Knox offered her one last, sneering look, his milky-grey eye flicking over her face, then turned and stepped through the door disappearing into the passageway beyond.
Chapter Twenty
N ewbury dropped to one knee, running his hands around the edges of the open hatch in the stage. It was dark below, and there were no moveable lamps with which he could examine the trapdoor more closely. Nevertheless, he could see inside that the drop was around eight feet deep, and terminated in two metal runners that appeared to slope away to the right, dipping under the stage to disappear further underground. Clearly, during the disappearing act, Alfonso would position the girl over the hatch and then foot the paddle, dropping her swiftly into the hole beneath.
Newbury guessed the victim would land in some kind of padded cart or box, which would then rol away on the tracks beneath, depositing the girl somewhere else i n the building.
It was ingenious – a masterpiece of engineering – and having seen the illusion performed first-hand, Newbury knew just how effective it appeared to the onlooker. He rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his chin. The strange thing was that the trap had been triggered at all. The weight of Alfonso's body had opened the hatch – clearly – but what intrigued Newbury was the fact that the cart itself was missing from beneath the stage. The mechanism had been used, but had not yet been reset. A body had been dropped into the missing cart. It could, of course, have been a simple case of tardiness, but in the back of his mind, Newbury feared that if Veronica had come to this dismal place, she may have discovered first-hand exactly how the girls were being whisked away.
Newbury paused, suddenly alert. Somewhere in the shadows, off to the other side of the stage, he thought he had heard a footstep. He waited.
Nothing.
He got to his feet. There! Not a footstep, but something else. The rasping sound of a sword being drawn carefully from a scabbard. Newbury felt himself stiffen. There was someone there, watching him, in the shadows. Someone bearing a weapon. He looked around for something he could use to defend himself. The rack of Alfonso's swords was off to one side, near to the source of the sound. There was the blade sticking out of the magician's rigid corpse, but Newbury knew that it would take him a moment to tug it free, and in doing so he would alert whoever was lurking in the shadows to the fact that he was aware of their presence. That could leave him dangerously exposed.
He considered jumping into the hatch, but with the mechanism already triggered he did not know what to expect at the other end, and did not want to find himself trapped in an underground shaft with no means of escape. His options were limited. Reluctantly, he decided to cal his opponent out.
Unarmed, it was a dangerous course of action, but nevertheless, he wanted whoever it was lurking off stage in plain view.
"If you're going to remain there in the shadows, I'll feel compelled to carry on with my investigation. I don't have time to stand around waiting for you." His voice echoed out around the empty auditorium. He heard a man chuckling in the darkness. And then a figure emerged, drifting out of the shadows like a ghost suddenly adopting corporeal form. The man strol ed -boldly forward, his sword held, unusual y, in his left hand. The blade glinted in the harsh electric light.
"Bravo! Bravo! I admire your panache." The man stopped as he entered the circle of light thrown down by the electric lamp. "So, you're Newbury. How I've wanted to meet my successor."
Newbury blanched. His successor? Then this was the much-maligned Dr. Aubrey Knox. How did he fit into the picture? Was he the one behind the missing girls? And what else? It seemed too significant a coincidence that both he and Ashford should surface in London at the same time. There had to be a connection. Perhaps Ashford really was looking for revenge. Perhaps that's why he was here, after al this time. But now was not the time to ponder on it. Newbury met his opponent's gaze. "Dr. Aubrey Knox. I can't say it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Knox laughed. "We're not so different, you and I. Not so different at all. You shouldn't listen to everything that others tel you, Newbury. Perhaps it is only your misguided sense of duty that sets us apart."
Newbury shook his head. "No, we are not alike. I am nothing like you at all." He was curious to see how the situation would play out. He knew very little of his predecessor, little more than he'd learned in the last few days. He wondered if the man would live up to his fearsome reputation.
Knox came forward, further into the light. "You sound like Charles. How is the old boy?"
Newbury glanced across the stage at the rack of swords. His response was terse. "Well enough."
Knox grinned. "Yes, I always thought the job would wear him down. Stil, I suspect he'll hold on until the bitter end. Wouldn't, be like Charles to throw in the towel." He paused, smiling. "Oh, and Miss Hobbes sends her regards."
Newbury's curiosity about the man ignited into rage. Knox was taunting him. He clearly knew what had become of Veronica; more than likely had a hand in it, also. Newbury sprang into action.
He rushed forward, catching Knox off guard so that he could batter the other man's sword arm easily to one side and bring his elbow up sharply into the pale man's face. Carrying forward with his momentum whilst Knox was dazed, Newbury darted towards the rack of swords, grasped one by the hilt and swept it out from its wooden notch. He spun around, presenting the point of the weapon to Knox.
There was little more than three feet between them. Knox al owed his sword arm to idle casually by his side. He was laughing, spitting blood. "So, perhaps she is more than a pet, after all."
Newbury decided that enough was enough. He could not allow this man to slight Veronica in such a manner. He would wound him, force him to reveal what he had done with Veronica, and then take him in. Or, if it came to it, he would run him through. He lurched forward, the point of his sabre singing out towards the other man's breast.
Knox moved like lightning. One minute, he was standing nonchalantly eyeing Newbury, jesting with him; the next his arm had flashed up in a blindingly quick parry, and he was facing the Crown detective, his wiry body poised, ready for the interplay of the two weapons. He was still laughing as Newbury thrust again, and once more was parried. Newbury had fenced in his youth, but Knox, it seemed, was an expert. He sent Newbury's thrusts wide each time, with only the smal est flick of his wrist. He barely seemed to draw breath whilst doing so. Newbury recognised the tactic. Knox was attempting to tire him out. He could not let that happen. Ceasing his series of ineffectual thrusts, he drew back, his sword at the ready.
"Oh, come, come, Sir Maurice. Haven't you the stomach for a good fight? I was quite enjoying our little tete-a-tete." He shifted again, reaching forward with his blade, his foot stamping the floor as he threw his weight behind the movement. Newbury felt a flash of pain on his right cheek. Knox recovered his poise, and Newbury realised that blood was flowing freely from a cut on his face. He hadn't even had chance to react. He was clearly outclassed.
Knox smiled. He had a superior air about him, as if he were enjoying the encounter, knowing ful well that of the two men, he currently had the upper hand. When he spoke it was almost genial, as if he and Newbury were nothing but two old acquaintances, sharing a conversation at a gentlemen's club. "Fight me, Newbury! I can see the fire behind your eyes. You want to know what I've done with her, don't you?"
Newbury, composing himself, rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. He kept his blade low, ready, waiting. He would not rise to the other man's taunts. "Tell me where she is, Knox, and I shal let you live." His voice was a low growl.
"Hmmm. Quite a dilemma. I didn't have you down as the sort of chap to make idle threats, Newbury. That's a crashing disappointment." He was sneering now, his words dripping with sarcasm.