The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(106)
As he said these last words, he gazed fixedly at the young woman, who was no doubt having regrets for shooting him in the foot. Now they were all going to pay for her bravado, reflected Wells, who despite his fear could not help observing with anthropological interest the simple soul, whose desire for revenge had driven him to pursue them regardless of the fact that the world was falling down around them. His henchmen seemed not to care either: the man with the apelike face and the one who had helped him defend the carriage in the station, a bulky redheaded individual who revealed a row of blackened teeth when he smiled.
“Now let’s see how we can resolve this unpleasant situation,” the lame man resumed with menacing calm, his eyes still fixed on Emma. “I pushed you to the ground, and in return you shot my foot off. Good. What should my response be now, miss?” The porter ogled the girl’s body with intentional crudeness. “Mmm . . . I think I know. And I’m sure your two friends here will have no trouble guessing what I have in mind either, because we men understand each other, don’t we, gents?” He smiled sardonically at Murray and Wells before turning his predatory gaze back to Emma. “If you come upstairs with me willingly, without a fight, I assure you it will be much more pleasurable for us both.”
“If you touch one hair on the lady’s head, I’ll kill you,” Murray interrupted icily.
The millionaire’s voice made Wells think this was not an empty boast. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, there would be few opportunities for him to carry out his threat.
“Ha, ha,” the lame man cackled. “You, kill me? I’m afraid you haven’t got the picture, big guts. Who’s got the gun now?”
“That changes nothing, Roy,” Murray replied coolly, confusing the porter by uttering his name, an effective way of showing that he inspired neither fear nor respect. “Go ahead: kill me, then I’ll kill you.”
“Really? And how do you propose to do that? Can you stop a bullet?” The lame man turned to his companions, looking for support. The two men let out appropriate guffaws. “It looks like we’ve got a genuine hero on our hands, lads.” The porter turned back to Murray, this time with a grimace of pity. “So, you’ll kill me if I touch a hair on the young lady’s head, will you?”
The millionaire smiled serenely. “That’s right, Roy,” he said, in the same tone he might use with a not very intelligent child.
“We’ll soon see,” the lame man hissed defiantly, “because I’m going to do much more than that.”
At that he fell silent, observing Murray with a mixture of anger and curiosity. Suddenly, he knitted his brow, as if he were doing calculations.
“Hold on,” he said. “Where’s the other fellow?”
“There was no one else in the shed, Roy,” the apelike fellow obligingly replied. “Only the lovebirds.”
The lame man shook his head slowly, as though not satisfied with the reply.
“These two were lugging round a drunk fellow, don’t you remember? Go upstairs and have a look, Joss,” he ordered the redhead, gesturing at the ceiling with his chin.
With doglike obedience, the man called Joss began walking toward the staircase. Wells felt his heart begin to knock. He watched the man mount the stairs warily, trying without much success not to make them creak under his considerable bulk, his knife firmly clasped at waist level, ready to be thrust into the guts of any drunkard who might pounce on him. When, after what seemed like an age, he finally managed to reach the top, he vanished down the corridor, stealthy as a cat. Their eyes fixed on the top of the staircase, the others waited eagerly for the redhead’s verdict so that they could resume the matter at hand. Wells waited anxiously for the fellow to announce he had found Inspector Clayton, who in all probability was still fast asleep on the bed. But a few minutes later, they observed Joss skipping blithely down the stairs.
“There’s no one there, Roy.”
The lame man expressed surprise at these words, and Wells gritted his teeth, trying hard not to let his own surprise show. Clayton had woken up, and apparently in time to hide! All was not lost, then. An inspector with Scotland Yard, trained to act resolutely in situations such as this, was hiding somewhere upstairs, no doubt elaborating a rescue plan. Wells did his best to conceal his joy, while the lame man questioned the redhead warily.
“Are you sure, Joss? Did you check every room?”
“Yes, and they were all empty.”
The lame man appeared to meditate, shaking his head mistrustfully. All of a sudden he turned to Murray.
“Where’s the other man?” he demanded.
“He was a nuisance,” the millionaire replied nonchalantly. “He kept getting drunk, so we decided to leave him behind in a ditch. No doubt he’s still there sleeping it off.”
The lout eyed the millionaire suspiciously, while Wells tried his best to control his nerves, thankful that he himself had not been asked, for he doubted he would have been able to tell a lie with the same composure as Murray. After what seemed like an age, the lame man guffawed.
“That’s not a very nice way to treat your friends,” he remarked after he had finished laughing. “But that’s enough chitchat. Now, where were we? Oh, yes: the young lady and I have unfinished business. A little matter of revenge, if I remember right.”
Still fixing them with his malevolent gaze, the lame man passed the pistol to his apelike companion, with the relaxed gesture of one handing gloves to his butler.