, perhaps more importantly,” Mueller added, “just what was in the safe?”

  “I—” Witherspoon snapped his attention to Mueller. “What?”

  “What was in the safe?” Mueller repeated.

  Witherspoon drew himself up a bit. “Valuable property of my company, Inspector.”

  Mueller sighed. “So I would assume, Mr. Witherspoon. But what was it? If you can tell us what would have been taken, we will have some idea of where to look if the thieves attempt to sell it.”

  Witherspoon remained evasive, but it was evident that he was seething with anger at the sudden news coupled with the invasion of his privacy. “Inspectors, I can tell you exactly who was responsible for this crime!”

  Wilde and Mueller exchanged looks.

  “Oh yes?” Wilde asked, removing a small notebook and pencil from his breast pocket. “That would save us a great deal of trouble. Who do you believe is responsible, and what grounds do you have for your accusation?”

  “Viktor Zagreb, a former employee of mine.”

  “And why would he go to all of this trouble?”

  Witherspoon had a displeased expression. “He left my employment recently, under some rather unfortunate circumstances. He even convinced his assistant, another employee of mine, to leave as well! And without giving notice! Then, just two weeks ago, someone broke into the building and tried to make off with the contents of my office safe. The night watchman interrupted before anything could be taken, but it was a shock. That’s why I had the contents transferred to the bank. And let me tell you, there’s only one man who would have risked breaking into my office just to slight me.”

  Mueller cleared his throat. “Mr. Witherspoon, if we’re going to retrieve your property, we’ll need a little more explanation than that. The intrusion in your office aside, a bank robbery is a bit excessive for a disgruntled former employee.”

  Witherspoon sighed and drummed his fingertips on his desk. “Very well, Inspectors. Mr. Zagreb was one of my engineers. He immigrated to Salmagundi from the Empire last year and came to me with a solid letter of recommendation. I brought him into my employ, set him up in company housing…and then a few weeks ago, he had the audacity to try to demand money of me! I refused, of course, and then he left my employ, furious as if I had been the one to slight him! Can you believe that?”

  Bell could be heard snickering in the background, but when eyes were turned toward her, she was reading her monograph as if nothing had happened.

  “Mr. Witherspoon, please elaborate,” Mueller said, sighing a little in frustration. “How much did he demand from you? What were the circumstances?”

  “Is this strictly necessary?” Witherspoon demanded. “I am a busy man and I have work to attend to. My property was stolen! Now can’t you go out and arrest the thief?”

  “Not without reasonable cause to suspect him,” Mueller replied. It was a lie of course.

  “Outrageous—” Witherspoon began.

  Wilde rose to his full height and slammed his fist on Witherspoon’s desk. “Heaven’s Name, man! Just tell us what was in the bloody safe!”

  Startled at the outburst, Witherspoon fell silent and swallowed visibly. After a long pause, in which he tried and failed to meet Wilde’s stare, he adjusted his necktie and cleared his throat.

  “As I said, it was a collection of documents.”

  “What kind of documents?”

  “Patent documents, if you must know. My company recently developed a technology that will one day revolutionize the telegraph business. I’m certain you understand the value in that.”

  In the background, Bell arched an eyebrow and looked up from her reading. Her curious expression was mirrored by both Wilde and Mueller, who exchanged looks and then peered at Witherspoon.

  “How?” Mueller asked.

  Witherspoon sighed in frustration. “Inspectors, need I remind you that I am a taxpayer? I have rights, unlike the unwashed masses you regularly deal with. And yet, here I am, the victim of burglary, and you have the audacity to demand private details of my business?”

  Wilde leaned over the desk and growled at the obstinate Witherspoon. “Sir, we are trying to ascertain who would have both the interest and capacity to steal your property. And yet, even though time is of the essence, you drag your heels as if it were not important to you. Just tell us what we want to know, so we can do our bloody jobs!”

  Behind them, Bell could be heard clearing her throat. “Mr. Witherspoon has given half of the answer already,” she said. “The documents clearly pertain to telegraph technology. Perhaps a more advanced switchboard system or a more reliable form of cable. What matters is that Mr. Zagreb is the first and only suspect in Mr. Witherspoon’s mind, which suggests to me that Zagreb has a personal interest in the patent.”

  While speaking, Bell had stood and very slowly crossed the office until she stood at the edge of the desk, watching Witherspoon with an unwavering gaze reminiscent of a serp
ent observing a mouse. Witherspoon shifted uncomfortably in his chair and kept his eyes fixed on Wilde.

  “Yes, all right!” he finally exclaimed. “The patent is for a new form of optical telegraph. It uses pulses of light to transmit the signals over distances without the need for wiring.”

  Mueller’s jaw fairly dropped. “That’s…that’s.…”

  “Ingenious,” Bell finished for him.

  “If you use light, you don’t need the expense of telegraph lines. You could even transmit from one ship to another without needing to worry about couriers.”

  “You can do that with a wireless,” Wilde scoffed.

  “One can also listen in on wireless signals,” Bell said. “Just as one can do with the electronic telegraph. A light-based system would be almost impervious to interception.”

  Witherspoon smiled a little. “It’s also much faster than electricity, which is of little significance now but will one day be very important. The technology is still too basic to change the world…yet. But in five or ten years, a modern optical telegraph will set the new standard for communications, and my company holds the patent. It is very important to us that we maintain control of this technology.”

  Wilde frowned, troubled by a certain inconsistency. “Mr. Witherspoon, you say you suspect Zagreb of stealing the documents from the bank and of breaking into your offices before then for the same purpose.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did Zagreb know about the new technology and what it might be worth?”

  Witherspoon was uncomfortably silent.

  “He invented it, didn’t he?” Mueller asked.

  There was a lengthy pause. “Yes, he did,” Witherspoon finally admitted. “Apparently he’d had the idea for some time but lacked the resources to develop it. When I employed him as an engineer, I gave him those resources. He developed the technology for me, and that was that.”

  “I’m not surprised he asked for a raise, though,” Mueller said. “He must have known how valuable his work was to you. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t give him one to secure his loyalty.”