There were a number of questions that demanded answering. Why would a disturbed thief do away with the night watchman so brutally, using only his bare hands? And what would such a savage killer want with a laboratory difference engine belonging to a professor of evolutionary biology?
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he had been sent to investigate two different crimes committed by two different culprits. But who were they and where were they hiding? Were they acting in league with one another? And what of Professor Ignatius Galapagos? What part did he have to play in all this? And where was he anyway?
His mind a jumble of questions and unsettling thoughts, Ulysses found himself at the top of the steps before the front door of his own house. He knocked and was admitted by the ever-faithful Nimrod.
"A good afternoon, sir?" the manservant enquired politely.
"Intriguing is the word I would use, Nimrod."
"Am I to take it that you are working again, sir?"
"Indeed. A most curious case."
"And how was Mr Wormwood?"
"Acidic as ever," Ulysses admitted. "And then, to top it all, I had a run-in with Inspector Allardyce of Scotland Yard."
"How unpleasant for you, sir."
"Indeed."
"Shall I ask Mrs Prufrock to prepare you a light supper? I believe that there is a hock of ham or some smoked salmon in the larder."
"No thank you, Nimrod, I've already eaten. You can let Mrs Prufrock go for the night," he added, only then realising that he had not been to see his cook and housekeeper since his return. But then he hadn't been back twenty-four hours yet, after having been away for over a year. Right now what he really wanted was a moment to himself with a glass of warming brandy in the familiar surroundings of his study to consider what he had discovered so far.
"Very good, sir. Then I should inform you that you have a visitor waiting to see you."
"Really, Nimrod?" Ulysses did a double take, giving the butler a look of genuine surprise. Who else knew he was back so soon? Once the news got out of his return he had expected the information to travel like wildfire but who would have come calling so openly, so early? "It's rather late to be having visitors call isn't it?"
"Precisely what I thought, sir. I suggested she return in the morning but she was adamant that she had to see you this evening, even if it meant waiting."
"She?"
"A Miss Genevieve Galapagos," Nimrod said, his haughty expression having never looked more unimpressed. From his manservant's tone Ulysses could tell that his female visitor was probably young and certainly attractive. What London's most eligible bachelor got up to with the ladies was his own affair - or more usually several ongoing affairs - but it was one area that the otherwise ever-faithful and accepting butler did not welcome being so openly flaunted within the Quicksilver family seat.
"Galapagos?"
"An unusual name certainly, sir."
"And one I have already come across today in another context. How long has she been waiting?"
"I believe it has been about half an hour, sir."
"Then let us not keep Miss Galapagos waiting any longer."
"I took the liberty of asking her to wait in the drawing room, sir."
"Very good, Nimrod."
With that, Ulysses made his way through the dustsheet-shrouded rooms to the sterile, forced informality of the drawing room. Other than the familiar space of his study, and possibly his bedroom, the house still didn't seem fully like home yet. He had been away for too long and in that time too much had happened. It would still take him some time to adjust and the best way for that to happen was for him to throw himself back into London life and involve himself in a mystery he could really get his teeth into. And it appeared that Wormwood had given him just what he needed.
Sweeping into the room in his frock coat, cane in hand, Ulysses startled the young lady who was perched uncomfortably on the edge of the one unshrouded chair, a teacup held in her lap.
There was no doubting that Ulysses Quicksilver knew how to make an entrance. Last night had proved that. It disarmed his enemies and potential allies alike and put him in control of almost any situation.
"Miss Galapagos, I presume," he said, his voice like velvet, and put out a hand.
"You must be Mr Quicksilver," she regarded him shyly through the veil of her fringe. Her expression made it look like she had the weight of the world resting on her shoulders, worry creasing her otherwise flawless features.
She was certainly attractive, still in the prime of her youth - Ulysses judged still in her early twenties. Her ivory features were clearly defined, her almond eyes large and a rich russet. Her rosebud lips were pursed. What little make-up she had applied - a little powder around her eyes, a little rouge on her cheeks and a touch of gloss on her lips - merely enhanced her natural beauty. Her hair was long and a rich auburn that caught the light from the electric chandelier, returning it as a shimmering golden sheen. Her apparel was striking too. She was wearing a tweed suit of the latest cut, the trousers plus fours that ended at the knee, where well-cut suede leather boots that accentuated the toned curve of her calves began, the jacket open enough to reveal the frill collars of the white blouse she wore beneath. Even though she was seated, it was clear that the suit was cut to accentuate the curve of her hips and the swell of her bosom, even though her figure was carefully covered up. The whole was finished with a crimson scarf tied loosely around her neck.
"At your service and please, call me Ulysses. All my friends do."
The young woman broke eye contact, looking down at the cup in her lap, the red of her rouged cheeks deepening and the rumours of a smile curling the corners of her mouth. Ulysses thought he heard a tut of disapproval from Nimrod behind him.
"I am not sure that would be appropriate, Mr Quicksilver," she said coyly.
"Oh, but I insist."
Cautiously his unexpected visitor took his hand. "Then you must call me Genevieve," she said, returning her gaze to his. For a moment Ulysses was lost in those depthless orbs that swam with colour like precious tiger's eye stones.
"Very well, Genevieve. It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Likewise, Ulysses."
She was his now, he was sure of it.
"Now, Genevieve, what can I do for you at this late hour?"
The young woman's face was suddenly serious again. "I do not believe in beating about the bush so I will come straight to the point, Mr Quicksilver," she said nervously. "I mean, Ulysses."
She paused. It seemed to Ulysses that her eyes were glistening with barely suppressed tears. "Go on," he said.
"It's my father. I am dreadfully worried about him. I heard today that there had been an attack at the Natural History Museum."
"And your father is Professor Galapagos?" Ulysses offered. "Professor Ignatius Galapagos?"
"That's right," Genevieve said, surprise replacing concern. "Do you know him, Mr Quicksilver?"
"Ulysses, please," he chided gently. "I have come across his name in my... work. He is a member of staff at the museum?"
"Yes. He works in the Evolutionary Biology department. He often works late, sometimes well into the night, even the early hours of the morning. On occasion he has been known to spend the entire night at the museum."
"He is dedicated to his work then."
"Yes, like no other. It is his passion."
So where was he today? If he was so passionate about his work why not turn up for work on this particular day?
"And was he working late there last night?"
"He was and I haven't seen him since." At that admission Genevieve's shoulders sagged and she returned her tearful gaze to the empty teacup in her lap.
"But, if you will beg my pardon, Miss Galapagos - I mean, Genevieve - you have just said yourself that it is not unheard of for him to spend the whole night in his office."
"Yes, but I eventually went to look for him there today and was turned away by
the police. The museum staff said that there had been no sign of him all day - not since the police were alerted to the attack on the night watchman - and then someone told me that it was his office that had been broken into..."
She broke off again, as grief and anxiety overwhelmed her. Ulysses put a comforting hand on her arm.
"I am worried that my father may have been abducted!" Genevieve sobbed.
"Did you relay your concerns to the police?"
"I tried to, but they weren't interested." That sounded about right. "There was an Inspector Alla... Allardiss?"
"Allardyce."
"Yes, that was it. You know him?"
"You could say that."
"I thought so. He said that I should wait twenty-four hours before filing a missing persons report. The inspector mentioned your name though." Genevieve suddenly seemed tense, flexing her shoulders and shifting uncomfortably in the chair.
"Go on, you can say what you like. I won't be offended; not if it's what Allardyce told you."
"Well," Genevieve went on, still struggling with both anxiety and embarrassment, "he was rather... disparaging. But I didn't really like what I saw of him so I decided that if he didn't like you, you might actually be more willing to listen and help me. I understand that I can hire your services, for a suitable fee. I have some money saved..."
"Don't worry about recompense just at the moment," Ulysses said, interrupting her.
She suddenly smiled through the tears. Genevieve took both Ulysses' hands in hers and he was suddenly aware of the heady scent of jasmine flowers as she moved.
"Oh, Ulysses! You will help me then?"
Maybe it was something about being a Quicksilver, but Ulysses simply couldn't resist a pretty face, and when that pretty face belonged to a damsel in distress it made any attempt at resistance even more futile.
"I will do what I can."
"When can you start?"
"Well, as the saying goes, there's no time like the present." Ulysses turned to his manservant. "Nimrod, we're going out."
"You would like me to fire up the Phantom, sir?"
"Yes, I think our guest deserves better than a hansom at this time of night, don't you?"
"Will Miss Galapagos be joining us, sir?"
Ulysses looked to Genevieve. She smiled at him weakly, looking at him from beneath long luscious lashes. She nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Yes, she will."
As he guided Genevieve from the room, Ulysses turned to his dour-faced manservant and gave him a manic grin. "The game is afoot, Nimrod."
"So it would seem, sir."
"Oh yes, the game is most definitely afoot. It feels good to be a player again. This is just what my life has been missing."
CHAPTER FIVE
Galapagos
The automobile purred through the sodium-lit streets, passing flickering broadcast screens on every street corner and the massive advertising hoardings of the mega-corporations. The spider's web of the Overground was black against the smog-laden velvet blue of the night above them. The vehicle passed chugging hansoms, its sleek silvered chassis glittering with the reflected lights of the city. Its engine running almost soundlessly, the car turned into Queen's Gate gliding past the wrought-iron railings that enclosed the Royal College of Music, the bold beams of its headlamps washing over the beggars and streetwalkers that lined the road before sweeping past them.
There was little traffic at this time of night. It would get busier again when the night owls were done with their revels. Nimrod turned the Mark IV Silver Phantom onto Cromwell Road. Ulysses looked out of the window at the cathedral-like towers of the museum, a shadow cut-out of the backdrop of South Kensington behind it.
The car pulled up smoothly outside the main gates and Nimrod turned off the engine. Ulysses opened his door and stepped out before helping Genevieve from the car, taking her hand gently in his. He could not help but take a lingering look at her legs as she climbed gracefully out of the Silver Phantom.
Genevieve looked up at him and, for a moment, their eyes met. He smiled confidently. The smile she returned was somewhat more demure and a moment later, she was the one to break eye contact.
As Genevieve adjusted her jacket Ulysses bent down through the open car door to speak to his manservant. "Nimrod, I want you to wait here just in case our investigation flushes something out."
"You think the killer could still be inside?"
"It's just a hunch - a feeling I have."
"Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?"
"Nimrod, you sound like someone's dear old nanny," Ulysses chided. "We'll be all right. I'm carrying protection," he added, patting the breast of his frock coat. "And besides, Her Majesty's finest Metropolitan Police will be able to keep an eye on us too."
Two robot-bobbies stood before the entrance. Nimrod looked at Ulysses, saying nothing but raising an eyebrow in undisguised disdain.
"Stop fussing, old chap," Ulysses said with a smile. "If I can survive the horrors of Kathmandu and the slopes of Mount Manaslu then I think there's little the Natural History Museum of South Kensington can throw at me that I won't be able to deal with."
"Is there a problem, Mr Quicksilver?" His new client was at his shoulder.
"No not at all, Miss Galapagos," he said, turning away from the driver's window with a dramatic swirl of his coat tails. "And please, call me Ulysses. I insist."
"Of course. Is there a problem then, Ulysses?"
"You know how it is, you just can't get the staff," he said, guiding her towards the entrance.
As they climbed the slope that led to the stepped entrance Genevieve suddenly hung back. "What are we doing here, at this hour?" she asked.
"What?" Ulysses asked, genuinely taken by surprise. "I thought it was because you had just hired me to find your missing father. And seeing as how you say he was last seen here it seemed like the logical place to begin our investigation. As to why at this late hour, it also seemed pertinent to be about our search straightaway."
Genevieve looked at him. There was a glistening sheen in her eyes, the rumour of tears. "That's not what I meant."
Ulysses stopped and took both her hands in his. "If anyone can find your father, I can. I assure you."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"You have come here to find the truth," he said quietly, his words heavy with meaning.
"Yes, I have," Genevieve agreed.
"Then just remember that the truth is not always the same as what is good or for the best."
Genevieve squeezed Ulysses' fingers tightly.
"It will be all right."
"Will it?" she challenged.
Now it was Ulysses who said nothing.
Genevieve smiled at him, her eyes still wet. "Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For trying to spare my emotions."
"Come on," he said, "the truth awaits."
Ulysses mounted the steps at a jog, whipping his cardholder out of his jacket even as one of the automata-peelers initiated its own challenge with the words, "'Ello, 'ello, 'ello. What can I do for you sir? The museum is closed to the public for the night."
In the ambient light of the street lamps Ulysses' sharp eyes could make out the drone's nameplate quite clearly, as the robot scanned the card revealed inside the small leather wallet. "Ah, Constable Palmerston. We meet again."
The second drone - one Constable Disraeli - said nothing, but merely kept its ruby gaze fixed on Genevieve who stood a step or two below Ulysses.
"Indeed we do Mr Quicksilver, sir."
"And I think you will be able to recall from your memory-records your words to me at that juncture."
"Why, of course, sir," Constable Palmerston said in his synthesised voice. "I said that if there was anything else I could do to help..."
"And I said that I would be sure to find you. Well, here I am."
"What can I do to help, Mr Quicksilver?"
"My guest and I would like to examine the scene o
f the crime again."
"Inspector Allardyce ordered that you are not to be readmitted, sir," the constable reported without emotion.
For a moment Ulysses was taken aback. Genevieve looked at him anxiously. "Did he now?"
"Yes, sir."
"You scanned my card, constable. Then you will recognise whose authority I am here under."
"Yes, sir."
"Then you won't try to stop me if I enter this museum and examine the crime scene again, will you?"
"No, sir."
"Very good, constable. Keep up the good work," Ulysses said jovially as he marched past the two drones and pushed open the door. Genevieve followed, casting nervous glances at the two towering automata as she hurried after him. "Don't worry, they're ultimately on our side," Ulysses said, smiling darkly.
He might sound jovial, but inside he was fuming. How dare that little oik, Allardyce, try to stop him coming back here! What was he trying to hide?
Ulysses' steps rang on the polished stone floor of the entrance hall. Ahead of him the fossilised diplodocus gazed back across the millennia with its eyeless stare.
What was Allardyce trying to hide? Probably nothing. He didn't have the wits to. By now he would have decided that the wretched night watchman had been killed by his disturbed burglar and would have practically put the case to bed. Besides, in Allardyce's opinion, what could possibly have been worth stealing from an evolutionary biologist? Nothing that was worth him wasting any more police time over, that was for sure.
Passing the skeletal leviathan Ulysses climbed the grand staircase to the first floor and made his way to the Darwin Wing once again.
The place was deserted. There was no lingering police presence. There were no lights on anywhere in the museum either. Ulysses rather suspected that after the death of the watchman and the possible disappearance of one of their own, any other scientist who was in the habit of working late had decided that an early night was in order. Not that he needed any artificial light to see by. Here in the gallery, the monochrome light of the moon and the orange glow of the city's lights filtering in through the tall windows were quite enough.
Pax Britannia: Unnatural History Page 5