The Cheater's Game: Glass and Steele, #7

by C. J. Archer

  That explained Emmett's LeCoultre watch being in her room. "You took the watch back to your lodgings?" I asked.

  She nodded.

  "If he gave you the watch, why did you return to the lane the following night?" Brockwell asked. "The night he died?"

  I didn't like his accusatory tone. Dotty was a victim, not the murderer, and she was battling through her pain to help us.

  "A watch, no matter how fine, wouldn't sell for enough money to keep me and a baby for long," she said.

  The money from the sale of a LeCoultre should keep her for a year if she lived frugally. But she would need Emmett's ongoing support, not just a year's worth of funds. Finding work while taking care of a young child would be very hard.

  "We argued," she went on. "I said some cruel things. Things I regret now." She closed her eyes and took a moment to gather her composure before opening them again. "He wasn't a bad man. If it wasn't for his occasional outburst, he would be wonderful."

  "But people were after him," I said. "People who thought he cheated them and wanted their money back."

  She nodded.

  "So you met Cocker in the lane on the night he died," Brockwell said, his pencil hovering over the notepad. "You argued about money and the baby. And then what?"

  "I left. It was late. The saloon closed and there was no one about. I walked down the street and was some distance away when I heard a gunshot." She swallowed and her face twisted with pain.

  I offered her water from the jug but she shook her head.

  "I raced back to the lane," she went on. "It was dark. Too dark to see properly, but I saw the body lying on the ground and suspected it was Emmett. I couldn't see if he was alive. I was about to go further into the lane when something in the shadows moved. The same time I realized someone was there, I also heard a click. I've been around guns my whole life and I knew that sound was a revolver's hammer striking the primer."

  "The barrel was empty," Matt said, enthralled by her tale. "There were no more bullets."

  She nodded. "You don't know what relief is until you're shot at but no bullets are fired."

  "The killer must have assumed you saw his or her face," Brockwell said. "He or she didn't want you identifying them to the police." He indicated her bandaged throat. "Hence the attack."

  "What did you do?" I asked.

  "I knew I had to escape," Dotty said. "I thought I could outrun him. I just had to get to a busy street first. So many thoughts jumbled through my mind in mere seconds, but I didn't even get the chance to turn." She frowned. "It happened so fast."

  "Was there someone else in the shadows closer to the entrance of the lane near you?" Brockwell asked. "An accomplice who wielded the knife?"

  She shook her head.

  "Did the killer throw a knife then?"

  She touched the bandages at her throat and swallowed. "It wasn't a knife that did this. It was…" She shook her head. "It sounds ridiculous. You won't believe me."

  "We'll believe you," I said on a rush of breath.

  "It was a deck of cards."

  A deep and profound silence settled over us. We knew of only one person who could turn cards into weapons—Melville Hendry, the paper magician.

  "A breeze must have whipped them up." Dotty shook her head at me. "But I don't remember feeling one. And cards can't do this, no matter how strong the wind."

  "Perhaps you were mistaken," I said weakly. What else could I say? I couldn't tell her the truth. "Did the killer think you were dead? Is that why he left you there?"

  "I suppose. He didn't stop to check but ran right past me as I lay there. I managed to crawl out of the lane before I fell unconscious."

  "That explains why the baker saw you but not the body of Emmett Cocker," Brockwell said. "Even so, he should have reported picking you up that night after reading about Cocker's murder."

  "Not everyone reads the papers," Matt said.

  Dotty touched the bandage at her throat. "If the baker hadn't found me and brought me here…"

  I patted her hand. "Don't think about what might have happened. The good news is you're going to be fine. Once you've recovered, you can return home to America."

  Her lower lip wobbled, and I suspected she was thinking about her lost child. I didn't know what to say to comfort her, so I just patted her hand again.

  "Thank you for your time, Miss Campion," Brockwell said, pocketing his notebook. "That will be all for today."

  "You think I'm mad, don't you?" Dotty whispered.

  I touched the hair at her temple, gently pushing it off her forehead. "Not at all. There are many inexplicable things in this world, and your tale is just one of them."

  "India," Matt said quietly. "We have to go."

  "You should rest now," I said to Dotty. "I'll come back soon."

  Brockwell was already at the ward door when Matt and I caught up to him.

  "Hendry must have assumed Dotty saw him," Matt said as we strode outside. "He didn't realize the streetlight at the lane entrance meant he could see her face clearly but she couldn't see his."

  "I can't believe it's him," I murmured. "He never struck me as a killer."

  "He always struck me as mad," Brockwell said. "Ever since he lied to protect his friend, even though he suspected Sweeney was implicating him. No man in his right mind does that."

  I could have said a man in love did, but I wasn't sure Brockwell understood love. He was far too logical to believe in something he couldn't explain.

  "May I borrow your carriage?" the inspector asked, climbing into the cabin of our waiting growler. "You two can catch a hack back to Park Street."

  "I'm going with you," Matt said, also climbing in. "India, do you have money for a hack?"

  "I do but—"

  "Driver!" Brockwell shouted. "Smithfield! Now!"

  The carriage was away before Matt had closed the door and I could warn them to be careful. I was a little put out that they'd not even considered taking me with them. I was, after all, the only magician of our trio and therefore the only one to really understand Mr. Hendry. At a time like this, and with a man like him, understanding might be needed. At least Matt and Brockwell were smart enough not to confront him inside the shop where weapons in the form of paper covered the shelves and countertop. They would draw him outside first.

  I hoped.

  Darkness had truly settled into every corner of the city by the time I arrived home. Miss Glass and Willie had already dined together informally while Duke and Cyclops were nowhere to be seen. Bristow informed me that Miss Glass had retired early to her room while Willie was in the smoking room.

  I found her sprawled in the wingback chair, one leg dangling over the chair arm, blowing smoke rings. I coughed and opened a window.

  "There you are," she said, waving the smoke away from her face. "Where've you been?"

  "It's a long story, and I don't want to repeat myself. Where are Cyclops and Duke?"

  "Don't know where Cyclops is. Probably drowning his sorrows over not being with Catherine. I s'pose Duke's still watching Dotty's place."

  I swore, earning a snicker from Willie. "My apologies, that was uncalled for," I said. "In our haste to get to the hospital, we forgot he was still there."

  "Hospital! Is it Matt?"

  "No, it's Dotty. We found her." I told her Dotty's story from beginning to end. "Matt and Brockwell have gone to arrest Mr. Hendry now," I finished.

  Willie simultaneously dropped the cigar onto the ashtray and sprang out of the chair. "I got to go to Hendry's."

  "Stay here. They can manage on their own."

  "How can you be so calm? Hendry's magic makes him more dangerous than he looks. I'll fetch my Colt. Go tell the coachman to bring the carriage back round."

  "He's with Matt. I caught a hack home from the hospital."

  Willie's swear word was far worse than mine. "Then send Fossett to fetch a cab."

  "Willie—"

  "Do it, India!"

  I intercepted her as she s
trode toward the door. "We're not going anywhere," I said, grasping her shoulders. "I know you're worried. I'm worried too. But Matt and Brockwell are both capable men. We'll only get in the way."

  "Spoken like a silly female who ain't good for anything but sitting home and sewing all day." She shoved my hands off. "I ain't that kind of woman, India, and I didn't think you were, either."

  Her words were like a slap to the face, a stark reminder of the differences between us. She was impulsive; I was more rational. She was attracted to danger while I fled from it.

  Yet the sting of her words lingered. I'd never been a genteel female who conformed to type. I'd worked in my father's shop from a young age, and I never took to the domestic arts, although I did them out of necessity after my mother died. I preferred to converse on a broad range of topics, not limiting myself to neighborhood gossip, fashion and marriage. I did not appreciate being called a silly female.

  I picked up my skirts and raced after her. If she was going then I would go too. Someone had to keep her in check and save her from bursting into Mr. Hendry's shop in the midst of a tense standoff.

  The knocker pounded on the front door as we passed through the entrance hall. "That's probably Matt," I said to Willie. "I'll get it, Bristow!" I called out.

  I opened the door and my stomach plunged.

  Mr. Hendry stood on the stoop.

  "Good evening, Miss Steele. I apologize for coming at this late hour, but I need to have a word."

  I froze, unable to think of what to say to this man; this murderer. With each passing second, Mr. Hendry's smile slipped. I ought to say something innocent, but I could think of nothing. I felt as foolish as Willie claimed me to be.

  She nudged me aside and opened the door wider. "Come in, Mr. Hendry."

  "Willie—"

  She pinched the back of my hand and turned on a bright smile for Mr. Hendry. He stepped past her and she closed the door. She stood in front of it, blocking his exit.

  She'd gone quite mad. We had no weapons, yet Mr. Hendry had several. The mail and invitations were still on the hall table beside my reticule.

  Bristow emerged from the shadows at the back of the hall and I beckoned him closer. "Please take the mail and invitations up to Mr. Glass's office then…polish the silver." That would solve two problems—removing the paper products and keeping him out of harm's way. "Oh, and pass me my reticule."

  A small crease formed on Bristow's brow, the likes of which I'd never seen before. His face was usually arranged so agreeably. "I polished the silver this morning, madam. Shall I do it again?"

  "Er, yes. Please do."

  "Very good, madam." He gathered up the mail and invitations, handed me the reticule, and headed up the stairs.

  I pulled my watch from the reticule and pretended to check the time then clasped it in my hand. This new watch had never saved my life like my old one. It hadn't even chimed when Mr. Sweeney threatened our lives. I'd worked on it many time since, yet nowhere near as often as my old one. Whether it was enough to chime in the face of danger or save my life now, I was yet to discover.

  I had a sickening feeling I was going to discover the answer tonight.

  Mr. Hendry's gaze remained on the staircase. "Is Mr. Glass here?"

  "He'll be back soon," I said. "What did you want to talk to him about?" It seemed absurd to have a casual conversation with him, but I wasn't yet sure how to proceed. Confront him and we risked him overpowering us and getting away. It only made sense to confront him if we had a weapon. My fingers tightened around my watch.

  "Empty your pockets," Willie barked.

  I groaned. Clearly she didn't think the same way.

  "Pardon?" Mr. Hendry looked from me to Willie and back again. In that moment, I realized he knew that we knew. There was no point pretending anymore.

  "Empty your pockets," I said. "Remove anything made of paper. Do it slowly and do not utter a word."

  He unbuttoned his jacket and plucked a deck of cards from his inside pocket. He placed them on my outstretched palm. "If you let me go," he said, "I won't hurt you."

  I gave the cards to Willie. "Throw these outside."

  She opened the door wide enough to slip the cards through then shut it again. "I'm deputizing myself and India," she said. "Mr. Hendry, you're under arrest for the murder of Mr. Emmett Cocker and the attempted murder of Dorothy Campion."

  "So she is alive," he said flatly. "I knew I should have made sure." He was so cool and calm, not at all like the emotional man I'd come to know. He'd always seemed so tightly wound, his nerves frayed. Had committing murder changed him? Or had this calculating, cold man lurked beneath the surface all along?

  "You also murdered Miss Campion's unborn child," I added.

  "She was with child?" Mr. Hendry's body caved in, as if all the breath suddenly left his body. "I—I didn't know."

  "We're going to wait here until the police arrive," Willie told him. "India, fetch Bristow back. Send him or Fossett to the nearest police station. We ain't waiting for Brockwell and Matt to return."

  "It's not wise," I cautioned her. "I don't know what his magic is capable of, and I don't want the servants getting injured."

  "All the paper and cards have been removed."

  I would not be swayed. The only way to be entirely sure that Hendry's magic would be rendered impotent would be to render him unconscious. If he couldn't speak a spell, he couldn't fling the papers at us.

  I searched the vicinity but few potential weapons presented themselves. The lamps were all attached to the walls, there were no candelabras, and the clock and vase were too heavy to wield effectively. There were only three potential weapons—the silver salver on the hall stand, the umbrella in the umbrella stand, and Willie's fists.

  She didn't look at me, however, so I couldn't convey the message to her. I inched back to the umbrella stand.

  "I didn't know about the baby," Mr. Hendry said again, hands in the air. "You can't blame that on me."

  "You're a low down son of a bitch," Willie spat. "And to think, we defended you last time. Matt and India convinced the police you were innocent of Baggley's murder."

  "I was innocent!" He wiped his hand across his forehead, which glistened with sweat.

  "Did you come here tonight to ask about the investigation?" I asked. "Is that why you offered to do our invitations? Because you wanted an excuse to come here and check on our progress? You became cross with Miss Glass when she picked up the invitations because you wanted it to be one of us so you could ask questions."

  His fingers twitched and he nibbled on in his bottom lip. He could no longer stand still, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I should have made sure she was dead," he said, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh. "I scoured the papers for any news of her but there was none. I knew she didn't die that night, or it would have been reported along with Cocker's death. Damnation!"

  "Please keep your voice down, Mr. Hendry," I said as calmly as I could. "You don't want to alarm the rest of the household, and nor do we. Let's keep this between ourselves."

  He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and glanced at the staircase.

  "You used Emmett's gun, didn't you?" Willie asked.

  "I don't carry one, but he did. The fool. He let me get close enough that I could retrieve it from him. He wasn't too smart. He didn't realize my intention until it was too late."

  "Why did you kill him?"

  "He was pestering me. He wanted my spells. Every day, he showed up at my shop and offered me something for them. I told him I didn't want his money or anything else he had to offer. That's when he threatened me."

  "With what?" I asked.

  "With exposure. He was going to tell the police he caught me with a boy. You must believe me, I wouldn't do that!"

  "You killed him over a threat?" Willie cried.

  "I couldn't go to jail. I couldn't then, and I won't now. They'll execute me for murder. Do you understand? Have mercy, Miss Steele." He looked like he'd bu
rst into tears or throw himself on the floor and beg.

  "Don't appeal to me," I said. "I have no sympathy for you."

  He moved toward me, stopping when Willie ordered him not to move. He put his hands in the air again. "Let me walk away," he said. "I promise not to harm anyone again. I'll live quietly in hiding. Please, Miss Steele. You understand the pressure I've been put under, how my magic alienates me from the rest of the world."

  "You alienate yourself." I closed my hand around my watch and willed it to be ready if needed. An encouraging flare of warmth responded. I inched back. Just a little further and I would be in reach of the umbrella stand.

  Mr. Hendry's eyes watered and he swiped his nose with the back of his hand. "You can't do this to me, Miss Steele." His voice became high-pitched, panicked. "How could you condemn me to death? We are two of a rare kind. We ought to be protected."

  "Do not compare us. We are not the same."

  He sniffed. "You've been with the artless too long. They've persuaded you into thinking you're something perverted, something that should be suppressed."

  "They've done nothing of the sort."

  But he wasn't listening; his wild eyes looked right through me. There was no point trying to reason with him. "Listen only to those who would applaud and revere us, like Lord Coyle and his friends." He moved toward me again.

  "Get back!" Willie ordered. "Stay away from her!"

  But he kept coming, his hands out—in appeal or to capture me, I couldn't tell.

  I didn't wait to find out. I lunged to the side, throwing myself at the umbrella stand. It toppled over, clattering onto the tiles, and the umbrella slid out, too far away for me to grab.

  I lay sprawled on the floor, Mr. Hendry towering over me. His lips moved with his whisper.

  "Willie!" I cried. "Stop him before he completes the spell."

  "There ain't no paper here no more." Even so, she dived toward him.

  He dodged her and careened into the hall table. The silver salver and clock fell off, smashing on the floor. The noise would have been heard throughout the house.