"What is it?" The man's voice was gruff and unexpectedly English.
Newbury stepped across the threshold and into the room. Veronica fol owed behind him. The man – whom Newbury immediately recognised as Alfonso – was lounging in a chair, dressed in his shirtsleeves and trousers and smoking a long cigarette, on which he puffed luxuriously. Smoke plumed from his nostrils. He looked up at Newbury, a dour expression on his face. "The show's over.
I think you must have taken a wrong turn." He returned to studying his boots.
Newbury smiled. Al sense of the man's Italian accent had gone, replaced by a Home Counties drawl. "On the contrary. I sought you out in order to offer my compliments, Mr. Alfonso. My name is Sir Maurice Newbury, and this is my associate, Miss Veronica Hobbes."
At this mention of Newbury's honorific, the magician seemed to snap to attention. He glanced at Veronica, seeing her properly for the first time. "Sir Maurice. Please forgive me. I'm sure you will understand that a venue such as this does not frequently attract clientele of the genteel variety." His face cracked into a wide grin. He shifted his feet from where they were perched on a stool and stood, offering Newbury his hand. Newbury took it and shook it firmly. "So, what on earth attracted you to the Archibald this evening?"
"You, Mr. Alfonso. I hear your show has been causing quite a stir in the Home Counties and wanted to see it for myself."
"Really? Well, thank you for taking an interest. And how did you find it? I hope it wasn't a disappointment?"
"No. Not at all. It was most impressive. I was particularly taken with the card tricks. I've been studiously attempting to work out how you managed to effect them al so easily."
Alfonso grinned. "Ha! Parlour tricks. It surprises me that a man of your distinction should be so taken with such trivialities."
Veronica laughed. Newbury was pleased to see that she had taken his cue. "Wel, I for one was struck by how successfully you made that girl disappear. I am quite in awe of you, Mr. Alfonso. She seemed to vanish in a puff of smoke!"
Newbury feigned ignorance. "Yes, indeed! But tel me, what happened to the poor girl? You didn't make her reappear again afterwards? How did you pull it off? I do hope she hasn't disappeared forever!"
Alfonso smiled, shaking his head. "Sir Maurice. I'm sure you don't really expect me to give away my secrets, do you? I've worked for many, many years to develop my act. Many have tried to impersonate it. So far, none have succeeded. I intend to carry the secret to the grave."
Veronica frowned. "But what of the girl?"
Alfonso laughed. "The girl? She's probably on her way home by now. My assistant will have given her the fare for a cab." He waved his cigarette. "Now, I'm afraid I really must press on. I have another show to prepare for the morrow, and the act rather takes it out of me." He looked from Newbury to Veronica and back again. "I appreciate your kind words."
Newbury nodded. "Of course." He took Veronica's arm as if to lead her from the room. Then, just as they were about to turn their backs on the magician, he paused. "How long do you intend to continue your run at the Archibald, Mr. Alfonso?"
"Another week, Sir Maurice. Then I'm taking the show north to Manchester."
Newbury met his gaze. "Excellent. In that case, I'm sure we'l meet again. Good night."
"Good night."
The two investigators took their leave.
Outside, the fog had descended on the city like a thick, wool en blanket, smothering the streets and diffusing the light so that everything seemed to lose its definition, becoming hazy and soft around the edges. Newbury sniffed. The air was damp with the grey miasma. He adjusted his hat and scarf, and then offered Veronica his arm.
The two investigators stepped out onto the cobbled road, pausing to close the door behind them. The artists' exit opened directly onto the street at the back of the theatre. They had taken advantage of the private door, slipping out in order to avoid the crush of people who, even now, would still be spilling out of the front of the theatre following the end of the show.
Newbury glanced from side to side. He could hear horses whinnying in the murky fog, somewhere off to the left. It was likely there were still a few hansom cabs patrolling the area, hoping to pick up fares as the theatregoers stumbled into the night and found themselves drunk and in need of transportation home.
He looked to Veronica, who was bracing herself against the cold. She shivered. "Well, 'The Mysterious Alfonso' wasn't quite the wretch I had anticipated. What did you think?"
He shook his head to indicate the conversation was better left until they were safely out of earshot. "I think that, in places such as this, even the walls have eyes and ears. Let's find ourselves a cab."
Huddling against the chil, Veronica nodded her assent. They edged along the road, fol owing the curb to ensure that they didn't wander too far off track in the thick, wintry fog.
There was a sob from somewhere just to the right of them. A woman's sob, soft and stifled.
"Hello?" Veronica broke away from Newbury, trying to locate the source of the crying. "Hello?"
Newbury fol owed her. The sobbing sound came again. "Veronica. Over here." He approached the shape that loomed out of the fog. It slowly resolved into the form of a young woman, leaning against the wal of the theatre, clearly distraught. He stepped closer, putting a hand on her arm. "My dear. Whatever is the matter?"
The woman looked up. Newbury almost started in surprise. She had a spill of long, dark hair and she was wearing a lilac dress. She was pretty, young, and her cheeks were stained with tears. It was the girl from the theatre, the woman who had disappeared during the show. She looked confused, her eyes searching Newbury's face for the answer to some undisclosed question. When she spoke it was with another sob. "Where am I?"
Veronica, who had moved over to stand beside Newbury, offered her a concerned but quizzical look. "You're outside the Archibald Theatre. You were there to see a show, a magician. Don't you remember getting up to go on stage?"
The woman bit her bottom lip apologetical y and shook her head. She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. "I'm.. I'm not sure. I don't remember." Her voice was a whimper.
Her accent was thick and telling; she was from the East End.
Newbury leaned closer, trying to catch the scent of gin on her breath. He wondered if she were simply drunk. She didn't smel of alcohol, however. She seemed sober, but terribly confused.
And there was the hint of something else, some chemical he found difficult to place. He frowned. "Are you able to recall your name?"
She nodded. "Miss Annabel Myers."
"And do you have an escort this evening, Miss Myers?"
"Yes." She gave another sob. "My brother, Jimmy. He should be around here.. somewhere."
She looked from side to side, but it was difficult to make out anything in the cloying fog.
Veronica smiled, warmly. "Miss Myers. Do you have an address we could see you too? I suspect that, even if your brother is searching for you now, he won't get far in this fog. If we were to see you to your home, I'm sure he would be relieved to find you there upon his return."
The woman stifled her tears. "Yes." And then, more resolute: "Yes, that sounds like a good idea.
I live at my father's house at twenty-six Nelson Street, Shoreditch." She looked down at the palm of her hand, which she held up towards Veronica. Resting there was a smattering of small coins. "I think someone handed me this for my fare. I'm sorry.." She hung her head. "I'm so confused."
"Put your money away, Miss Myers. I'll fetch us a cab." "Thank you..?"
"Sir Maurice Newbury. And this is my associate, Miss Veronica Hobbes."
"Thank you, sir." Miss Myers looked utterly bemused. "Don't mention it. Miss Hobbes, I shal return momentarily with a cab." Newbury made his way towards the sound of horses, somewhere up ahead of them by the side of the road. Behind him, the two women were soon enveloped by the thick, tubercular blanket of smog.