Kipps didn’t answer at first. He breathed hard through his nose. ‘It’s . . . acceptable,’ he said at last.
‘Good.’ Lockwood’s eyes glittered. ‘And so we come to the matter of our bet. The deal, as I recall, was that whoever lost this case should put an advert in The Times, praising the winners to the skies and doing some general grovelling. I think you’ll agree that since we located the mirror, we homed in on Joplin, and Barnes has declared us the official winners, those losers must surely be you and your team. What do you say?’
Kipps bit his lip; his tired eyes searched left and right, hunting for an answer. At last, as forced, tiny and reluctant as an earwig being extracted from a crack, the answer came: ‘All right.’
‘Fine!’ Lockwood said heartily. ‘That’s all I wanted to hear. Of course, I can’t make you do it, and frankly I wouldn’t even want to, after fighting hard alongside your team today. Also, I know how you tried to help George and Lucy – and I won’t forget that. So don’t worry. The forfeit isn’t necessary.’
‘The advert?’
‘Forget it; it was a silly idea.’
Conflicting emotions crossed Kipps’s face; he seemed about to speak. All at once he gave a single curt nod. He drew himself up. Trailing small clouds of grave-dust, he stalked off down the steps towards his team.
‘That was a nice gesture,’ I said, watching him go. ‘And I think it was the right thing to do. But . . .’
Lockwood scratched his nose. ‘Yes, I’m not sure he’s too grateful. Ah, well – what can you do? And here comes George.’
George’s injuries had been treated. Aside from a few bruises, and some puffiness around the eyes, he looked in surprisingly good shape. Still, he seemed sheepish; he approached on hesitant steps. It was the first time we’d been alone with him that morning.
‘If you’re going to kill me,’ he said, ‘do you mind doing it quickly? I’m out on my feet here.’
‘We all are,’ Lockwood said. ‘We can do it another time.’
‘I’m sorry for causing this trouble. Shouldn’t have gone off like that.’
‘True.’ Lockwood cleared his throat. ‘Still, I should probably apologize too.’
‘Personally,’ I said, ‘I’m not apologizing to anyone. At least, not until after a nap.’
‘I’ve been snappy with you, George,’ Lockwood said. ‘I haven’t properly taken into account your excellent contributions to the team. And I’m aware that your actions today were almost certainly affected by your exposure to the mirror, and to Bickerstaff’s ghost. You weren’t quite yourself, I understand that.’
He waited. George said nothing.
‘Just a little opportunity there for you to apologize some more,’ Lockwood said.
‘I think he’s dozing off,’ I said. George’s eyelids were drooping. I nudged him; his head jerked up. ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘one thing. One thing I’ve got to ask you now. When you looked into the mirror . . .’
George nodded sleepily. ‘I know what you’re going to say. The answer’s nothing. I didn’t see anything there.’
I frowned. ‘Yeah, but listen – I almost got caught too. I felt the tug, just with a single glance. It was all I could do to pull away. And you looked right into it. Not only that, you said to Joplin that you saw—’
‘“Beautiful things”? Oh, I was making that up. I was telling Joplin what he wanted to hear.’ He grinned at us. ‘The whole thing was an act.’
Lockwood stared at him. ‘But I don’t understand. If you looked into the glass—’
‘He did,’ I insisted. ‘I watched him do it.’
‘Then how did you survive when Wilberforce and Neddles – and everyone else who looked in it – ended up dying of fright?’
For answer, George slowly took off his glasses. He lowered them, as if to clean them on his jumper, and put his finger up against the lens. He pushed – and instead of hitting glass, his finger went right through. He wiggled it from side to side.
‘When I had my scrap with Joplin earlier,’ he said, ‘we each knocked our specs clean off. Mine hit a stone or something, and both lenses fell out. I lost them on the floor. Joplin didn’t notice, and you can be sure I wasn’t going to tell him. So whatever was in that mirror might have been dancing a hornpipe for all I knew or cared. Didn’t bother me at all.’
‘You mean, when you looked at it . . .’
‘Exactly.’ He tucked his empty frames neatly in his pocket. ‘At that distance, I’m totally short-sighted. I couldn’t see a thing.’
30
SECRETS OF THE CATACOMBS!
BLACK MARKET RING EXPOSED
HORRORS OF THE MADMAN’S HOARD
Inside today: A. J. Lockwood reveals all
For several years, The Times of London has speculated on the existence of a sinister black-market trade dealing in dangerous objects related to the Problem. Accusations and rumours have been rife, but hard evidence has been scanty – until now.
Following yesterday’s news of several arrests in Kensal Green and Bloomsbury, we are now able to report that agents from Lockwood & Co. have discovered and broken up a ring of thieves operating in the respectable heart of the city. In a special interview, Anthony Lockwood Esq. reveals how his intrepid team, aided by several assistants from the Fittes Agency, fought pitched battles with dangerous criminals, and uncovered a hoard of stolen artefacts in a haunted catacomb.
Today Mr Lockwood discusses the full paranormal terrors of this epic investigation, including the horrifying Rat-ghost of Hampstead and the Terror of the Iron Coffin. He also traces the web of clues that led to the exposure and death of Mr Albert Joplin, a well-known archivist, who has since been implicated in at least one murder. ‘He was a man too fascinated by the past,’ Mr Lockwood says. ‘He spent too long rootling in the dark corners of our history. Finally, his obsessions corrupted him and took his sanity. In this troubled age we live in, perhaps this is a lesson for us all.’
Full Lockwood interview: see pages 4-5.
‘House of the Rats’ cut-out-and-keep floor-plan and photos: see pages 6-7.
Can Cemeteries Ever Be Made Safe?: see page 25.
Three days after the final events beneath the chapel, we gathered for elevenses in the basement office at 35 Portland Row. We were in cheerful spirits. We’d had a lot of sleep, and we’d had plenty of attention. The great Fittes Fiftieth Anniversary Party was still the most popular subject in the daily papers, but our adventures had been running it close. Not only that, our cheque from DEPRAC – signed by Inspector Barnes himself – had just cleared in the bank. And it was yet another sunny morning.
Lockwood sat behind his desk, with an enormous mug of coffee at his elbow, sifting through the post. Steam coiled slowly from the mug. He was relaxed, his collar unbuttoned; his jacket hung on the suit of armour we’d been given by a grateful client the month before. Over in the corner George had taken down the big black leather casebook and, with a silver pen, was beginning to write up his account of the Missing Mirror. He had a healthy stack of press cuttings, and a pot of glue.
‘Lot of good stuff to stick in for this one,’ he said. ‘Better than the Wimbledon Wraiths, anyway.’
I set aside The Times. ‘Great interview, Lockwood,’ I said. ‘Though I’m not sure Kipps is going to be super-chuffed at being labelled your “assistant”.’
Lockwood looked wounded. ‘I think he gets quite a decent write-up, all things considered. I’m quite complimentary. He might not have been mentioned at all.’