Rebecca looked up from where she sat, first at Osgood, then at Wakefield. “You killed Daniel! You are nothing but a scoundrel and a liar! A woman could have loved Eddie Trood, with all his faults in the face of a hard world, but never a fraud like you!”
Wakefield's face turned red before his hand went flying out across her face. To his apparent surprise, she did not cry when he struck her. “I shall not give you the satisfaction, Mr. Trood,” she said bitterly, seeing in his raging eyes his anticipation. “I'll weep for my brother, not for anything you could do to me.”
“Ungrateful female,” Wakefield said, turning away from her and replacing his hat on his head. “You have done fine in training her in your species of high-handed failure, Mr. Osgood. Very well. You have made your bed, Rebecca; now you may both lie in it.”
Wakefield turned his back to them.
“Your father!” Osgood said.
Wakefield slowed his steps.
“Your father misses you, Edward,” Osgood continued.
Wakefield sighed longingly. Then, as he turned around again he laughed, harshly this time.
“Thank you. I shall have to see to it that my old man never tells another soul my story who may pick up on the clues as you have done. We'll be paying him a visit back in England, be sure, and Jack Chinaman, and your friend Branagan, too.”
Wakefield disappeared up the stairway
Herman stood grinning toothlessly and raised his walking stick. He swung it at Osgood's satchel, scattering the floor with the pages of the final six installments of Edwin Drood.
Chapter 38
PLEASE, HORMAZD, WE CAN WORK OUT A BARGAIN,” SAID OS-good pleadingly to Herman.
“This isn't a Jews’ marketplace,” replied Herman, momentarily pausing at his given name. “No bargains.” He seemed to contemplate the beastly animal head on his walking stick for a moment. Then he glowered at his prisoners. “The only thing I'd regret, Osgood, is that Mr. Wakefield insisted on trying to persuade her to come with us. Waiting makes me angry. I may even finish you off with my bare hands.”
“Why have you despised me?” Osgood demanded.
“Because, Os good, you think you can be friends with everybody by flashing your smile. You think everybody can be like you.” Herman's answer flew out of his mouth like a confession, showing his real mind more than he intended.
“It's Mr. Wakefield who has made you who you are, Herman!” Rebecca said persuasively. “He made you into a pirate.”
“I was born one, lassie.”
A torrent of footsteps on the stairs. When Herman turned to look over his shoulder for Wakefield, his smug smile dropped away. Osgood recognized a look of confusion in the face of his captor. In a flash, Osgood lunged at him, throwing himself onto Herman's back and putting his arm around his eyes to blind him. Herman growled out and pried Osgood's fingers with his iron grip. Osgood landed on his feet and put up his fists in a boxing pose. Just then, a club slammed against the back of Herman's turbaned head.
Behind Herman, gripping the hook and bill club, stood the man Osgood once knew as Dick Datchery: Jack Rogers.
There was a sickening sound as the club resounded against Herman's skull. But Herman didn't budge, blinking meditatively.
“Ironhead Herman,” Osgood whispered.
“Ironhead?” Rogers repeated in a worried tone.
Herman revolved around slowly to face Rogers, readying his walking stick. Realizing the man was still unhurt, Rogers thrust the spike at the tip of the club into Herman's sternum. This stunned Herman. He dropped his cane and fell to the floor on his knees. With a shout, Rogers swung the club again as hard as he could against Herman's head. It smashed into splinters and sent the hook and spike flying across the room in bits. Herman dropped onto all fours and, drained of strength, blinded by his own blood, he collapsed flat on top of his walking stick.
“Rogers!” Osgood cried, looking from Herman to the former Harper's policeman. “How did you know…?”
“I told you I would repay my debt to you, good Ripley,” said Rogers, breathing heavily. “I'm a man of my word.”
Osgood threw himself on the floor and began to gather the scattered pages of Drood.
“No time, Ripley! There's no time for any of that!” Rogers called out. “Where's Wakefield?”
“He's already gone-probably back to his ship,” Osgood said.
“Come along!”
Securing his treasure in his satchel, Osgood hesitated to take the hand Rogers held out to him.
Rogers seemed prepared for this. “Because it was my duty, I deceived you in England when my conscience told me otherwise. Now my duty is to follow my conscience above all else. You must trust me- your lives depend on it.”
Osgood nodded and stepped over the motionless Herman on the way to the door. Rebecca paused for a moment, tears in her eyes. She looked down at the man on the floor and she brought her heel down onto his back again and again.
“Rebecca!” Osgood took her in his arms. “Come along!”
Osgood's embrace returned her to the present situation and its dangers. She felt more grounded at once with his touch.
Rogers spoke rapidly as they made their way up the stairs. “Ripley, there is great danger about Wakefield-he makes frequent trips between Boston, New York, and England, but I believe the only tea he trades is in his own cup.”
“What did you find out?” Osgood asked.
“By following his men I have located a mountain of evidence, which we must take to the police, of a string of attacks and murders perpetrated by his agents to protect his enterprise.”
“Dickens's words were the only thing that he thought could bring him down,” Osgood said.
“He was right,” Rogers corrected him. “Now we shall do it. Thank heavens I found you in time, Ripley. Stand here with Miss Rebecca.”
As they reached the top of the stairs, Rogers motioned for Osgood and Rebecca to wait. He looked outside for any sign of Wakefield. Determining the way was clear, he waved them to advance. His hired carriage idled across the street in case anyone from Wakefield's gangs of hirelings had watch on the building. The way appearing clear, Rogers signaled for the rescued pair to get into the carriage. As Rogers and Osgood helped lift Rebecca into the carriage, there was a grunting sound from behind them and a shiny object gliding through the air. It was a furiously reappearing Herman, standing at the door to the building, his arm completing the arc of a throwing motion.
Rogers looked up just as the bowie knife pierced his neck. His body plummeted from the steps of the carriage onto the pavement. Rebecca tripped on the bottom of her dress and nearly tumbled down to the street.
“Rogers!” Osgood cried. He kneeled by his rescuer's side, but the man had bled to death in an instant. “No! Rogers!”
The driver cursed and took up his reins and threw back his whip.
Rebecca's ankle had twisted but she still hung on to the handle of the coach. Osgood pushed her back onto the steps and she pulled herself into the carriage just as the horses started into a trot, spinning Osgood away.
“No-Mr. Osgood!” Rebecca cried out, reaching out her hand.
Osgood shouted to the driver to go as fast as he could as the dust and gravel swirled around him in its wake. Herman would only be able to pursue one of them, and it was Osgood who had the satchel with the manuscript. At least Rebecca would be safe.
Osgood ran up Washington Street, grabbing his bandaged ribs as he went, while trying to ease his painful breathing. The Parsee was going to kill him and nothing would stop him; he would demolish anything in his path to do it. Osgood broke into a run with Herman on his heels.
Ahead was the Sears Building, which Osgood knew well as it was the location of his bank. Outside the front door, there was a janitor with a ring of keys locking the front door of the building. Osgood hoped he could make Herman lose his trail inside and escape. He pushed past the janitor and into the building.