Page 111 of The Cabinet of Dr. Leng

Not wishing to alarm, Pendergast advanced noiselessly to the bed where Mary lay asleep, covered by a silk coverlet. A glass of orange juice, half drunk, stood on the bedside table. He stuck in the tip of a finger and tasted it, not surprised to find it laced with laudanum.

Now he leaned over the bed, not wanting her to cry out at the sight of a stranger. Despite his reconnoiter, Munck or some other villain might nevertheless be nearby.

“Mary,” he whispered, gently touching the body covered by silk brocade.

Instantly, he knew something was wrong. The body did not yield to the press of his finger; it was oddly stiff. He gave a harder nudge, surprise and horror rising as he felt the familiar rigidity of a corpse in the early stages of rigor mortis. With an involuntary curse he reached over, grasped the edge of the blanket, and pulled it back to reveal the face of the corpse: lying on its back, eyes wide open, mouth distorted in pain and terror.

71

AFEW MINUTES BEFOREeight o’clock, D’Agosta noted a small, dark figure approaching east on Forty-Eighth Street, walking at an even pace, derby hat pulled down low, upper body swathed in a heavy black cape. D’Agosta squinted into the darkness: was that a limp? The man moved almost invisibly along the sidewalk, as if he were most at home in the shadows. It was the dinner hour, and the street had quieted down, the clip-clop of horses and the bustling of pedestrians much reduced and the peddlers gone home. The gaslights on the street threw out what, to D’Agosta, was surprisingly little light. In fact, the darkness of the city amazed him. There wasn’t an electric light on the entire damn island, the night interrupted only feebly by the gleam of fire. For the first time in his life, he could see stars above the city—a vast glittering bowl of them, arching over the dark buildings—something no New Yorker had seen in over a century, even during blackouts.

Watching the man through the slats, he tensed up: there did seem to be an odd little hitch in the man’s gait, subtle but apparent nevertheless. ItwasMunck. He was taking full advantage of the dimness of the lights, instinctively slipping in and out of the pools of darkness as he made his way toward Fifth Avenue.

As he approached the rear of the mansion, D’Agosta felt his tension ratchet upward. His job was to protect the inhabitants of the house. But Munck was just there to observe the house and its inhabitants…wasn’t he? What if he attempted a break-in? The mansion was well hardened for a building whose construction was not quite complete. But Pendergast’s words rang in his mind:Under no circumstances whatsoever are you to reveal yourself to Constance.

From inside the shuttered newsstand, he watched as Munck slowed his gait, then paused in the darkness at the back of the town house, near the locked and barred entrance to the carriage entryway. Ostensibly it was to light a cigarette: D’Agosta made out the flaring of a match and the brief glow of the tip. Munck was clearly observing the house, staring upward at the lighted windows on the second floor.

D’Agosta began to relax. The man was only spying; he would be crazy to force entry. Besides, what good would that do? He peered through the slats as the figure lingered in the dimness. He tossed away his cigarette and strolled several yards back to the narrow service alleyway behind the town house…with its twelve-foot wrought iron barrier and cruel-looking spikes. No way was this short, gimpy fellow going to get overthat. D’Agosta reassured himself further by feeling for the lump of the revolver in his pocket.

Minutes passed. It was freezing cold in the confines of the shuttered newsstand, made all the more uncomfortable by the tight space and the inability to move about, and D’Agosta felt increasingly stiff. He flexed his shoulders and rubbed his gloved hands together, wiggled his toes in the heavy hobnail boots. Still Munck loitered next to the alleyway, now smoking a second cigarette.

Suddenly, he dropped the cigarette and leapt up onto the iron bars, climbing up the barrier like a damned monkey, scrambling hand over hand with remarkable strength and rapidity. At the top, he vaulted over the spikes, shimmied back down the far side, then disappeared silently into the darkness behind the house. This remarkable display of physical agility had taken all of thirty seconds.

“What thehell?” D’Agosta muttered, staring at the empty spot where the discarded cigarette still burned. Was Munck set on the kind of close surveillance that could not be done from beyond the fence? Or, against all odds, was he attempting to break in from the rear alleyway?

After a moment of agonizing indecision, D’Agosta threw open the kiosk door and darted across the street, head down so he wouldn’t be recognized by a chance look from inside, then flattened himself against the wall next to the alleyway. A gaslight at the far end illuminated its length, and cautiously he looked around.

Munck was nowhere to be seen.

Where had the bastard gone? D’Agosta glanced over at the mansion, where the building met the ground. Then he looked up—and caught his breath in dismay.

From his vantage point inside the newsstand, he’d noticed hours before that all the windows of the structure had been securely shut. But now, a single second-floor window was open, its curtain billowing. He could see that the back side of the town house was composed of dark, unevenly shaped blocks. Higher up, evidence of roof work could be seen in the form of pulleys and hooks, dangling here and there.

The fact the man had decided to do it—that he’d beenableto do it—hit D’Agosta like a blow. But there was no doubt in his mind: Munck had managed to climb the wall…and was now already inside the house.

72

MUNCK LOOKED ACROSS THEempty room to the only door, which gave onto the second-floor hall. This room, he knew from earlier observation, was almost never entered. He would be safe here as he prepared for what the professor wanted him to do.

I shall need the female child intact. Her room shares a water closet with her brother’s. You will need to pay heed to the coachman and avoid rousing him if at all possible. There is also a tutor who lives on the third floor, but he is far less dangerous. The housemaid, cook, butler, and the rest live belowstairs—there is no egress from the basement save in the back kitchen, so if you are discovered you should have no difficulty barring the door and keeping them in the basement. However, it is my hope you will be able to take the child quietly, without waking the house. The security measures I saw during my brief visit were formidable. However, there was a second-story window off the stairway that looked easy enough to force—and I know you have no problem making that kind of entrance.

The professor had been right—the window locks were well made but no match for his expertise or the small set of tools he carried with him.

He placed his ear to the door and listened intently. As in every house, there were many small noises, which he now began to individuate. The two children were in a room down the hall, playing some sort of game…cards, judging from the few words he caught. He could hear the high, piping voice of his target, quarreling good-naturedly with her brother.

The tutor had, indeed, retired to his room on the third floor—Munck had seen his shadow briefly pass by a window—where he was no doubt settling down for the evening with a glass of port, his work done. The coachman was safely on the ground floor, in his apartment next to the carriage station, drinking beer—on the far side of the mansion, unable to arrive upstairs in time to render any aid.

Again, Munck, it is my strong desire that you effect this removal without alarming or awaking anyone. But I realize this may not be possible. Not counting the coachman, there are two people who reside in the house you will need to exercise the utmost caution with. They reside on the second floor, with the children. The Frenchwoman who acts as a private secretary is more than she seems: a snake to be dealt with quickly and mercilessly. And the duchess herself is even more formidable, perhaps exceptionally so; however, under no circumstances can she be killed. Damaged, rendered temporarily powerless, yes; killed, and I fear your own life will be forfeit.

Munck shuddered at this warning. If he failed, he wondered how the professor would choose to kill him, and whether it would involve a great deal of blood.

His ears, sharpened by years of precisely this kind of work, told him a great deal about the house: the Frenchwoman was busy on the first floor, supervising the clearing of the table from dinner, while the cook was in the kitchen kneading dough for next morning’s sweet rolls. The butler and the rest were in their rooms belowstairs.

Munck’s heart beat faster at the anticipation of what was to come. The achievements of his previous life, of which he was justly proud, had been due to his keen senses and animal cunning. These same qualities also served him well acquiring patients for the professor.

The only person whose location he did not know was the duchess herself. She was the most unpredictable member of the household, but he would hear her eventually: she couldn’t remain silent forever. He let his mind relax, allowing the little sounds to come to him, along with snippets of conversation carrying vital information about the household. He inhaled, taking in the scents.

If, despite your best efforts, an alarum is raised in the household, it would be best if you treat everyone, save the duchess and the young boy, with the greatest prejudice; the sensationalism of murder will misdirect the authorities. If this is the path things must take, then you may reward yourself with a short but sweet playtime of bloodletting, before bringing the girl to me.

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