Leafing through the pages, they found recorded all twenty-eight abductions plus the names and ages of each of the chimney sweeps. Disappointingly, this was information that the Beetle had already provided.
Various appointments that had already occurred were noted, though only the dates were given, nothing about the venue or attendees. Indecipherable markings accompanied these entries but Burton, the expert linguist, could see at a glance that they'd be impossible to decode.
There were no future assignations marked.
He sighed. "It was an excellent try, Algy, but no luck, I'm afraid."
"Blast it!" muttered the poet.
"Excuse me, sir," interrupted Mrs. Angell. "There's the hat, too."
"The hat? What hat?"
"The one that horrible albino creature left behind him after jumping through your window. I put it on the stand downstairs. Shall I fetch it?"
"Well done, Mrs. Angell! But you stay put-I'll get it."
He left the room and they heard his footsteps descending.
Mrs. Angell distributed cups of hot sweet tea.
Sister Raghavendra plumped Swinburne's pillow.
He sighed with delight.
Detective Inspector Trounce reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar, glanced at the ladies, and pushed it back in again.
Burton returned.
"I could kiss you, Mrs. Angell. I found this in the hat's inner lining."
He held a small square of paper upon which a few words were written in pencil. He read it to them:
URGENT! 0 confirm: DTs 2909 2300. D y? B y? N y? B.
"More code!" grunted Trounce.
"No, this isn't code, old man. This is simple abbreviation," stated Burton.
"For what?"
"Look at these letter y's with a question mark. The simplest possible answer to a question is either `yes' or `no.' If these y's represent `yes,' then the question mark, it seems to me, is a request for confirmation."
"Ah, I follow you!" exclaimed Trounce.
"And, having just listened to Algy's story, how can we doubt that D, B, and N stand for Darwin, Brunel, and Nightingale?"
"By George! Now it seems obvious! And the 0 is Oliphant, who's being asked to confirm something about them! But who is the second B?"
"I don't know. We'll come back to that. As for what it is this mysterious B wants confirmed, the two sets of numbers give it away: it's a date and a time using the twenty-four-hour clock. The 29th of September at eleven o'clock in the evening. That's this coming Sunday night. A meeting, I'll wager."
"By Jove! You're as sharp as a tack. I'd have been mulling over this note for hours! How about the DTs?"
"Delirium tremens!" suggested Swinburne enthusiastically.
"Silly ass!" Burton smiled. "I'd say it represents the location."
"If there really is a connection between Spring Heeled Jack and Oliphant, as you suspect," said Trounce softly, "mightn't DTs represent Darkening Towers? It was, after all, the home of Beresford, who was suspected of being Jack, and who was also the leader of the Rake movement before he died."
"And Oliphant is his successor!" cried Swinburne.
Burton looked at the Scotland Yard detective with an expression of admiration.
"I'd bet my right arm that you've hit the proverbial nail slap bang on its head! "
"I'm not so sure," grumbled the inspector. "It may just be a coincidence."
"Possibly; but it's a big one. Which just leaves us with the letter B. Who was Beresford's successor to the marquessate? Did he have a son?"
"No, he died without issue and the marquessate became defunct. Dark ening Towers passed to his cousin, the Reverend John de la Poet Beresford, who runs a famine-relief organisation in Ireland and who hasn't ever set foot on English soil. He rents the property, through an agent named Flagg, to one Henry Belljar, a recluse of whom no record seems to exist. Flagg himself has never seen Bell jar; their business has always been conducted entirely by post. So there's your mysterious Mr. B, Captain Burton!"
"It would seem so," responded Burton thoughtfully. "I would very much like to see this Henry Belljar. In fact, on Sunday night, if 0, D, B, and N are going to have a confab with him at Darkening Towers, then I think a third B should be present, too-B for Burton!"
"If you mean to say that you're going to spy on them, then you can jolly well count me in!" cried Trounce.
"And me!" chorused Swinburne.
"No," said Burton sharply. "I'm afraid I have to pull rank on you, Inspector; while you, Algy, are in no fit state. One person can move more quietly than three and I have experience in this sort of business-I was a spy for Sir Charles Napier during my time in India and undertook more than one mission where stealth was required."
"You'll at least allow me to loiter nearby?" grumbled Trounce petulantly. "Just in case you require reinforcements? Surely, though, we could forego the spying and simply raid the place with a squadron of constables?"
"If we do that," responded Burton, "we might never learn the full extent of their plans or lay our hands on Spring Heeled Jack."
"I insist on coming along too!" squealed Swinburne, slapping his hands against the bedsheets. "I'll not be left out!"
"Mr. Swinburne!" exclaimed Sister Raghavendra. "You'll stay in bed, sir! You are in no condition to go gallivanting around on dangerous missions!"
"I have two whole days to recover, dear lady! I shall be perfectly fine! Richard, say you'll take me!"
Burton shook his head. "You've contributed more than your fair share to this business, my friend. You nearly got yourself killed."
Swinburne flung back the sheets and scrambled upright, standing on the bed in oversized pyjamas, bouncing slightly, twitching and jerking with excitement.
"Yes!" he cried. "Yes! I was nearly killed by that fiend! And do you know what I learned from the experience? I learned-"
He threw his arms out and nearly overbalanced. Everyone stood and moved to catch him but he recovered himself and proclaimed:
"How he that loves life overmuch shall die
The dog's death, utterly:
And he that much less loves it than he hates
All wrongdoing that is done
Anywhere always underneath the sun
Shall live a mightier life than time's or fate's."
His knees buckled and he fell against the wall, slowly sliding back down onto the bed.
"Goodness," he exclaimed weakly. "I think I stood up rather too quickly!"
Sister Raghavendra grabbed him by the shoulders, manoeuvred him back into the bed, and tucked the sheets around him.
"Foolish man!" she snapped. "You're too exhausted to go jumping around on a mattress, let alone chasing after mysterious Mr. Belljars. You'll stay put, sir, and you'll drink beef broth three times a day; isn't that right, Mrs. Angell?"
"Even if I have to sit on him and pour it down his throat," answered the old housekeeper.
"Richard! Am I to be a prisoner?" pleaded the young poet.
"For two days at least," confirmed his host. "We'll see how you are on Sunday. Sister, will you visit?"
"Certainly, Captain Burton. Mr. Swinburne is my patient; I will attend him daily until he is well."
"Bliss!" whispered Swinburne.
"And Captain," added the young nurse, "if there's any other way I can help, please don't hesitate to ask!"
Detective Inspector Trounce picked up his bowler and dusted a flake of soot from its brim. Mrs. Angell watched it float to the floor. She pursed her lips disapprovingly.