“You’re not going in alone, sir?” asked Mary.
“With all armed-response teams tied up with the Jellyman, it doesn’t look like I have a great deal of choice, does it?”
“It’s against regulations, sir.”
“True, but Baker’s hurt, and I don’t leave a man down. I’ll call when I can.” He took Mary’s mobile, switched it off and put it in his top pocket.
“Take care, sir.”
Jack looked at Mary’s anxious face. “Thanks.”
Jack approached the bizarre house warily. He knew that his decision went against every police procedural recommendation that had ever been made, but while an officer lay wounded inside, he felt he had to do something. He ducked behind one of the giant bronze anteaters and heard Baker cry out again. He ran forwards and stepped carefully inside the house. The lights were off, the interior dingy, and someone, somewhere, was playing the violin. While he paused to let his eyes get used to the gloom, a polite cough made him jump. He wheeled around and came face-to-face with… Ffinkworth.
“Good morning, Inspector,” said the butler solemnly. “I trust you are quite well?”
“I think you’d better leave, Mr. Ffinkworth. Lord Spongg is armed and dangerous. I don’t want any civilians hurt.”
Ffinkworth seemed miffed to be referred to as a “civilian.” He stared at Jack with his sharp green eyes for a moment.
“Indeed, sir. I hardly think I am in any danger from his lordship. The Ffinkworths have served the Sponggs faithfully for over a hundred years, and I sincerely doubt that his lordship would find it in his heart to end such a favorable alliance. If I get caught in what is referred to as a ‘crossfire,’ I am quite confident that my Kevlar vest will protect me, sir.”
He tapped his chest, and Jack could see that the butler was indeed wearing body armor. He hid a smile. Ffinkworth looked impassively ahead.
“Even so,” returned Jack, “I think you’d better leave.”
“In good time, sir. Can I offer you a small glass of Madeira? The house, it is generally agreed, looks easier after a small tot of firewater.”
“No thanks. Did you see another officer come in here?”
“Certainly, sir. Constable Baker has, I understand, been shot in the leg. He is in some considerable pain but not yet in danger of expiration. Will that be all, sir?”
“Where are they?”
“His lordship is in the west library. Mr. Baker is with him. He is held, sir, in what I believe is referred to as a ‘hostage situation,’ sir.”
Jack looked at the several corridors that led out of the entrance hall. “Which way is the library?”
“I am sorry sir,” replied Ffinkworth loftily, “but I have been instructed not to offer you any help. If you require anything else, please do not hesitate to ring.”
He bowed stiffly from the waist and disappeared down through a trapdoor like someone in a conjuring trick.
Jack looked around and then walked slowly up the ornately carved wooden staircase. All the steps were of different heights and depths, and it was difficult not to stumble on the polished wood. As he was watching his feet, his head struck the roof of the entrance hall. The staircase went nowhere, the upstairs hall merely a trompe l’oeil that had been painted on the ceiling. Jack retraced his steps back to the front door. He walked off to the right, leaving the entrance hall, and opened a door at random into what seemed to be a drawing room. It was well furnished and lit by electric light, as the shutters were closed. At the far end of the room was another door, so Jack closed the one behind him and made his way cautiously across. The first sign of anything wrong came when he suddenly felt disoriented and fell over. Mary’s mobile dropped out of his pocket, and he was about to pick it up when it started to move, quite on its own, back in the direction he had just come. It gathered speed, shot under the table and hit the door he had entered with a sharp thud. Before he could think what had happened, he felt himself being pulled by some powerful force in the same direction. He tried to get up but fell over again and then followed the Nokia back to the door, hitting his chin on a chair leg on the way down. He was now back where he had started, but instead of lying on the floor, he found himself actually in a heap on the door, seemingly pulled by some invisible force. He retrieved the mobile and got shakily to his feet. He found, to his astonishment, that he could now stand upright on the wall. The floor had become the wall, the wall the floor. His heart beat faster as his mind tried to make some kind of order of the situation. There was another lurch, and he fell over again, sliding up the wall to the molded ceiling, past two plaster cherubs that grinned at him. He felt panic rise within him, but then a piece of wax fruit from the fruit bowl on the table dislodged itself and fell up to the ceiling, slowly rolling down to where he was sprawled on the cornice. In a flash Jack realized what was happening. The room was slowly revolving, with him in it. Once he had figured what was going on, he managed to stand up straight and within a few minutes had walked across the ceiling moldings, past the chandelier and down the opposite wall. Five minutes later the room had turned full circle, and he opened the far door and stepped out into the house again. He sighed a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall.
Jack noticed that the music had become louder, so he slowly followed its source and, rounding a corner, found Ffinkworth playing the violin.
“Hello, sir,” the butler said genially, “have you found his lordship yet?”
“N-no!” stammered Jack, running a shaking hand through his hair, noticing the silver salver with his undrunk Madeira upon a small table close by. “How did you manage that?”
“Sir?”
“The violin. I heard it when I spoke to you in the hall!”
“Ah,” said Ffinkworth, standing up and untensioning his bow. “As sir has probably found out, Castle Spongg is rarely what it seems. The usual physical laws of time and motion appear to have forsaken its twisting corridors. Caligari was indeed a genius, you know, sir.”
He picked up the salver with the Madeira on it and offered it to Jack. “If sir has changed his mind?”
“No thanks, I—”
“If you will excuse me, sir, I have work to do. If you want to know where his lordship is, I should try the dining room. It is down the corridor on your left.”
Jack looked down the corridor. It seemed to go on forever. When he looked back, Ffinkworth was gone, whisked away through some secret passage that the infernal place seemed to be honeycombed with. A sound made him turn, and farther down the corridor, just opposite a billiard table screwed to the wall with a game apparently in the middle of play, were two large double doors. One of them creaked, and Jack stiffened. He walked slowly up and put his head round the door. There was no one inside, so he entered.