The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(42)

All of a sudden they heard a resounding crash coming from the floor above. The old lady stared up at the ceiling with her eyes open wide, the blood draining from her face.

“He’s here,” she exclaimed in a faltering voice. “The Villain has come for me.”

Clayton took out his gun as he got up from his chair.

“Not if I can prevent it,” he reassured her.

Slipping the book into his coat pocket, and with the terrified Mrs. Lansbury close on his heels, he went over to the door. He unlocked it noiselessly, stepped gingerly out into the corridor, and closed it behind him, leaving the old lady alone inside.

“Lock yourself in,” he ordered in a whisper, “and don’t open the door until I—”

But before he could finish his sentence, he heard the old lady turn the key. Her extreme caution brought a smile to his lips. He turned around, gun at the ready, and confronted the hall stairs, which vanished into the thick gloom of the upper floors. He still did not know what to think of the eccentric Mrs. Lansbury, but one thing was certain: somebody had broken into the house, probably through an upstairs window. He himself had heard the loud clatter on the floor above. And if Doris was the old lady’s only servant, which the thick layer of dust on the banister and the cobwebs draped between its rails would suggest, then only an intruder could have made that noise. Yet whoever it was did not know Clayton was there, and so he had the advantage of surprise. He began to climb the stairs slowly, trying not to let their creaking give him away. He soon realized he had no need to be so cautious, for a loud din of thuds and clatters reached him from upstairs, as if the intruder was ransacking one of the rooms. Clayton hurtled up the remaining steps and found himself on a landing that gave onto a corridor with rows of doors on either side.

Mrs. Lansbury must have moved around in the gloom with the ease of a blind person, since, with the exception of the study, the rest of her house was plunged in darkness. On the landing, the dawn light streamed through the stained-glass window into bands of blue, red, and green, allowing Clayton to move forward without the aid of a candle, but he couldn’t see clearly enough to make out his surroundings plainly. Doing his best to avoid the furniture cluttering the corridor, he crept forward and soon found the door to the room from which the unearthly din was emanating. He stood to one side of it, switched his gun over to his metal hand so as to be able to turn the doorknob with his good hand, and slowly began to push the door open.

In front of him, a room inhabited by shadows slowly began to take shape. Judging from the vague outline of the furnishings, this must be the old lady’s bedroom. But from where the inspector was standing, only part of the room was visible: the door itself blocked off the rest, where the intruder must have been. All of a sudden Clayton glimpsed the man’s figure reflected in a mirror between the bed and a broken window. He watched in silence, unable to believe his eyes. The intruder had his back to the mirror and was busy rummaging through a chest of drawers. He seemed to have the same build as the man who had appeared at Madame Amber’s house. But he himself had locked Sir Henry in a cell before leaving to come here. How could it possibly be him in that room? And if it wasn’t him, then who was it? What most surprised Clayton was that, through the figure, he was able to glimpse fragments of the chest of drawers and even the wallpaper, though hazily at best, as if he were looking through a lace curtain fluttering in the breeze. In the meantime, the intruder was cursing through gritted teeth, becoming angrier and angrier as the old lady’s possessions fell about his feet. Then, through a door that the inspector couldn’t see, he moved into the adjoining room.

Clayton did the same, via the corridor. He found the corresponding door and began to turn the handle as cautiously as before. On the far side of the room, he could dimly make out the intruder’s bulky figure busy with some task, and he stole toward him, training his gun on him. But when he was only a few steps away he could see from the light filtering in from the street that what he was aiming at was an object on wheels with two mechanical arms that ended in a broom and a cloth. Before he could figure out that the intruder had switched on the old lady’s Mechanical Servant, the heavy bookcase on the wall next to him suddenly began to topple over. Clayton raised his right arm to try to stop it, but it was far too heavy and came down on top of him, crushing him painfully against the floor. Just as he felt his ribs about to crack, a savage laugh rang through the room. And then: silence. For several minutes, Clayton remained motionless, dazed by the blow. Had it not been for the Mechanical Servant brushing his face persistently with its broom, he would have passed out. The brushing roused him, and he started trying to ease out from beneath the weighty bookcase. Cursing himself for having fallen into such a stupid trap, he pricked up his ears. After pushing the bookcase on top of him, the intruder had left the room and descended the stairs, and now Clayton could hear him roaring on the ground floor as he stormed through the house, angrily flinging open doors and slamming them shut.

“Where are you hiding, damn you? Haven’t you understood yet that nothing can save you from me? You know what I’m after. Give it to me now and I might kill you painlessly!”

Terrified by the visceral rage in the intruder’s voice, Clayton understood that it wouldn’t be long before he came to the locked door, the one to the old lady’s study. Fearing for Mrs. Lansbury’s life, which he had sworn to protect, Clayton clenched his teeth and, despite the agonizing pain, continued struggling to free himself from the bookcase. At the same time, he was following the progress of the intruder, who appeared to be knocking over everything in his way. Finally, Clayton heard him let out a triumphant guffaw.