The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(160)

“Good morning, Gilliam,” Doyle announced as he approached.

Murray glanced up at him absentmindedly. “Well, well, look who we have here,” he murmured. “What happened to the time-honored tradition of informing people you are coming?”

“I sent you a telepathic message; didn’t you hear me?” Doyle jested.

Murray smiled grudgingly. “No. Clearly I am only receptive during a fire. In any case, Arthur, you and I are probably the only two people in England who possess a telephone. You should use it more often; it is easier than it looks.”

“I telephoned several times, Gilliam! But your servants are clearly too busy to answer.”

Murray shrugged, as if he had no say over what his servants did. He made sure the Venetian mirror was firmly secured, then stood upright and looked Doyle up and down, examining his injuries.

“You’re in a sorry state . . . ,” he muttered as he contemplated Doyle’s ear, his bandaged hand, and his face covered in tiny burns. “Though I imagine the soldier in you is proud of his battle scars. And how is the Great Ankoma?”

“Oh, Woodie has almost fully recovered from his concussion. Although, after what happened at Brook Manor, he seems convinced he is a genuine medium and goes round capturing mysterious presences all over the house.”

“Why don’t you tell him the truth?” Murray asked casually.

“I shall when it ceases to amuse me,” Doyle replied sardonically. Then it was his turn to look Murray up and down. “You’re in a sorry state yourself, Gilliam. How long is it since you slept?”

“I have no time to sleep, Arthur! As you see, I’m very busy.”

“Yes, I can see,” Doyle sighed, contemplating the circle of mirrors. “And what are you hoping to achieve with all this?”

Murray looked at him, irritated.

“What am I hoping to achieve? Why, I am hoping to find Emma, of course.”

“Yes, but, Gilliam . . .”

Murray swung round abruptly and walked over to where a load of mirrors lay in piles or leaned haphazardly against one another next to the conservatory.

Doyle had no choice but to follow him. “Don’t you think this is all rather unscientific?”

“Is that what you came here to tell me, Arthur?”

“No,” Doyle replied in a placatory tone. “I came here to tell you about the meeting George and I had with Inspector Clayton after we got back from the moor, which incidentally you didn’t attend . . .”

“Inspector Clayton . . . Ah, yes, I remember.” Murray scanned the pile of mirrors and seized one with a frame that seemed to be made of solid gold. “A rather awkward one,” he added with a sigh, so that Doyle was unsure whether he was referring to the inspector or the mirror.

Making a huge effort, he resolved to maintain a friendly tone, at least for the moment. “Well, I won’t deny that this Clayton fellow is a little . . . impertinent. And I understand that you didn’t want to see him . . . Wells told me about how determined he was to investigate your time-travel company, and how he even accused Wells of orchestrating a Martian invasion at some point. But wasn’t Inspector Clayton the person Baskerville said we should see before he died, because he had The Map of Chaos? Who else could we have consulted regarding invisible killers, universal travelers, and mirrors that are portals between worlds? We had no choice, Gilliam. And, regardless of all that, you should have come, as it was an extremely interesting meeting,” he added mysteriously.

Murray indicated with a nod that he should pick up the other end of the mirror and help him carry it. Doyle gritted his teeth and did as Murray asked.

“After we had given him a summary of what happened at Brook Manor,” Doyle went on, gasping as they inched their way over to the circle of mirrors, “Clayton admitted that he had The Map of Chaos and told us he had already come across the creature at a fake séance in 1888.”

“Really?” Murray said, signaling with his chin the place where he wanted the mirror to go.

After resting it on the ground, Doyle, out of breath, explained to Murray that the Invisible Man had tried to steal the book from an old lady who had also been at the séance, but that Clayton had managed to stop him. However, he had failed to arrest the creature because he had vanished into thin air, exactly the way he did at Brook Manor when he, Murray, shot him with the crossbow. The old lady had also disappeared, but not before she gave Clayton the book, although she managed only to tell him it contained the key to saving this and all other possible worlds and that he must protect it with his life, for she was certain the creature would come back to destroy it.

“Do you realize what I am saying, Gilliam? The book has been in Clayton’s possession all this time, but for some reason the monster believes Wells has it . . .”

“Yes.” Murray nodded thoughtfully.

Encouraged, Doyle went on. “Good, good . . . So, if what the old lady said is true and the book contains the key to saving all the worlds, and the creature finds it, or if he finds Wells . . .”

“Yes.” Murray nodded again, directing his gaze at his circle of mirrors. “There: I think every corner is reflected now, and that is the most important thing, because she could be anywhere.”

“You aren’t listening to me, damn it!” exclaimed Doyle. “What I am trying to tell you is that your beloved friend George is in mortal danger, and possibly the entire universe to boot!”