There were no sprites nor angels now. He stood upon the chapel floor with none but the man and the monkey.
‘He has risen,’ said the Mechanical Messiah.
Darwin the monkey looked up at the colonel.
The old soldier shrugged his shoulders.
‘I feel him,’ said the man-made God. ‘Can you not feel him, too?’
‘Can’t,’ said the colonel. ‘Sorry.’
‘He has brought great evil unto this world. You have brought me into this world.’ The Mechanical Messiah spoke words of Revelation:
‘And he laid hold on the dragon,
that old serpent, which is the
Devil and Satan and bound him
a thousand years.
‘And cast him into the bottomless
pit and shut him up and set a
seal upon him that he should
deceive the nations no more.
‘He has done what?’ Sergeant Case held in his hands a telegram. It had just been delivered to his door. The telegram had been sent much earlier in the day, but the post boy had been instructed to deliver it at a very particular time.
‘Mr Bell gave clear instructions,’ said the post boy. ‘My timekeeping is impeccable. I am sure that you agree.’
Sergeant Case slammed shut the door upon the punctual post boy.
He tore open the telegram and viewed its contents.
HAD UNDERWORLD CONTACT CUT KEY FOR
CELL EARLIER IN DAY STOP ESCAPED
ONE HOUR AGO STOP REGRET THAT
IT WAS NECESSARY TO DESTROY
SCOTLAND YARD STOP WILL AWAIT
YOU AT ELECTRIC ALHAMBRA
WHEN ALL WILL BE EXPLAINED
STOP.
Sergeant Case made gagging sounds in his throat. His loving wife brought him a glass of water.
‘Scotland Yard.’ The sergeant’s voice was quavery. ‘He did for the Crystal Palace, Buckingham Palace, Nelson’s Column and the National Gallery and now he’s done for Scotland Yard. The man is systematically destroying London. And now—’ He flapped his fingers at the telegram. ‘Now he will do for the Electric Alhambra. Just you mark my words. But not on my watch, I tell you! He will not have the Electric Alhambra. I will have that Devil, you see if I don’t.’
‘Don’t go out without your scarf, dear,’ said his loving wife.
The driver of the electric Maria did not need a scarf. It was nice and warm inside the cockpit.
‘We’re here, your lordship,’ he called to Mr Bell. ‘The Electric Alhambra, sir.’
Cameron Bell stepped out into the empty street.
‘Do you want me to wait?’ asked the driver.
‘No,’ said the private detective. ‘Go home to your loved ones. Tell them that you care.
‘Fair enough, your lordship.’ The driver put the vehicle into gear. ‘What a strange fellow, that Lord Bell,’ he said to himself as he drove off home to his loved ones. ‘And even with the moustache he does bear an uncanny resemblance to the evil criminal Cameron Bell. I wonder perhaps if they might be related.’
Alone in the street, Cameron Bell looked up at the Electric Alhambra. The most dangerous part of his mission was accomplished, he considered, with the destruction of the evil being. But there would be danger in the apprehension of the world’s greatest criminal mastermind. He would not give himself up willingly. But Cameron Bell considered that as he, the private detective, did have certain tricks up his sleeve, so to speak, he would succeed in this criminal genius’s capture.
‘As long as there are no further complications,’ said Mr Cameron Bell. And he entered the Electric Alhambra.
The Chancellor of the Exchequer hailed the single hansom that was moving down the road.
The Chancellor had removed himself from a fawning congregation of onlookers who had taken to the touching of his raiments when he walked unscathed from what should surely have been a fiery grave. He had taken himself along the road apiece.
Fire appliances passed him by and he had hailed the cab.
He flung himself into the hansom’s seat.
The driver enquired as to his destination.
‘I was on me way ‘ome,’ said the driver. ‘You was lucky to catch me.
‘Lucky, yes,’ said the Chancellor.
‘So, where to?’
The figure in black took from his pocket something that glittered in the moonlight. Held it before his face. It was a piece of Magoniam.
‘Lead me to the ring,’ he hissed at this golden mineral. ‘I asked you before but you have not aided me. But you have experienced the baptism of fire. We have experienced it together. Now aid me, I command you.
The Magoniam shivered upon the leather-clad palm. Then rose in the air, swung several degrees and then halted.
The driver looked down aghast through his little hatchway.
‘That way,’ said the being in black. ‘Towards, I believe, the Electric Alhambra.’
The driver stirred up Shergar and drove him like a bats-man out of Hell.
56
he lighting in the great auditorium of the Electric Alhambra was, as Cameron Bell had set it earlier in the day, subdued. It was muted. Inspiring of a certain moodiness. Things of that ambient nature, generally.
There was silence in the great theatre as the private detective climbed the stairs, passed along a corridor and entered the Royal Box. Here he uncorked the champagne he had placed there, and although it was warm, the ice having melted, poured himself a glass.
And then he called, ‘Hello there. Won’t you step from the shadows?’
Cameron Bell gazed towards the stage. The curtains were open, but it was in darkness. ‘Come,’ he called, ‘step into the light. There is no need to be shy.’
A scuffle of footsteps sounded upon the boards, but no one stepped forward to be seen. But then a voice called out to Mr Cameron Bell.
‘Who are you?’ called out this voice. ‘Do I know you, sir?’
Cameron Bell leaned forwards in the box, cast away his false moustache and smiled.
‘You,’ said the voice. ‘The assassin.’
‘I am unarmed,’ said Cameron Bell. One hand held high and empty. The other displaying his champagne glass.
‘You are surely a dead man,’ came the voice. ‘The one I am to meet here will kill you in a most terrible fashion.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Mr Bell and he sipped champagne. ‘The Chancellor of the Exchequer. Pray step into the light.’
‘I would prefer to retain my anonymity.’
‘You are not anonymous to me,’ said Mr Bell. ‘Your name is Mark Rowland Ferris and you are the Fifth Earl of Hove.’
Mark Rowland Ferris stepped into the light. A handsome young man in top hat and tails.
‘And I see you have brought your dogs,’ said Mr Bell. ‘Your three French bulldogs, Ninja, Yoda and Groucho.’
‘How do you know me?’ asked Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘Our paths have never crossed.’
‘No,’ replied Cameron Bell. ‘But I have seen your hand at work everywhere. You are the owner of this fine establishment and of The Spaceman’s Club and of so many other enterprises. The manufacture of armaments. The commission of a spaceship that travelled to a forbidden place upon an illegal mission.’
‘I do not answer to you,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘But you will answer to me.’
Cameron Bell reached slowly into his top pocket, withdrew from it a calling card, read from it aloud.
‘MINGUS LARKSPUR
Special Representative of
The Ferris Engineering Works.’
‘I vaguely recall that individual,’ said the Fifth Earl of Hove. ‘Although I do not know whatever became of him.’
‘That fellow is literally all over the place,’ said Mr Bell. ‘His head orbits Venus, I think.’
‘You are either a very brave man or a very stupid one,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris.
‘In truth I believe myself to be neither.’ Cameron Bell sipped warm champagne. ‘T
his is far better chilled,’ said he, ‘but would you care for a glass?’
‘Enough,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘I will leave you to the untender mercies of the Chancellor. I will have him bring me your head in a bucket.’
‘I regret to tell you,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘that the Chancellor will not be making an appearance here tonight. I sent you the telegram, requesting a confidential and discreet meeting here between him and yourself. Requesting that you came alone. You really will do anything he tells you.’
‘He works for me,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris.
‘Did,’ said Cameron. ‘Did work for you. But now, I regret to tell you, he is dead.’
‘You think so, do you?’ said Mark Rowland Ferns.
‘I know so,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘for I killed him myself not half an hour ago.’
The three French bulldogs all began to howl.
Mark Rowland Ferris knelt and stroked their heads.
‘Just tell me why?’ asked Cameron Bell. ‘You have so much. You have wealth beyond the dreams of most men. You hold an earldom. You are a young and handsome gentleman. Why involve yourself with such a monster? What did you ultimately hope to gain?’
Mark Rowland Ferris looked up at the Royal Box. ‘I have read all about you, Bell,’ said he. ‘Of the cases you have solved. I have perfect recall and I know all about you.
Cameron Bell nodded and toasted with his glass. ‘And so?’ he said.
‘And so you answer those questions. You are supposedly the great detective who can discern a gentleman’s sexual preferences from his hat brim. You tell me.’
Cameron Bell leaned forwards. ‘My eyesight is beginning to fail me again,’ said he, ‘but I will tell you this. You dined tonight at your club. The Athenaeum. Fish dish for a main course. White wine, of course. And then you visited a lady and—’
The private detective paused. ‘Oh no,’ he continued. ‘It was a gentleman. A young gentleman.’
Mark Rowland Ferris did pattings at himself. ‘How could you know that?’
‘You engaged in a practice known as “taking tea with the parson, which involved—’
‘Stop,’ cried Mark Rowland Ferris.
‘It is nothing to me,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Your private life is your own business. But as to what you planned for this world and why …’ He peered and squinted, then he nodded his head. ‘Simple greed,’ said he. ‘And a need for recognition. To be admired by all.’
‘Then we share much in common, Mr Bell.’
‘Ahem. But I do not wish millions dead. Nor think to employ a Venusian freak of nature. Did you really believe that you could control such a monster?’
‘We had a certain arrangement.’
‘He would have led the Empire to war.
‘A war that the Empire would have won with the weapons that I sold to the military. With my communications equipment. My electrically powered airships and submersibles.’
‘And you would be a hero then, for your services to the Empire?’
Mark Rowland Ferris nodded.
‘And then once all of this world was under the governorship of the British Empire, you would turn your gaze towards the stars.’
‘My arrangement with the Chancellor ran to giving him full control over the surprise attack upon Venus. He has old scores to settle with the ecclesiastics. They persecuted his race to near extinction.’
‘So I understand. And then Jupiter would be for the taking, I suppose?’
‘Precisely. At which point a military coup would occur in Westminster. But a quiet one, unknown to the public. I would become Prime Minister. Lord Ferris, uncrowned King of the Solar System.’
‘It does have a certain ring,’ agreed Cameron Bell, decanting more champagne into his glass. ‘And I thank you for filling in all the small details. They will flesh out the essential evil in your character when I write you up in my book.’
‘I think not,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘For you will write no book.’
‘I shall,’ said Mr Bell. ‘I toyed with the idea of a ghostwriter. But I think that is cheating, don’t you?’
‘The only way that you will write a book is if you prove capable of dictating it from beyond the grave.
‘Now you are just being silly,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Silly?’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘You are the fool here, Mr Bell. What are you expecting me to do? Surrender myself to you? Put my hands up and say, “Please arrest me, Mr Bell, I have been a very naughty boy “?’
‘The alternative is unpleasant,’ said Mr Bell. ‘In fact, it would be a fatal mistake upon your part not to comply with my wishes.’
‘You are unbelievable.’ Mark Rowland Ferris now rocked with laughter. His three French bulldogs seemingly chuckled, too. ‘You are aware of the power at my command. My wealth, my present position in society. Who would believe your word against mine?’
‘I am counting on your reputation,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘as a technical innovator. Ferris Engineering is top of the tree when it comes to technical innovation.’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. His three dogs nodded their heads.
‘I have always been a traditionalist,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Somewhat set in my ways. A tad reactionary, you might say. All these new marvels of the modern age. They are not really me, if you understand my meaning. But once in a while something does come along that really impresses me. Usually it is the product of Ferris Engineering.’
The man upon this stage was grinning broadly.
‘I purchased this this afternoon,’ said Mr Bell. ‘From Harrods. I was assured that it is quite the latest thing.’
Cameron Bell lifted from the floor of the Royal Box a brass and copper contrivance, with glowing valves upon the top.
‘Quite the latest thing,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I switched it on when I sat down in this box.’
‘That—’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘That is one of mine.’
‘Certainly is. The Microphone, I believe it is called, is on the stage before you, connected by this cable to—’ Cameron Bell read from the brass contrivance’s name plate ‘—the Mark Seven Patent Ferris Audiophonicon. A remarkable contraption capable of capturing the human voice upon a wax cylinder. A startling piece of equipment. The recorded voice being so clear and recognisable. You will certainly make history, Earl Ferris. You will be the first man sent to the gallows upon the evidence of his own words, artificially recorded, as they have just been. Perhaps when they build the New Scotland Yard they will give this fine piece of Ferris Engineering pride of place in the black museum.’
‘Oh yes?’ cried Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘Oh yes? You think you are so clever, do you?’
‘From a detached viewpoint you must appreciate the symmetry, said Mr Cameron Bell. ‘Condemned by your own bravado and your own technology. Surely I deserve a small round of applause.’
‘You will get what you deserve,’ snarled the Fifth Earl of Hove.
‘I do not think your dogs can jump high enough to get me,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘And I perfectly recall that in the telegram I sent you, it said to come here unarmed.’
Mark Rowland Ferris rocked upon his heels.
And then he began to laugh.
His three French bulldogs took up laughter and all became very merry up upon stage.
‘Why, thank you,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I am so pleased that the humour, although somewhat dark, has not slipped by you.’
‘No indeed,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘It is all very funny indeed. And what a joy that we do not have to share the joke alone.’
‘Sergeant Case, I presume?’ said Cameron Bell, and he turned his head to gaze up the central aisle of the vast auditorium.
From the shadows beneath the tier of balconies a single figure stepped.
It was not Sergeant Case.
‘You are a dead man, Cameron Bell,’ this figure hissed.
57
he evil Chancellor’s left arm made a forward swinging motion, as if he was
engaging in a game of bowls. The severed head of the hansom cab driver rolled down the central aisle of the auditorium and came to rest at the orchestra pit. The face stared blindly at Mark Rowland Ferris. The face wore a puzzled expression.
‘How inconvenient,’ said Cameron Bell, affecting bravado. ‘Now I will have to drive myself back to my hotel.’
The being in black came striding down the aisle. ‘The Ring of Moses,’ he horribly hissed. ‘The Ring of Moses, now.
Cameron Bell concealed his hands. ‘I gave that bauble away, he lied.
The Chancellor threw back his head and breathed deeply through his veil. ‘I smell your fear,’ he hissed at Bell. ‘And I smell too the magic of the ring.’
‘Perhaps some agreement might be arrived at.’
‘All that exists for you,’ the serpent voice cried out to Cameron Bell, ‘is a period of protracted torture, terminating eventually in a hideous death.’
The private detective weighed up his chances of survival. The scales came down rather heavily upon the none whatsoever side.
The evil creature was now beneath the Royal Box. He angled up his head and Cameron Bell could palpably feel the eyes upon him, even though they remained hidden ‘neath the veil.
The Chancellor of the Exchequer took his hat from his head and dropped it to the floor. Flung aside his cloak and let it fall. The veil, it seemed, dissolved, as did the clothes, and an unearthly being glared at Cameron Bell.
It resembled one of those medieval depictions of the Devil, as might be seen in old engravings, or upon the stained-glass windows of a church, or chapel, too.
Though in form it was a man, the skin was bloody red and scaled, as too the tail, which slim and barbed and snake-like whipped and curled. The hands were claws with taloned nails, the feet as of some lion. Upon the broad back two small bat’s wings flapped and flapped and flapped.
But it was the face of the Beast that was more fearsome than any other part. More loathsome and inhuman, an atavistic horror, with serpent’s eyes and cruel horns and jaws that snapped displaying awful teeth.